A Pending Adoption
By the end of the following week, I was getting impatient for a telephone call from Ingalls. I pounced on the phone whenever it rang. One afternoon, I’d gone down to check the mail and heard the phone ring at the top of the steps. Walt answered it from the kitchen. I hurried up as fast as I could but he was just hanging up by the time I crested the landing.
“Who was it? Was it Ingalls? Will Doc see me? Who was it?”
Walt put his hands on his hips and looked incredulously. “Love, you need to have patience. The man told you it might take several weeks. It’s barely been a week and you’re overwrought.”
I tossed the mail on the table and crossed my arms over my chest in frustration. “I feel so fucking helpless. I hate this! I used to be a detective. Some fucking detective I turned out to be.”
He opened his arms to invite me into them. I uncrossed mine and hugged him. He spoke peace into my ear. “You did everything you could. I seem to remember someone telling me that missing persons cases are fucking impossible, especially for a one-man outfit.”
I grumbled. “Sounds like something I would say.”
“You did say it, a very long time ago when Bea asked you to find her brother.”
“BUT I FOUND HIM!”
He shrank away from my shout. “Don’t yell in my ear!”
I apologized.
He tried to reason with me. “Why don’t you have some faith in what Harry said? People who are doing well usually just go about their business. Maybe Doc is doing well.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“Just as you say. Either way, we’ve got other things to do beside worry. That was Larry. He and Stephan want to come over tonight. They said it’s important. They’re coming for coffee and dessert. I tried to get them to come for dinner but they refused to impose.”
I grumbled some more. “At least that’ll take my mind of Doc.”
He hugged me again. “Take your joy where you can find it, Love.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
* * * *
Larry and Stephan showed up at seven and gathered in the kitchen around cups of coffee and plates of fruitcake and whipped cream. The couple sat very close together and held hands almost the entire time. They even dressed in matching outfits. They fed each other bites of cake and alternately drank from each other’s coffee cups. When the dessert was done and the cups refilled, Larry announced the reason for their visit.
“We’re getting married!”
I cheered because my hands hurt too badly to clap. Walt joined in my celebration. I was overjoyed. Larry explained how they arrived at their decision. “We tried to do as you said and live for each other. All we did for the rest of December was go to work and come home and spend time together. We both wanted to know if we could do it or if we’d get bored. It turns out we never get bored when we’re together.”
Stephan added more to the tale. “We spent an entire weekend in bed. We hardly got up at all because we hated to be separated. All we did was talk. We talked about things we never talked about with anyone. We learned so much about each other. It was the best weekend I ever had, and we didn’t even have sex…much.”
Larry went on. “New Year’s came and we always have a big house party. We had it this year like always. Usually, me and Steph have sex with as many people as we can, both separately and together. This year, I only wanted him and he only wanted me. We didn’t share with anyone else. When the party was over and everyone left, I was relieved because I didn’t want to have to protect my man from them anymore. That’s how I think of him. He’s mine.”
Stephan leaned over the table like he was telling us a secret. “And he’s mine! I wouldn’t let any of those other sluts come near him. Lar is a lot of man, and I want him all to myself.”
Larry kissed the back of Stephan’s hand. “I’m all his.”
I expressed my joy. “I’m so pleased! You’re so good together. I’m so happy for you.”
Walt agreed. “Me too! I’m thrilled to death.”
Larry cleared his throat because he wanted the conversation back. We let him have it. “Full disclosure, we like sex and we like getting high. I don’t think that will change, not for a while anyway. We’ll probably still spice things up now and then, but Steph and me decided to be more…uh…”
“Discerning.” Stephan added to complete Larry’s thought.
Larry nodded his agreement. “Discerning, yes, that’s it. We want to be more careful of our relationship. I think we’re done with sex parties. If we invite others in, it will be one or two, not dozens.”
I expressed my delight. “I’m still thrilled. You’re young men. Enjoy your youth, but take care of each other first and always.”
Larry beamed. “We plan to.” He cleared his throat again. “Ahem, we came to tell you about our decision. We also want to ask you about the adoption thing you did with each other. Steph and I want the same protection you and Walt have.”
Stephan leaned hard against Larry. “I already call him ‘Daddy.’ We need to make it official.” Larry flushed a furious shade of red and coughed in embarrassment.
I laughed and told the couple where the adoption idea originally came from. “That’s something I owe you, Larry. If not for your trouble back in ’53, I never would have known about it. Your lawyer, Alex Scofield, told me about it. I told Walt and he insisted we pursue it. Scobie didn’t do the paperwork for us because he’s not the right type of lawyer. I’ll put you in touch with the attorney who did. He still practices. In fact, he’s a regular at Walt’s Special, so I know how to reach him.”
Larry had one more request. “Steph and I are gonna get married in the theater. We don’t care about a church wedding because it’s just a ceremony. We can’t be legally married, but we want to dress up and have all our friends and a big reception just like a real married couple. We’re gonna exchange rings and everything. Law, I want you to marry us.”
I half expected him to ask me to be his best man. I would have been honored. I didn’t understand what he meant when he said he wanted me to marry them. He explained. “I want you to officiate the service. I want you to do the ‘dearly beloved’ speech and help us exchange vows and do the whole thing. Will you?”
Stephan added some pressure of his own. “Please, Granddaddy Lawrence, it would mean so much to us.”
I didn’t like the idea. “I don’t know. The words invoke God quite a bit. I don’t think it’s right for me to pretend to be a priest. I’m just an old sinner who doesn’t need another black mark on his soul.”
Stephan tried to counter my objections. “First of all, you wouldn’t be pretending to be a priest. Remember, this isn’t a real ceremony. It’s just a bunch of theater people putting on a one act play. You’ll be an actor. You don’t have to hold The Bible or dress like a priest or anything. As far as the words go, say whatever you want. Rewrite them to fit the part you feel comfortable playing. As long as Lar and me get to exchange rings and vows, you may read the telephone directory in between. Please do this for us, dear, lovely, wonderful man. You’re the one who encouraged us to marry. Help us.”
I rubbed my face with both palms to hide from the request for a second. I lowered them when I came up with a question which would make the difference between whether I agreed or not. “Is this to be a solemn event or a farce? I mean no disrespect with my question, but I’ve met some of your friends and I know how irreverent they can be. I know how irreverent you two can be.
“If I can stand before a quiet group who is gathered in the Lord’s presence, church or no church, to witness a ceremony to join the lives of two men who dearly love each other, then I will officiate even though it makes me uncomfortable. If this is to be a send up, some bawdy burlesque routine with men in wedding gowns and decadent display, you’ll have to get someone else.”
Stephan assured me it would be a solemn and dignified occasion. The reception would likely get rowdy, but the ceremony would be conducted with reverence.
I agreed. “You’ve got yourself an official. I’ll figure out where to get a copy of the text of the regular ceremony. I’ll have a look and maybe talk to the priest at church to see how much I can conduct without crossing into blasphemy. I’ll give you as complete a reading as I can. Does that satisfy you?”
The fiancés were elated. They thanked me profusely. I settled them down because I had more questions. “What will you do about vows?”
Larry answered. “We’ll write our own. And don’t worry, they’ll be real marriage vows, nothing irreverent.”
“When is the happy event?”
Stephan explained. “The Walnut Theater is staging a revival of The Philadelphia Story. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
I didn’t know if he meant the theater or the play. I answered about both. “If I remember correctly, the theater is near Washington Square, close to where you live. I remember The Philadelphia Story as a film. Katherine Hepburn and…and…”
“Cary Grant.” Walt remembered.
I agreed. “That’s it! Cary Grant. Jimmy Stewart was in it, too. Not a bad movie. It came out back before the war. World War II that is. There were no movies before The Great War.” I shook my head because I didn’t know that for certain. “Maybe there were, but I never saw any. What’s that got to do with your wedding?”
Stephan grinned at my wandering memory. “The Philadelphia Story ends with a wedding. Larry built the set. It’s beautiful, looks just like a fancy white chapel. If we get the timing right, we can use the theater and the set before they strike it to reset for the next engagement. The production started right before Christmas, and it’s expected to run into the spring. We can get married in April as long as the show isn’t held over.”
Walt came forward with a gracious offer for the couple. “You’ll let me host the reception at Walt’s Special, I hope.”
Stephan’s smile faltered and Larry looked like he swallowed a bug. I could see the answer was ‘no.’ Walt could see it too. He tried to be gracious even in his disappointment. “I’m sorry for assuming. It seemed like a natural idea.”
Larry explained. “We don’t want to put any stress on you, Walt. We want you at our wedding, not back here slaving over food. We love you and Law. We don’t mean any disrespect. In fact, it’s because we love you that we want you at the wedding with nothing to worry about but yourself. Is that ok?”
Walt heaved a breath to calm his upset. He didn’t answer them right away. He asked another question. “What will you do for the reception?”
“The owner of the Hotel Taft, which is just opposite the theater, is a friend of the theater and a client of mine. My carpenters have been renovating his hotel a few rooms at a time in between building sets. We give him a discount because we use it as fill-in work. Anyway, he’s got an event space that we can have, plus a full kitchen to cater, and rooms for rent for anyone who wants to stay over. It’s a good solution as long as it won’t hurt your feelings.”
Walt heaved another disappointed breath and answered honestly. “The Hotel Taft is a fine place with a good culinary reputation. It’s more conveniently located to your venue and a good solution as you’ve said. I’m disappointed but not upset.”
Stephan took Walt’s hand across the table. “Thank you for understanding, dear man! We were so worried about how you’d react. We love you, deeply, and we want you there to celebrate with us. Come and enjoy yourself. It’s likely the only time you’ll see your husband on stage!”
Walt finally smiled. “Oh my! You’re right. I can’t miss that for the world.”
Stephan agreed heartily. “None of us shall! It will be a grand day full of firsts and lasts and never agains!”
* * * *
I did as I promised and got a copy of the traditional marriage ceremony text from the priest, Father Groff. He had a stack of them mimeographed with blanks where the bride and groom’s names would be entered. He gave me two copies in case I damaged one. I told him what I planned to do. He was a little dubious but took me to his office where he struck the few words he thought I shouldn’t say.
His fountain pen crossed out ‘holy’ in ‘holy matrimony.’ He said he couldn’t refer to the union of two men as ‘holy.’ He also struck ‘lawfully’ from ‘lawfully wedded.’ He didn’t think the Lord would have any issue with the latter phrase; his concern was a secular one. He didn’t think I should call the couple lawfully wedded when they could not be. He saw no harm in me using the remaining text or any of the prayers.
His reasoning was that the couple planned to enter into a union and remain faithful to each other, therefore all of the text and prayers would apply to their intentions even if it couldn’t officially apply to their union. He wished me luck and absolved me of any worry of wrongdoing because I was playing a part rather than impersonating a priest.
I filled in Larry’s name for the groom and Stephan’s for the bride. I crossed out any reference to a bride or a woman and filled in words that would refer to both men. I used their names instead of ‘groom’ or ‘husband’ for most instances only because I didn’t want to imply one was beholden to the other.
I also wrote a speech and practiced both in front of the mirror and in front of Walt. I practiced so much, Walt was able to conduct the ceremony and give my speech from memory. He accused me of obsessing, which I certainly was.
All the while, my nightmares continued. They didn’t come every night, but often enough that I started to dread going to bed. I regularly woke in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, having just witnessed a violent act that I committed. The recipient of my violence always changed into Doc so he could call me an asshole. It got so bad that Walt insisted I talk to the priest.
I telephoned ahead and walked two blocks to the church during office hours. I explained my trouble to Father Groff. He understood immediately. “We’re roughly the same age, my son. We’ve seen the same years and the same conflagrations which consume innocent lives. I wasn’t always a priest. I drove an ambulance in France during The Great War. I’ve seen things that have haunted my waking hours and disturbed my sleep.”
“You didn’t do them, though, Father.”
He shook his large, grey head. “No, I didn’t. While I have not led a blameless life, I was never a soldier. I never held a gun, nor carried a soldier’s burden of life and death. That is the great difference between us. I have counseled many men like you, soldiers, policemen, firemen, rescue workers, emergency room physicians, even repentant criminals. Recently, a good many of them have been youth; sad, desperate, shattered men who lost their innocence fighting in southeast Asia. I shall not share my personal views on that conflict because politics is not my profession.”
He exhaled a sigh that expressed his opinions as loudly as if he’d shouted them. “Suffice to say, almost all of these men have reported similar experiences. They have done things they cannot undo and seen things they cannot unsee. They pray and repent, but their actions haunt them to the end of their lives. I have seen many hasten that end through drink and reckless living.
“It’s a shame because often, these men do so much good to try to mitigate the bad they’ve done, but it’s never enough for them. I’ve thought there should be a different type of social morality for people who serve in the military or on the police force, or in other professions that deal with life and death. How can we measure you with the same ruler we use for ourselves? We offer you the position of being our protectors, then we demand you hold yourselves to the same moral code. It’s an impossible request.
“We as spiritual leaders don’t always do the best job of conveying the true message of The Bible either. The book is full of warriors and enforcers. Jesus himself turned over the tables in the temple and chased the money changers with a whip. Unfortunately for you and many like you, the well-meaning Sunday school teacher tells his students that the sixth commandment says, ‘thou shall not kill.’ Then, when those children are barely grown, we send them to war with a rifle in their hands and tell them to do the opposite. No wonder they are conflicted. How could they not be?”
I reframed his question to apply to me. “How could I not be?”
“I shall tell you what I tell all people in your predicament. The Sunday school teacher is mistaken, though his error is not his fault. The common translation of the sixth commandment is not correct. The Lord did not tell us not to kill. As I already observed, the pages of The Holy Bible overflow with killing. The Lord told us not to murder. The distinction is an important one. Perhaps it will help.”
I was surprised by the information. “I didn’t know. That does help. Most of the lives I took was when I didn’t have a choice. That said, the killing is only part of what I’m haunted by, Father. I’ve done other things that I’m ashamed of. I was a very angry person. I was that way for a large portion of my life. The man that I’ve been for the last twenty-five years is not the man I was for the twenty-five that came before. I would put my hands on anyone for any minor offense. I’ve beaten men savagely for the crime of a dirty look.”
He smiled like he suspected I was telling a tall tale. “Have you repented the evil you believe you’ve done?”
“Not formally. Just like the other men you mentioned, I’ve tried to do as much good as possible to tip the great balance in my favor. I know that’s not the way to salvation. One can’t simply erase their bad deeds with good, but doing good can’t be wrong, no matter the reason. That’s right, isn’t it, Father?” I hoped he’d say that it was. I’d lived according to those precepts for years. I’d preached that method to Doc. I hoped I wasn’t wrong.
To my relief, Father Groff assured that I was correct, as far as my reasoning went, but I was also right that I couldn’t save my soul through good acts. He asked what else I’d done.
“My husband told me to pray, and I have. I prayed a great deal, but it hasn’t eased my mind.”
“Would you like me to hear your confession?”
I never thought I would go to confession. On one hand, I didn’t think I needed a priest to intercede between me and the Lord. On the other hand, I liked Father Groff and he offered to listen. I trusted him. I agreed to confess.
He started the ritual and listened while I admitted my lifetime of sins. I told of the anger and violence and brutality I visited upon those around me. I told of the people I killed, whether my actions were justified or not. I told of every time I raised my hands in anger, every threat of violence, every dark thought that ever crossed my mind. I even admitted that I’d never forgiven my father for disowning me. Purging my soul took over an hour. Father Groff listened patiently the entire time. He grew stern when it was time to give me my penance.
“Law, your sins are great, but no greater than many men who have lived as you have. Because you have never confessed before, your penance must account for a great many sins. For the sins you have named, and for those you have not, you shall pray the rosary once per day.”
I interrupted. “Until when, Father?”
He frowned to consider his answer. “My son, it is not within my purview to assign perpetual penance. I suggest you perform the ritual once per day for two weeks. I recommend you continue beyond two weeks. I think you would benefit from praying it daily from now on. I have made this suggestion to other men and they have found it helpful.”
I committed to saying the prayers for two weeks and deferred the decision beyond that. Father Groff went on. “You shall also perform one act of charity for each life you have taken, whether you were justified in taking it or not. You lay claim to thirty-eight deaths. We shall set your acts of charity at forty. Those acts should not be monetary in nature. I discourage the idea of buying your penance. I recommend you focus on acts of physical assistance instead of donations. These acts need not be showy. Pick up someone who has fallen. Carry a load for someone who cannot. Permit a nervous driver ahead of you in traffic. Put others ahead of yourself. Each time you do, you may consider yourself absolved of another death.”
I didn’t think the punishment fit the crime. “Seems like a small price to pay.”
He corrected my misunderstanding. “I have asked you to perform penance for deaths that were justified and those that were not. Because you are ‘paying’ for acts that were sinful and those which were not, the penance need not be severe.”
He went on with the ritual. I prayed the Act of Contrition. He gave me absolution and told me to ‘go in peace.’ I went into the church and found several rosaries on a hook near the door of the confessional. I took one down and knelt in a pew to say the prayers represented by the beads.
I’d never prayed the rosary before. I had to look up the process in one of the prayer books. I followed the instructions and said the Apostle’s Creed, the Hail Marys, the Our Fathers, the Glory Bes, the Fatima Prayers, and the Hail Holy Queens until I reached the end and prayed the final Rosary Prayer. It took longer than it should have because I fumbled the ritual several times.
When I finished, I returned the rosary to the hook and the prayer book to the pew. I stopped at the church office on the way out and spoke to the receptionist. I had a problem I hoped she could help with. “I’m supposed to pray the rosary and I…”
She talked over me and filled in the rest of my trouble. “You don’t know how and you don’t own a rosary.”
I grinned with embarrassment and agreed both were true. She offered a mimeograph of the rosary prayers and a tin box with a cheap plastic rosary inside for fifty cents. I gave her a dollar and had her keep the change for the collection plate. I folded my instructions away and pocketed my new rosary and headed home. To my surprise, I actually felt more peaceful than I had in a while. I also managed to check off an act of charity between the church and the apartment.
A kid was flying down the sidewalk on one of those fancy, new banana-seat bicycles. He must’ve gotten it for Christmas. He got tangled up in a wrought iron fence as he tried to go around me. He crashed and sprawled on the concrete. I picked him up and dusted him off and tied my clean handkerchief around his skinned left palm. He barely let me finish the knot before he was back on the bike and off like his tail was on fire. I said a quick prayer for his safety and thanked God for putting him in my path so I could get my penance under way.
I went home to Walt, kissed him, and offered to help make lunch. He observed that I seemed happier than I’d been in a while. “Did Father Groff help?”
“He did.”
“Do you want to tell me how?”
I didn’t think I was supposed to and said as much.
“Did you go to confession?”
“Yes.”
“WOW! Good for you!” He kissed me again and didn’t ask anything else. “Set the table. I’ll make lunch.”
I did as he said.
The nightmares were less after that. They still came, but less frequently and I didn’t mind them as much. Each time I woke in a cold sweat, I took my new rosary from the nightstand and prayed around it. The ritual quieted my mind and made me feel better. Walt suspected the rosary was part of my penance, but he never asked and I never confirmed.
More time passed, as time tends to, and soon it was the first week of February. I was due at the VA Hospital for my physical.
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