Intervention (41 page)

A
s far as Luke was concerned, the dinner had been equally delicious as it had been the evening before and so different from what he was accustomed to, it was beyond his ability to describe. Unfortunately, what also had been the same was Shawn’s behavior.

He’d totally refused to talk about the issue with the Virgin Mary and the ossuary, and, with scotch before dinner and wine making him drunk, he’d taken himself up to his room, supposedly for a short rest. By a little after nine, when Sana and Luke had finished the dishes and had come into the living room to stoke the fire and enjoy their Coke and wine, he still hadn’t appeared.

“I think I’ll check on Shawn,” Sana said, putting down her wine and before allowing herself to truly relax.

“He’ll be fine,” Luke protested, preferring not to see the inebriated and frustrating man again that evening.

“I’m thinking more about us than him,” Sana said with a smile while heading for the stairs.

Luke sat on the couch and listened to her footfalls on the stairs and the squeaking of the joists as she went into the room Shawn was using. Luke pondered her comment. He wasn’t sure what she meant, so when she returned he asked her.

“I meant I wanted to get up there now before I was settled,” Sana said, making herself comfortable with her feet on the coffee table, “and before we were into some interesting conversation.” She was eager to hear more of his story than the rote version he’d told her.

“Is he okay?” Luke asked. He couldn’t help but remember his father and the violence alcohol engendered.

“He’s on the bed and passed out, if that’s your definition of okay.”

“Since we talked about it last night, I still don’t know why he stopped sleeping with you.”

“It’s simpler now than it was six months ago when it was more his idea than mine.

We’ve grown apart. Have you noticed how little we touch? What I’m talking about is little things, like my putting my arm on his shoulder, like this.” Sana was sitting to Luke’s right, so she lifted her left arm and casually draped it across Luke’s shoulder behind his neck. Then she pulled her arm back and laid it along his leg with her hand on his knee. “Or even just sitting close with my arm on his knee. When we were first married, we both did such little physical things that were no more than an urge to let the other know that we were together, and that we were enjoying being together, like I’m doing to you. But all that stopped, and as I said, at first it was him, but now it is us. At first I thought it had something to do with our large age difference, but now I’m not so sure: I’m afraid it is more.”

Luke felt a sudden heat enter his leg and travel up toward his groin. He was infinitely conscious of Sana’s arm against his thigh and that her hand was ever so loosely clasped over the top of his knee. It was as if her fingers were on fire.

Sana was completely unaware of the emotional avalanche she’d unwittingly started in Luke’s mind, with its backed-up hormonal overload. She’d placed her arm and hand near him in what she thought was a platonic way, but it was also a physical reminder of how close she felt toward him, and she assumed he felt the same way toward her, as they had been trading extremely private thoughts and feelings since he arrived. In fact, Luke was the first person to whom Sana had verbalized the growing problems with her downward-spiraling relationship with Shawn. As a direct consequence, she felt Luke understood something about her hidden life, forming a bond, an attraction like a brother and sister, a special place in her mind, that even though Luke appeared to be a mysterious man-child, he projected an emotional perception older than his apparent years. After all, Sana reasoned, he had seen things on his own about her relationship with Shawn and had commented, and he was only a little more than three years younger than she.

For the moment, Luke wasn’t thinking. He was feeling. The heat from Sana’s hand was still burning against his knee, and now the length of her arm was doing the same, all the way up to the point of his hip. Each heartbeat he could feel pulsate in his swelling penis while his testicles contracted under him into painful knots. He needed relief. He needed to move, which caused the muscles in his legs and groin to begin to contract in rhythmical spasms.

Sensing Luke’s muscular contractions, Sana started. She was sitting directly next to him, and she suddenly spun around to face him, her left hand dragging innocently up his thigh. Seeing perspiration dotting his forehead and his dazed expression, her first horror was that the man-boy was having a heart attack. She stood up at once and tried to get him to lie down. But he fought her, and fought her with overwhelming strength so that the pushing match was short-lived.

“Okay!” she cried. “You’re hurting me!” He had grabbed her wrists and was compressing them to the point of shutting off the blood supply to her hands.

As if waking from a kind of seizure or at least a daze, Luke let go of Sana, who immediately recovered her wrists and rubbed them to restore circulation.

“My God, you hurt me,” Sana complained, still massaging her wrists.

As if in a postictal state, Luke merely stared at Sana. He didn’t try to talk, merely stared at her with a flaccid, shell-shocked face.

“Are you all right?” Sana asked. Even his eyes seemed glazed. His mouth was slack, with lips slightly parted. Although the firelight made his complexion difficult to judge, it seemed to her it was more pale than it had been earlier. “Luke! Are you all right?” Sana repeated. She reached forward with both hands to grip his shoulders and give him a little shake. “Talk to me, Luke! I need to know if you are all right.”

Leaning forward, Sana studied Luke’s face. His eyes, which had been recently focused on her lips, now slowly rose. She could see that he was returning to the present, wherever he’d been, but it was a disturbing present. Instead of being the happy person he’d been, he was returning angry and censorious. Before he spoke, which Sana could tell he was about to do, it suddenly dawned on her what had happened. She couldn’t help but smile, especially because now that she thought about it, she couldn’t understand why it had taken so long.

“You had an orgasm, didn’t you?” Sana questioned with relief and even humor. “I think I’m right. Well, don’t be embarrassed on my part. I think it’s terrific. Congratulations.

I’ll even take it as a compliment. It is reassuring to know that someone finds me sexually attractive, even if my husband doesn’t.” Sana had carried on in an attempt to forestall embarrassment on Luke’s part, as it was her impression that he’d never had sex with a woman, not that what they had done was sex but because his response was certainly dependent on sex. It was her hope that despite the traumas he’d experienced since puberty, there was a chance he could turn out normal.

“Whore!” Luke yelled suddenly.

“Excuse me?” Sana said. She’d heard, but she didn’t want to hear such nonsense, certainly not from Luke, her special friend.

“Satan,” Luke snapped.

“Oh, really?” Sana questioned contemptuously. “So it’s like your mother and father all over again. The victim is at fault. This time it was all up here, my friend,” Sana added, while reaching out with her index finger to touch Luke’s head.

Luke viciously batted Sana’s hand away, causing her to briefly cry out in pain. “Satan’s whore,” he snapped, in the grittiest voice he could muster.

“Well, that’s that,” Sana said, babying her hand. “I thought you were doing well on the religious-fanatic chart, but I suppose I was overly hopeful about your progress. As for your welcome here, I have to warn you that it’s getting very thin. As for me, I’m going to bed with a locked door, so even if you consider apologizing, I’ll hear it tomorrow.

Needless to say, I do think it in your best interest to apologize. Good night!”

Sana strode toward the stairs, while behind her she could tell that her mini-lecture had fallen on deaf ears. Luke let out a final “Satan, be damned for all eternity” as Sana started up the old, noisy stairs.

28

9:43 A.M., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2008

NEW YORK CITY

B
y nine-forty-three a.m., James was already in his office clearing his mail and answering e-mail. It amazed him how much of the business of the archdiocese was accomplished by e-mail, and he regularly attributed most of his thirty percent productivity increase to his adaptation to the new technology. What it did magnificently was speed the spread of information and eliminate many otherwise-lengthy telephone calls. For James the latter effect was so crucial.

He’d been up that morning from well before six; he’d already read his Breviary, showered, and shaved while listening to the news. He’d said Mass with his staff and breakfasted with the
Times
before repairing to his study, where he now sat. At ten he was due in the “consulter’s” room, where he was to meet with the chancellor and the vicar general, where he was debating possibly dropping the first words about the ossuary problem, when the phone rang. Checking the LED screen, he snapped it up immediately because it said ARCHDIOCESE, which James knew would be Luke Hester.

“Good morning, Your Eminence,” Luke said the moment James had said hello. “I believe I have some good news for you.”

James rocked forward in his seat, his pulse quickly speeding up. He happily envisioned Gabriel the Archangel on the line. “Has he changed his mind?” James demanded gleefully. From chatting with Luke on the two previous days, James had essentially given up hope on plan B and worried that a plan C did not seem to be in the offing.

“Not yet, but I’m sure he will.”

“That is heavenly music to my ears.”

“I hope you will always hold me in high esteem for this,” Luke said. “This has not been easy.”

“I never imagined it would be,” James admitted. “Actually, I’m somewhat surprised, considering how made-up his mind was. Yet I always believe, once a faithful Catholic, always a faithful Catholic, and I always believed that about Shawn Daughtry despite his anticlerical bluster. Should I call him to congratulate him?”

“Not until tomorrow or all will be ruined.”

“Then I should gladly wait until the morning. What argument did you finally choose?”

“The solution represents less of an argument and more tactics.”

“I’m impressed. Will you ultimately tell me?”

“You will certainly be privy to the details.”

James smiled. The young man often spoke as if his only contact with the outside world was with the Bible.

“The solution was dependent on more fully comprehending what I was up against.”

“I would say that such an aphorism holds true in many conundrums.”

“What I had to learn was that Satan is involved with both the husband and the wife, and not just the husband.”

“Well, they are working on the same project,” James offered.

“It was my mistake, then,” Luke said. “I thought they were different people, but both are an occasion of sin.”

“Thank you for giving me this update,” James said. “I must confess, I was quite close to despair.”

“I was glad to have been given this opportunity to serve the Church and, most important, the Blessed Virgin.”

Luke disconnected from the archbishop. He was in the kitchen getting himself something simple to eat. Sana had not gotten up early to make him breakfast, nor had he wanted her to do so. He didn’t want to confront her that morning, now that he knew who she really was.

Content with his toast and milk, Luke headed back up to his room. There he went into the suitcase and got out the money he’d been given. It was four hundred dollars, a fortune to him, and much more than he needed. After all, it wasn’t going to be a long shopping trip, as the house was already perfect.

The temperature outside was seasonable, which was good, since he did not own the warmest coat. Back at the monastery, his work did not require him to go outside, and accordingly, during the winter, he rarely did. That morning, Luke’s biggest problem was finding a sizable hardware store where he’d find a good exterior lock. It was his idea to add another to the three that were already on the front door.

It took only a few blocks to reach one of the many commercial areas in the Village, and as soon as he did, he asked for a hardware store. Fifteen minutes later he walked into a good-sized one on Sixth Avenue not too far from Bleecker Street. As far as outdoor locks were concerned, they had many to choose from. As it turned out, Luke’s choice was the one the store attendant said would be the easiest to install.

On the way home, Luke stopped in two other stores to get the last two items on his list.

They were easier than the lock, since there was no choice other than the brand, which didn’t matter. With everything he needed, he was back at the Daughtrys’ before noon.

S
ana was having fun. The day was progressing as well as the previous two. That morning, earlier than she had expected, she’d finished up with the polymerase chain reaction steps and had moved over to the 3130XL genetic analyzer system. Now, by the middle of the afternoon she was expecting to not only have the full mitochondrial sequence of the ossuary individual’s DNA, but she would also have the sequences of a variety of the test areas, which were used to explore the person’s genealogical roots.

Once the automatic sequencer was doing its job, Sana had left the lab and had traveled up to Columbia to make sure all her experiments were being attended to appropriately.

She’d been glad to find that everything was now in order. Every one of her four graduate students were now working responsibly, to make up for being lax when Sana had attended the Egyptian conference.

As Sana climbed from the taxi after returning from her lab at the medical school campus, she briefly thought of Luke. She’d thought of him the moment she’d awakened but had decided not to make any snap decisions about the previous evening’s incident, like telling Shawn about it. She knew that if she did tell him the man-boy would be out on his ear, and Shawn would be on the phone, complaining to the archbishop that he’d made a poor choice for an emissary. Since that would put them back to square one with the archbishop’s threats of closing them down, Sana wanted to let the episode percolate in her mind for a while for three main reasons. The first was because, in retrospect, she blamed herself to an extent. Enjoying his company as much as she did, and recognizing her own needs, she’d admitted she’d been titillated herself to some mild degree. The second reason was that although he had essentially attacked her, to her it was ninety percent a defensive act. The final reason was that she was confident he would apologize after he’d given the episode some thought, even though he’d failed to appear that morning to do so.