(The Daily

News)

TWENTY

Manhattan

Carrie turned away from the steaming stove and wiped the perspiration from her face.  Hot down here.  She saw Dan sitting in the corner staring at the floor.

“Why so glum, Father Dan?”

He looked up at her.  The usual sparkle was gone from his eyes, replaced by a haunted look.

I don’t know.”  He sighed as he leaned back in the chair.  “Don’t you get the feeling that everything’s spinning out of control?”

“No,” she said, and meant it.  “Just because we can’t see where events are leading doesn’t mean they’re out of control.  We may not be in the driver seat, but that doesn’t mean we’re on a runaway bus.”

“Is anybody in the driver seat?”

“Always.”

He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling.”I’ll tell you something.  No one’s in charge up there in St. Joe’s.  It’s chaos.”

“Confused, maybe, but it’s not anarchy.”

“Talk to Father Brenner about that, why don’t you.  He’s got a slightly different take on the situation.”

They’d both received a dressing down for opening the church to the Mary-hunters.  They’d expected that.  Father Brenner had lost control of his church—he couldn’t close it at night, couldn’t say Mass for his regular parishioners, couldn’t get on with the day-to-day business of the parish.  Every square inch of St. Joseph’s, from the rear of the sanctuary to the vestibule, down the front steps and into the street, was occupied by a restless, weary mass of humanity in every imaginable state of dress and health.

Father Brenner placed the blame on Dan and Carrie.

Carrie’s order had restricted her to the convent until proper disciplinary action could be taken.  Carrie refused to submit to what she saw as house arrest and, much to the dismay of Mother Superior, went about her usual duties at Loaves and Fishes.  She’d broken her vow of obedience so many times already she couldn’t see what difference it made if she kept on breaking it.  Besides, she’d made a vow to the Virgin to protect her and always stay near—that vow superseded all others.

“Father Brenner should be honored this is happening in his church.  So should you.  This is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to any of us.  Or ever will “

Dan shook his head slowly and smiled.  “I wish I could look at everything like you do.  I wish I could work a room like you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wish I could get people to respond to me like you do.  You move through those people upstairs like an angel.  They’re hot, tired, sick, irritable, and hurting.  Yet you squeeze by, say a few words as you pass, and suddenly they love you.”

Carrie felt her cheeks reddening.  “Come on...”

“I’m serious.  I watch you, Carrie.  And believe me, you leave a sea of happiness in your wake.  Sounds corny, I know, but I see the smiles that follow you.  I see the love in their eyes, and they don’t even know you.  You have that effect on people.”

Carrie hesitated, trying to frame a reply, and then the phone rang.  Dan picked it up.

“Hello?...Hi, Brad.  Fine.  Yeah, she’s right here.  Hang on.”

He passed the phone over to Carrie, then waved as he took the tunnel back to the rectory.

“Hi, Brad,” Carrie said.  “What’s up?”

“It’s Dad.”

Carrie groaned.  “Now what?”

“He could be on his way out.”

She’d heard that before.

“What is it this time?”

“They were just getting ready to send him back to the nursing home when he had another heart attack.  A bad one.  They’ve moved him into the coronary care unit.”

Carrie said nothing, felt nothing.

“He’s asking for you,” Brad said.

“What else is new?”

“The doctors say he’s not going to make it this time.  He’s on a respirator, Car.  He looks like hell...”

That’s where he’s going.

“...and I just wish, before he dies, you could find some way to forgive—”

“How can I forgive what he did to me?” she said in a fierce whisper.  “How?”

“God forgave—”

“I’m not God!”

“At least give him a chance to say he’s sorry.”

“Nothing he can say—”

Brad’s voice rose.  “You’re better than he is, Carrie!  Act like it!”

And then he hung up.

Carrie stared at the receiver, stunned.  Brad had never yelled at her before.  Never lost his temper.

She replaced the receiver on the cradle and shoved her hands into her pockets.

Poor Brad.  Always the peacemaker—first between that man and Mom, now between that man and her.  But how could he think she could ever...

Carrie’s right hand pressed against the two little Zip-loc bags in her pocket.  The powdered nail clippings and the ground-up hair...

The stuff of miracles.

She decided to make a pilgrimage to the hospital.

‡

Carrie stood outside the door to CCU and trembled like one of her homeless guests in the throes of withdrawal.

How bad could this be?

She didn’t know.  And that was what terrified her.  Fourteen years since she’d last seen that man.  Half her life.  Sixteen years since he’d started sneaking into her bedroom at night...

And Brad...how much had her older brother known?

He’d never said.   They’d never discussed it, never laid it out on the table between them and stared at it.  He always referred to it as “the trouble” between her and that man.  Brad could have been discussing wrecking the family car or getting sick drunk.  “The trouble”...

Some trouble.

At first, as a pre-teen, Carrie had been afraid Brad would hate her if he found out, hate her as much as she hated herself.  And then she’d thought, he has to know.  How can he not know?

And if he knew, why didn’t he say something?  Why didn’t he help her?  Why didn’t he do something to stop that man?

Carrie was pretty sure Brad had spent the years since she ran away asking himself those same questions.  She wondered what answers he came up with.  She wondered if he’d ever really faced what that man he called Dad had done to his little sister.  Probably hadn’t.  Probably had it hidden in some dark corner of his mind, buried under a pile of other childhood and teenage memories where he couldn’t see it.

But he could smell it.  Carrie knew the stink of those two hideous years had affected the rest of Brad’s life.  Incessant work...a life so filled with deadlines and meetings and shuttling between coasts that that it left no room for old memories to surface...a life alone, without a wife or even a steady live-in, because a lasting relationship might lead to children and God knows what he might do if he ever fathered a little girl...

Carrie half turned away from the CCU door, ready to leave, then turned back as Brad’s final words echoed through her brain.

You’re better than he is, Carrie!  Act like it!

She set her jaw, numbed her feelings, and forced herself to push through into the CCU.

White...white walls, white curtains between the white-sheeted beds, white-clad nurses gliding from bed to bed, bright white sunlight streaming through the southern windows...flashing monitors, hissing respirators, murmuring voices...

Carrie turned to flee.  She couldn’t do this.

“Can I help you, Sister?” said a young nurse with a clipboard.

Carrie mechanically handed her the visitor pass.  “W—Walter Ferris?”

A smile.  “Bed Two.”  She pointed to the far end of the unit.  “He’s stable now, but please limit your visit to no more than ten minutes.”

Ten minutes?  Might as well say ten eternities.

The air become gelatinous and Carrie had to force her way through it toward Bed Two.  She couldn’t breathe, her knees wobbled, her hands shook, her intestines knotted, she had to go to the bathroom, but she kept pushing forward.  Finally she was standing at the foot of the bed.  She compelled her eyes to look down at it occupant.