Full of Grace (30 page)

“So anyway, Father John and his friend, another priest named Father Mirenda—”

“Monsignor,” I said, and slathered the bread with mustard.

“Right,” Michael said. “They were explaining the story of Juan Diego to us and the whole drama of life in the sixteenth century with Montezuma and Cortés, and suddenly I felt this jolt of like, I don’t know, an electrical current? It just went all through me and my ears were
buzzing like crazy and then it was over. The whole thing only lasted less than a minute. Then I felt like I was going to faint. So they all made me sit down for a few minutes, and when I stood up, I felt fine. Perfect, in fact.”

“But you knew something was wrong again before you went to Mexico, right?”

“Oh, yeah, I knew my cancer was growing back. I had every symptom. That’s why I had been back to my doctor and had another MRI. But I hadn’t told Grace because I didn’t have the results.”

“But the doctor had called the house for Michael and his voice was very grim,” I said as I cut my sandwich in half. “I knew
exactly
what he wasn’t telling me.”

“So when you got home from Mexico, you went back to the doctor and had another MRI?” Mom said.

“Yep,” Michael said, “but I knew I was cured. I just knew it.”

“Gesù Cristo!
Miracolo!
” Nonna said, making the sign of the cross. “Praise God!”

I giggled and sat down next to them with my sandwich and a napkin.

“Use a plate, sweetheart!” Mom said. “So then what?”

I ignored her and took a bite. Then she reached over and took the other half.

“I’m starving,” she said.

“Well, the MRI before Mexico showed regrowth of the glioblastoma and the new MRI showed nothing, as though I’d never had anything. New brain. New, improved brain.”

“Unbelievable,” Mom said. “Just unbelievable! Do you understand what this means? Do you realize that there are hardly any miracles ever in the world? And you, Michael, must be an extraordinary human being to have been chosen by the Blessed Mother to be given such a gift. And we, too, are blessed to know you, to have you in our house, at our table. Has anyone notified the Vatican?”

“I’ll send them an e-mail,” I said.

“Don’t be so sassy, Grace. This is dead serious.” Mom went on and on.

Nonna had tears running down the miniature gutters in her ancient
lined face and she was unusually quiet. Probably for the first time in her entire life, she was speechless.

We heard some rattling around and looked up to see Big Al walking in through the garage, of course. When he got to the kitchen, he immediately grabbed Michael in a massive bear hug.

“Come here, you!” he boomed. “You know, Michael, if you were wearing a ring, I think I would have to kiss it!”

He was serious. Had Michael’s stock gone up or what?

“Where’s Nicky?”

“He went to get Marianne.”

Great. I couldn’t wait to see her.

“Let me look at you, Michael,” Dad said. “Your color is good! You look very good!”

When my dad gave a diagnosis, nobody had to run for the thesaurus.

“Let’s you and me have a drink,” Dad said.

“Sure,” Michael said. “I’m not driving home until tomorrow.”

I knew my family was going to be thrilled that Michael had been given a miraculous cure, but I’d never seen them so excited. I mean, Nonna was speechless and Big Al practically bowed to Michael. These two small events were unprecedented. And Mom? Well, she was almost apoplectic. With the way they were acting, anyone would’ve thought the pope had just stopped by for a cappuccino.

How was my Michael coping with all this? His male ego was in check and he seemed more at ease than I would have thought. Adulation from my family was a nice change from the scorn he had known. He seemed to be very flattered by Mom’s opinion that he was a chosen person. Like Moses. I was hanging with Moses now.

Wisecracks aside, Michael was highly focused on what they were saying. I wondered what he was thinking and decided he was fascinated that they were reading the event only in a religious context. Michael was having the same thoughts I was. This wasn’t science.

“Okay, guys, that’s enough for now. We’re here to celebrate Dad’s birthday, remember?” I said.

“Yes, Grace is right, Mrs. R, let me help you set the table,” Michael said.

Nonna got up and went over to the stove to continue cooking, and still she didn’t say one word.

“Nonna,” I said, “what time is George coming?”

“Che? Che cosa?”
Nonna said, not seeming to understand what I asked.

“George, Nonna, George—when is he coming over?”

“Oh, later,” Nonna said, and never looked up.

Everyone’s behavior was odd.

Nicky arrived with Marianne through the garage door. Marianne was wearing a pearl choker and a lavender sweater set with a gray pleated skirt. I looked down at my torn-up jeans and striped cotton men’s shirt and decided I would always be an Oscar to her Felix. I could not have cared less.

After a lot of hellos and
ohmagawdmichaels!
we launched into the cocktail hour. Every time Marianne tried to bring up her wedding plans with anyone, her intended victim would feign an audio processing disorder and turn their attention right back to Michael. Even George, who brought a party-size bottle of Chivas Regal for Dad’s big day, and who under other circumstances would’ve listened politely to Marianne until she wore herself out. But not on that day. Michael’s cure was headline news, and because we were so naive, Michael and I had not even considered the deeply spiritual impact it would have on others. Everyone felt like they had been given a peek at heaven simply to be so close to someone who had been blessed by a bona fide miracle.

At dinner, George questioned Michael about every aspect of his illness, his experience in Mexico and the two MRIs. George was so moved that his hands shook. He turned to Nonna and spoke.

“If God is this good, this compassionate, then surely we have nothing to fear.”

“I’ve never been afraid of God,” Nonna said in a weary voice. “I worried my children might not come home at night or that I might lose a child in a war. But worry about God? No, I can tell you that God doesn’t want us to suffer. He doesn’t want us to ever feel alone.”

And then the
Thing That Could Not Be Contained
spoke.

“So, Michael?” Marianne asked. “Does all this mean that you’re going to go to church now and become a decent Christian again?”

Michael could have said anything to her and the whole table would have overlooked it. The sudden silence of the room was deafening. She was beyond a tactless idiot. Michael had been through so much and neither of us had any idea that a cure could be as tiring as an illness. He had been talking since our arrival, which was unusual for him. I could see he was completely exhausted from being the center of attention. But Michael, ever the gentleman, leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.

“Marianne? I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“A simple yes or no would be fine,” she said, and giggled.

I thought,
A slap across your face would be fine.

“Well, maybe for you but not for me. You see, I am still trying to figure it all out. I mean, why me? Apparently there is a reason for me to be kept alive. I don’t think that the power that healed me is arbitrary and without some kind of rationale. But yes, I am going to start attending church and we will see where that leads us.”

Michael had used too many big words for Marianne and it was plain to see that she was trying to figure out what he just said. I couldn’t control myself.

“Marianne? He means that his healing wasn’t an accident and it happened for a reason.”

“I knew that!” she said, and repositioned herself for a big sulk.

“Of course you did. Well, Michael? You do think God healed you, don’t you?” Mom asked.

They were putting Michael on the spit. I wanted to crawl out of the room and go live in Nairobi or somewhere.

“To be honest, Mrs. R, I can’t come to any other conclusion. And you know enough about me to know I tried.”

“More potatoes, anyone?” I said, and stood up. I did not have to call a mover.

“Sure,” Michael said. “The mashed potatoes are the best I have ever had, Mrs. R.”

“I made them, not Connie,” Nonna said. “The secret is to heat the milk and melt the butter, Grace. You, too, Marianne.”

I gave Michael seconds of everything and turned to Dad.

“More?”

Of course he wanted more. That dinner was his favorite and he was going to eat as much as he could. So was Michael, and even George said he thought he might like another plate of food.

By the time we served cake and decaffeinated coffee and Dad had opened his presents, everyone was nearly dozing off in their chairs. Dad loved his pajamas and book. Mom had bought him a new pair of golf shoes and a branding iron with his initials for the grill. Marianne bought him a framed picture of herself with Nicky. Naturally. And Nonna gave him the complete recordings of Frank Sinatra.

Nonna stood.

“I’m going to say good night,” she said. “My hip is a little sore and I spent too much time on my feet.” She walked around to my father’s place, kissed him on both cheeks and said, “You’re a wonderful man, Al. Happy birthday.” Then she kissed each of us good night. When she got to Michael, she said, “Say a little prayer for me now and then, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Michael said.

George, knowing this was his signal to pull the rip cord, got up and left the room with her, wishing Dad a great year and thanking Mom for dinner. Nicky, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one, said he was going to take Marianne home. She objected, saying she wanted to help with the cleanup, but Mom stepped in.

“No, sweetheart. Next time. It’s getting late.”

With a flamboyant hug and kiss for everyone, Marianne reluctantly bid the deeply saddened crowd adieu.

“Parting is such obnoxious sorrow,” I said when they were gone.

“Here, I’ll get all the flatware,” Mom said. “That was a great dinner, don’t you think?”

“Michael and I can handle it, Mom. You go get a bath if you want.”

“Well, you know what? All right!” she said, and led my dad from the room.

“Hey, Grace? Michael?” Dad said. “Having both of you guys here really and truly made my day. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, Dad. Happy Birthday. Love you!”

He blew us kisses and left with Mom.

I said, “You know, even two years ago, they would’ve been up with us until the crack of dawn. They’re slowing down.” I got up and started gathering plates and glasses.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Michael said. “I mean, you are a better judge than I am, but I think birthdays and holidays put stress on people—stress to make them larger than any other old regular day of the week, you know?”

“Yeah, all those expectations, right? You scrape and I’ll rinse.”

“No problem. Are we saving the potatoes?”

“Are you kidding? You never heard of potato gnocchi? There’s a container in that cabinet. Know what?”

“What?”

“I never thought I’d be standing around doing dishes with you in my mother’s kitchen. I could scrub pots all night long.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. I love you, you know.”

“As you should. If I hadn’t dragged you to Mexico, this whole thing might not have happened and we’d still be in the soup.”

“You’re terrible to remind me,” he said, “but that does bring us to another point. Give me a sponge and I’ll wipe the counters.”

“Here. And the point is?”

“That you’re right. Do I think this would’ve happened here? Like in this kitchen? Maybe, but no. No, I don’t think it would have.”

“Why not?”

“Well, obviously it could’ve happened here. But it didn’t and I think that’s because it was like a double whammy.”

“You mean like if it happened in the steam room, you might have thought the steam cured you?”

“Yeah. That just about sums up my faith until it happened. But it happened in a church, right? Therefore, even I can deduce that it is of a miraculous nature. Yes?”

“Well, I have to say that I agree with you.”

“And what do we do about everything? Our lifestyle?”

“I’ve given that some deep thought, Michael, and I think the answer is that we need Father John to help us figure it out.”

“Definitely. I think he’s a great guy. There has to be a way back into the good graces of the Church without us being hypocrites, don’t you think?”

“I say, let’s find out what our options are and then we can decide. I’m still on the fence about a lot of things.”

“Whew! Am I glad to hear you say that because there’s nothing worse than a fanatic who goes around spouting chapter and verse. I can’t deal.”

“Me either.”

“But I’d like to go someplace and feel okay about it—especially after this. Basically, God fingered me. Shouldn’t I be able to say thanks in a church without feeling like the son of Satan for not attending church for all these years?”

“I’d say yes. You should. But let’s let Father John help us kick our way through all that.”

I looked up at the kitchen doorway and there was Mom, standing there in her bathrobe, pale and clearly in some kind of trouble.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Something terrible had happened. I could feel it in every one of my bones.

“I just…I just saw Nonna.”

“Yeah, so?” I was confused because their bedrooms were at opposite ends of the house and I thought Nonna had gone off to bed a long time ago.

“Her feet…her…She wasn’t touching the floor.” Mom was shaking from head to toe.

“Oh, God!” I screamed, threw down my towel and ran to Nonna’s bedroom. Michael had his arm around Mom and they were right behind me. When I got there I stopped at the door. “I’ll look, if you want me to, Mom.”

Mom nodded and said, “You can if you want to, but I know she’s gone. I just know it.”

“Well, somebody needs to see for sure,” I said. I opened the door and
went in, standing by Nonna’s bedside. There wasn’t a bit of life in the room besides me. Nonna was lying in her bed, on her back, with her rosary in her hands. She looked like she was sleeping, but she was dead and gone. “Call Dad.”