by John Ayang
As Frs. McCarthy and Polanski wheeled onto Hollow Wood Circuit from Saw Tooth Canyon Drive, they were surprised to see the cull de sac almost empty, except for three cars. Stacy’s convertible was unmistakable. There was Jennifer’s SUV and John McCarthy’s Corvette. The door was opened by Stephen McCarthy himself. He pulled in Fr. McCarthy and silently embraced him tight for a few seconds before releasing him. Fr. McCarthy looked at his father and knew he was touched by what had happened in a way he had never been before; he could not recall the last time he gave him such a tight hug. Tears stood in his eyes and he swallowed hard with tight lips, trying to keep from sobbing.
“Come in, son,” he said, eventually finding his voice. “Thank God you’re okay. Everything will be alright. Come in, Fr. Charles,” he said, addressing Fr. Polanski by his first name. “And thank you for keeping him company. He needs the support.”
The big dining table had been converted into a conference table, and seated around it were Stacy, who from all indication was presiding, John McCarthy, and Hannah McCarthy. On the opposite side sat Jennifer in between two empty chairs. Stephen McCarthy assumed his position in one and motioned Fr. McCarthy to the other. The latter sidled to where his mother had stood up and was moving with unsure steps toward him, head hung in penitent shame. Her face had sagged and she looked five years older. She looked at Fr. McCarthy, practically pleading for mercy with her big, teary eyes. Fr. McCarthy knew she was going to break into another bout of weeping. He all but dashed toward her, swept her up in a tight embrace, felt the heaving of her chubby torso, and coaxed her as she was about to break into babbling sobs.
“I so desperately needed a child,” she sobbed.
“There, there, Mom,” Fr. McCarthy coaxed. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong by desiring to have a child.”
“I did something wrong and tried to hide it.”
“That’s okay, Mom,” Fr. McCarthy said, rocking her gently from side to side. “To err is human, to forgive is divine. I’m quite sure you had a reason for going about it that way. Calm down, Mom. I forgive you for everything.”
The rest of the people at the table sat out the mother-and-son emotional moment in respectful silence. Then Stephen McCarthy went over and extricated his wife and son from their mutual embrace and led her back to her seat. Jennifer got up to serve fresh rounds of coffee. Fr. Polanski took a seat also and the meeting resumed with Stacy taking the lead in laying out the plan of action. She coached the McCarthys on what pieces of information to share with the press and neighbors, and what to reserve for her, their attorney. She revealed her plan to dispute the alleged discrimination as a technical error and to discredit it as litigation-worthy. After all, the McCarthys were still right in calling the parentage of their son, Fr. McCarthy, an adoption since Hannah McCarthy was not the gestational mother and the egg wasn’t hers.
“And I did give my sperm,” Stephen McCarthy said, in a somewhat hedging tone, “But…and this is the first time I am going to reveal this…it wasn’t my sperm that was used in the process of conception. I had a very low count and it was not going to work. So, it was substituted.”
Everyone at the table looked up, surprised at the new revelation by the elder McCarthy. Hannah McCarthy herself was taken aback that her husband had kept this from her all along.
“It was substituted?” she asked, more out of surprise than hurt.
“Yes, it was,” Stephen McCarthy replied, ruefully. “That young doctor, I can’t remember his name, assured me that the substitute was from a very strong and very healthy young donor.”
“And he didn’t tell you who the donor was?” Stacy asked, hopelessly. She knew the answer was negative.
“The contract forbade that,” Stephen McCarthy replied. “Unless the donor wished to reveal himself, which would be after he signed an undertaking not to lay any clams to the offspring or demand money.”
“You say you can’t recall the name of the doctor,” Stacy asked. “But wasn’t that Dr. Eshiet who revealed himself in court today as having full participatory knowledge of the procedure at the time in question?”
“No. I think I now remember him as one of the four doctors whom we met on various occasions. But the one who met with us more frequently and directed the whole process was a doctor Erik…or Jared…Honey, do you remember his full name?” He solicited his wife’s aid.
“I think it was Dr. Harick,” Hannah tried to recall. “Oh gosh! It’s been thirty years. His name is in the papers we signed. I still have those papers and I can fetch them.” Hannah struggled to her feet to go upstairs for the papers.
“Mom, tell me where the papers are. I can fetch them,” Fr. McCarthy offered.
“No, let me go. It’ll take you time to dig them out. I know exactly where they are,” she declined help. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll help you, Auntie,” Jennifer was already on her feet and heading for the stairs before Hannah could reject her offer.
As both women went upstairs to fetch the papers that contained the name of the doctor who, in Stacy’s reckoning, might hold the break or damage to her case, John McCarthy decided to make small talk with Stacy. He had never been one to endure awkward silence. He started to ask her about her work at the Chancery, but before he could pose his question, the doorbell chimed the Westminster melody, so he answered it.
Greg Sullivan was at the door. He inquired about Stephen and Hannah McCarthy and was told they were in. The elder McCarthy recognized Greg’s voice and invited him in.
“Come in, Greg,” he called. “We’re all here, like prisoners in a fortress. Just trying to recover from the jolt.” He rose to his feet to receive the Parish Council Chairman of Our Lady Queen of Peace.
“Well, I just wanted to stop by and see how you guys are doing,” Greg said, somewhat gawkily. He took the elder McCarthy’s proffered hand and pumped it. “We’re behind you and we support you a hundred percent with our prayers. We realize this is a very trying time for you.”
Stephen McCarthy thanked him profusely, as well as the parishioners of Our Lady Queen of Peace, some of whom had already called to offer their friendship and support. Greg exchanged greetings with Fr. Polanski and Stacy and expressed his satisfaction that the two were already there to support Fr. McCarthy. He shook Fr. McCarthy’s hand and took the seat beside him, mumbling the same assurances of solidarity and support which the latter thought he had probably rehearsed over and over again as he drove out there. John McCarthy resumed his seat and inquired about Greg’s family and work. Greg told him he had retired, and was about to give him a rundown of the state of his family members when he was interrupted by Hannah and Jennifer coming down the stairs.
“I was quite sure he had a Bohemian name,” Hannah said from the top of the stairs, and then stopped short as he spotted Greg at the table. “Oh, hi, Mr. Sullivan. How are you?” She greeted in her warm singsong voice, perfectly disguising her distress of the earlier half hour, to the impression of Fr. McCarthy. If there was one thing that he loved about his mother, it was her gracious bearing. She had a way of making friends even with total strangers within the first five minutes of encounter. As he observed her slipping into her gracious hostess’ mood, offering this and that to Greg to make him feel welcome, Fr. McCarthy concluded that his mother was one of those rare women who, no matter how big a blunder they committed, you could not not forgive them. Her hearty graciousness was such an atoning character in her that it was impossible to stay mad at her for very long. He resolved to forgive her completely and not hold her accountable for keeping him in the dark all these years.
His dreamy rumination was interrupted by Stacy tapping him on the shoulder and asking to confer with him privately outside. She had the large brown envelope that Jennifer had handed her on the sly because they couldn’t talk about it in Greg’s presence. She announced her exit on the excuse that the Cardinal’s press conference was due in half an hour an
d she needed to make it there before it started.
“You plan to stay with your parents, right?” Stacy inquired of Fr. McCarthy once they were outside.
“Yes, of course,” Fr. McCarthy replied. “For the time being, but I don’t intend making myself a prisoner because of anyone.”
“Certainly not,” Stacy concurred. “I was going to recommend that after today, you should take off and go somewhere to rest. Go about your normal life, but don’t talk about your case with anybody. I’m going to find that doctor and have a conversation with him. I’m quite sure you don’t have a case to answer. The next court date isn’t until January 8. That’s enough time for me to prepare a solid defense. Any questions?”
“When do we have the next tennis tournament so I can beat you?”
“You are an enigma, Fr. McCarthy!” Stacy said, laughing. “You always puncture the mood, don’t you?”
“That’s how I cope, Ms. Donovan,” Fr. McCarthy replied, smiling apologetically.
“It’s a good strategy,” Stacy replied and added, “Hey! You’ve given me the best metaphor to guide my work. It’s been a long time since anybody beat me on the court playing singles. Patrick Turner seems to be handling his racket well so far, but let’s see how long he’s going to last. I can assure you, I don’t intend to let him last very long.”
“I believe you, Serena Williams,” Fr. McCarthy quipped.
“I’m Stacy Sally Donovan, not Serena Williams,” Stacy replied, graciously. “And I intend to win this tournament. Now, run inside and keep your parents company. I’ll call you if I need your opinion on my legal proficiency.” With that, she turned and walked toward her convertible, wiggling gracefully.
“Miss Donovan,” John McCarthy called, having just emerged from the house at that moment. “May I have your business card, if you please?” he requested, taking out his wallet and extracting his own card to exchange with hers.
“Sure. I apologize,” Stacy replied, ruminating in her handbag. “I almost forgot I had promised you one.”
Fr. McCarthy watched for a minute as his uncle put on his wiles to ingratiate himself to Stacy. He smiled and turned to go inside, wondering where Patrick Darlington was, and when Uncle John would quit his game of collecting paramours.
The Cardinal’s press conference was brief and terse. It was set on the front steps of the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. At exactly five o’clock, and on the last toll of the tower bell announcing the hour, the double doors of the Co-Cathedral opened and Cardinal Umberto Pacino Felice, followed by a train of the Chancery officials, walked out and stood behind the podium decked with microphones. He looked up, sweeping the crowd of media men and women and other curious bystanders with sparkling eyes, and spoke in his rich baritone voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of myself, the clergy, and the faithful of the Catholic Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston, I stand here to address these few words to you about the events that took place in the First Circuit Court of Houston this morning. One of my priests, a faithful and loyal servant of the Church, a very compassionate pastor of the people of God at Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church, Fr. Cletus Nicholas McCarthy, was taken to court by a couple in his parish, on the allegation of discrimination and emotional battery. Fr. McCarthy had temporarily stopped said couple from receiving Holy Communion as a sanction for the scandal of using a method not approved by the Catholic Church for its members, to conceive a child. By using the method of in vitro fertilization, the couple in question not only knowingly disobeyed Church doctrine, but also went against their pastor’s good advice and best judgment.
“As indicated in court this morning, the couple alleged they did so, not because they did nothing wrong, but because Fr. McCarthy, himself conceived by the process of in vitro fertilization, did not stop his own parents from Holy Communion. At this juncture, it must be borne in mind that this is only an allegation that has yet to be substantiated. Fr. McCarthy’s birth documents state clearly that he was legally adopted at birth, and, hence, is the legitimate son of Mr. Stephen and Mrs. Hannah McCarthy. A court date has been set for when this allegation will either be proved or disproved. Until then, I ask, in the interest of truth and fairness, that you desist from disseminating wild and unsubstantiated rumors. I also ask that you keep all concerned, both the litigating couple and Fr. McCarthy and his family, in your prayers. I also request that you please respect Fr. McCarthy’s privacy and integrity. Please direct all questions to his attorney and Counsel, Ms. Stacy Donovan, or to the Chancellor, Bishop Mario Montano. Thank you and God bless you all.”
A barrage of questions, not unexpected, followed the Cardinal’s address. The first came from a bald gentleman who sported a moustache that made him look like a clone of Lenin.
“Why is the Catholic Church so much against science? Does the Church believe it can succeed in taking everyone back to the age of superstition?”
“The Church is not against science, as long as it is good science” Cardinal Felice responded with a fatherly smile. “The Church is against bad science that degrades man and vitiates his human dignity as a person created in the image of God.”
“Do you deny that the Reverend McCarthy was conceived through in vitro fertilization?”
“That is just an allegation at this stage. It needs to be substantiated.”
“Popular belief is that the Catholic doctrine against all forms of reproductive technology is harsh and intentionally directed against women. What is you comment on that?”
“No Church doctrine is directed against women. The Church respects and gives a unique place to women in deference to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus. Church doctrine is directed against the type of scientific pursuit that degrades women and their reproductive vocation.”
“If it is eventually proven that Fr. McCarthy was indeed conceived by in vitro fertilization, will the Church change its view and doctrine on reproductive technology?”
“Church teaching on reproductive technology is based on scientific truth about human reproductive vocation and what is morally in accord with right reason.
“So, the Church will change its doctrine then, on the evidence of scientific truth?”
“The Church will continue to teach about reproductive technology based on scientific truth about human reproductive vocation and what is morally in accord with right reason.”
“Why does the Catholic Church refuse to ordain women? Don’t you think that is discrimination?
“That question is not germane to the issue under discussion. Next,” the Cardinal responded firmly, but patiently.
“What is the Catholic Church doing about all the pedophile priests and the victims of their abuse?
“Question not germane to the issue under discussion…”the Cardinal again responded with grace, and then added, “Ladies and gentlemen, I think that is it for now. God bless you all.”
Fr. Polanski and Greg Sullivan watched the Cardinal’s press conference, broadcast live, at the McCarthys’ place. Stephen McCarthy said he thought the Cardinal gave the best press conference under the circumstances. Jennifer eventually succeeded in persuading Fr. McCarthy to eat. Then she went upstairs to clean and arrange his old room for him. The discussion went from the press conference to the games of the season which the men watched on TV and made noise as usual. Hannah and Jennifer retired to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. Fr. McCarthy, having been practically forced to eat a very late lunch, gave instructions not to wake him up till he had slept his fill. Fr. Polanski and Greg stayed for dinner and left shortly after. John McCarthy was the last to leave, and he promised to visit Stephen and Hannah every other day to keep them company. The McCarthys retired to bed before nine o’clock, thankful that they could finally get some rest from what had turned out to be the longest day of their lives.
PART IV
Some are born great, some have greatness thrust upon
them.
- William Shakespeare
Houston, Texas
December 11, 2012
IT WAS 11:30 a. m. in Houston when Dr. Horacek took the escalator down to the baggage claims area of the George W. Bush Intercontinental Airport. He waited with other passengers who had disembarked from the same flight from Atlanta where they had connected from Norfolk, Virginia. It was the first day of his vacation in Houston with his newfound family. He felt like a man who had been given a million-dollar chance at life, to begin it all over again. The air was nice and crispy, and, lacking the early snow of Norfolk, it wasn’t too cold. He felt somewhat exhilarated and genuinely looked forward to his time with Barbara and Crystal. He was still incredulous at his luck of coming full circle to be father and “dad” to Crystal, whom he had thought he would neither ever see again nor have any paternal relationship with. The last time he set eyes on Crystal was when she was born. Soon after, Barbara had unceremoniously moved from Norfolk to Houston, without so much as a farewell conversation. He knew she was quite angry at him then. As it stood, it looked as though the years had healed some of that anger. Their first lovemaking together during her second visit to Norfolk indicated that she had, most probably, decided to forgive and receive him back into her life, not knowing what else to do with him. After all, there was Crystal, not just in between, but linking them. And she had grown into such a gorgeous young lady. Feeling blessed more than he deserved, Dr. Horacek smiled ruefully and reached out for his suitcase and grabbed it off the conveyor belt.
