by J. D. Griffo
Clearing her throat, Helen said, “Don’t mind me I’ll just go home and starve.”
“Sta‘ zitto!” Alberta shouted and handed her keys to Helen. “Take my car back to my house, I have sausage and peppers in the fridge, and you know there’s always a lasagna in the freezer.”
“You always keep a lasagna in your freezer?” Sloan asked incredulously.
“Doesn’t everybody?” Alberta replied. “Now c’mon Sloan, let’s go hiking.”
* * *
Six hours later when Sloan dropped Alberta off at her house, she found not only Helen waiting up for her, but Jinx, too.
“It’s ten o’clock, Berta,” Helen announced the second Alberta walked through the kitchen door. “The sun set hours ago.”
“Sloan took me to dinner after our hike.”
“Did you go to Veronica’s?” Helen asked. “This week’s special is a very nice meatloaf.”
Rolling her eyes and kissing Jinx on the cheek at the same time, Alberta replied, “No, Sloan did not take me to the diner for dinner, we went to a new Japanese place in Lafayette.”
“You went to Sushi Sushiwa?” Jinx asked.
“That’s the one.”
“You ate sushi?” Helen asked, picking apart her Danish.
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you ate sushi, Gram, that’s so cool.”
“And it was also disgusting,” Alberta said opening up the fridge. “Is there any sausage left?”
“There’s a bowl in the back,” Helen replied.
“Thank God! I need real food after that scarsa scusa . . . that poor excuse for a meal.”
While Alberta took the aluminum foil off the bowl filled with the rest of her sausage and peppers and placed it into the microwave to heat it up for a few minutes, Jinx poured Alberta a glass of jalapeno vodka, which she thought would be a perfect complement to her meal.
“Speaking of a poor excuse, Gram, Aunt Helen filled me in on what Sloan uncovered today, and I have to say I can’t understand why a twenty-year-old woman still in college would want to get married and then go to Europe without her husband. What kind of honeymoon is that?”
“The relaxing kind,” Helen quipped.
The microwave beeped four times and Alberta opened the door greeted by a wave of steam and the smell of a home-cooked meal. Alberta inhaled deeply and thought without any ego that she was quite a good cook. Much better than Chef Sushi. Or even Sous Chef Sushiwa.
“You have to remember it was a different time, lovey,” Alberta said, pouring the contents of the bowl onto a plate. “Even when Sharon was in school, women were still conditioned that the most important thing in the world was to get married. Maybe she wanted to seal the deal before she went away to Europe and David met someone else.”
“I guess so,” Jinx reluctantly agreed. “But if my fi-ancé can’t wait a few months for me to get back from a trip overseas before moving on to someone else, he doesn’t deserve me.”
“I hope you remember that when Freddy proposes,” Alberta replied, chewing ravenously.
“Gram! Freddy’s not going to propose!”
“Maybe not tomorrow, but trust me he will,” she said. “I can tell when a man is interested, and Freddy is very interested.”
“What do you think, Aunt Helen?”
“Don’t look at me, I was a nun for most of my life.”
Alberta replied so quickly she practically choked on her food, “Why do you only hide behind the nun card when it’s convenient for you to avoid answering a question?”
“Because if the Lord can work in mysterious ways, so can I.”
Laughing, Jinx replied, “I have no idea if I even want Freddy to propose, but if he and I can have as much fun as the two of you, I’ll gladly accept.”
“Marriage can be a beautiful thing, Jinx,” Alberta said, her tone becoming very serious. “Make sure it’s the right decision and you’ll only have to do it once.”
“Unlike Sharon,” Jinx replied. “I just can’t help but think there’s more to why she got married when she did.”
* * *
Even though it was Sunday, Jinx couldn’t push the idea of Sharon and David Basco getting married right before she left the country to finish her studies out of her head so she went into work for a few hours to see if she could uncover any more clues in an old copy of The Herald. The chronology leading up to Sharon’s marriage just didn’t make sense to her, and it had more to do with the fact that she and Sharon were from different generations. They were still both women, after all, and even if they were separated by a few decades there should still be a common denominator connecting them to help Jinx understand why she would have made what Jinx considered to be such an inappropriate decision.
When she found an old issue from the time right before Sharon was to embark on her trip to study abroad, Jinx found the link. She immediately called Alberta on her cell phone and asked her if she was with Helen.
“Yes, we’re in the ShopRite doing some grocery shopping,” Alberta said. “I got a craving for shrimp parmigiana, and I used up all the mozzarella making an omelet for breakfast this morning.”
“We’ll discuss better eating habits later, Gram, for now look at the photo I just texted you.”
“Okay, hold on.”
Alberta pressed a few buttons on her phone and suddenly a photo from a newspaper clipping popped up on the screen. Immediately, Alberta recognized the young woman as Sharon. She looked very similar to how she appeared in her high school yearbook photo except that she had adopted a less radical hairstyle and was wearing less garish makeup.
“She looks so much prettier in this picture,” Alberta said.
“Maybe it’s because she’s glowing,” Jinx replied.
It took Alberta a moment to realize what Jinx was referring to, but when she looked at the photo closer she saw a slight bulge in Sharon’s belly, the unmistakable beginning of a baby bump.
“Ah Madon, of course!” Alberta cried. “She left town because she was pregnant.”
“Exactly!” Jinx shouted on the other end. “I knew there had to be a reason for why she got married so quickly and then hightailed it to Europe. She didn’t want anyone to know she got knocked up before her wedding.”
Alberta enlarged the photo slightly causing it to get a little blurry and asked, “Who’s the woman in the background?”
“I don’t know,” Jinx said. “Could be a teacher, but she could’ve just been standing around and got caught in the photo by mistake.”
Helen grabbed the phone from Alberta’s hand to look at the photo herself. She didn’t know who the woman was, but she immediately knew who the other person was in the photo standing next to Sharon.
“Don’t you recognize who the man is standing next to Sharon?” Helen asked.
“No, Aunt Helen, who is it?”
Alberta looked at the photo one more time and she made the sign of the cross when she realized who it was. “Un’immagine vale più di mille parole.”
“A picture might be worth a thousand words, Berta,” Helen corrected. “But this one is worth two: Father Sal.”
“The young priest in the photo is Father Sal?” Jinx screamed.
Staring back at them from the photograph standing next to a visibly pregnant Sharon was a young priest who was the spitting image of Father Sal.
“Do you know anyone else who can look so smug wearing a priest’s collar?” Helen asked. She handed the phone back to Helen. Jinx was still jabbering excitedly on the other end of the line. “And tell her that I already know what she’s going to say. It’s time for Sister Helen to go back to church.”
CHAPTER 19
Le mani inattive sono il giocattolo del diavolo.
Sitting in the last pew of St. Winifred’s Church next to Helen, Jinx was happy she had decided to retire playing the role of Sister Maria to hoodwink Father Sal into being more cooperative when disclosing confidential information. Masquerading as a novitiate in a priest’s private office was one thing, doing
it in a real church was borderline sacrilegious. And what a church it was.
St. Winifred’s Church was a large structure, built in 1932 during the Great Depression when money was scarce, but it was also a time of need when people craved answers, and religious institutions were never more popular than during times of natural or man-made disasters when the world seemed to be imploding all around. Somehow money was found to build an impressive house of worship.
Twenty white steps about thirty feet wide led up to the entrance to the church flanked on both sides by a sturdy gold railing. Double walnut-stained doors opened up to the church foyer, a small, enclosed space that housed a community bulletin board, various other marketing materials extoling the virtues of the Vatican, a bathroom, and a stairwell leading downstairs to the basement where bingo and various other functions were held.
Separating the foyer from the church proper was a panel of floor-to-ceiling soundproof windows with two glass doors on both sides. This allowed for the grandeur of the church to be witnessed from the foyer—or even the steps outside if the double doors were opened—without the outside world interfering with the inside ceremony.
The church itself was simple, yet majestic. Two long rows of pews, made from the same walnut as the doors, took up most of the interior space. They were beautifully crafted but without ornament or detail; their presence like the church itself was to serve. Their beauty, however, was enhanced by the ornate quality of the marble floor, a swirl of grays, whites, and blacks that created the image of a whirlpool or clouds in the heavens moments before an apocalyptic storm. The strong, sturdy pews among such a turbulent landscape served as a metaphor for the Catholic Church—that even during the most trying of times, when salvation seemed futile, hope was never lost.
Large stained glass windows depicting the stations of the cross decorated both sides of the church allowing for light to flicker in, but to create serenity, rather than sight. Who needed to see when God’s light was leading the way?
The platform that housed the altar was about a foot above the marble floor, stained a lighter shade than the pews, and the paneling around the curved walls behind the altar were even lighter in color, almost blending into the pale gray ceiling. This was perhaps to indicate an ethereal quality, the closer to the heavens, the less burdened by earthly goods.
The altar itself, however, was a pure example of man’s talent. A thick slab of ivory resting on legs of twisted gold that appeared to drill themselves right into the platform and down into the earth below. The ivory surface was bare except in its center where it was split by a long red cloth that fell to the floor on both sides and cascaded down a few steps leading to the audience. On top of the cloth lay the traditional accouterments, the chalice, bowl, bell, all made out of gold and polished to shine. Three standing gold candelabras in descending height adorned the edges of the altar with tall, thin white candles gracing their tops. It was a magnificent display and made even more dramatic given that the body of the church was more utilitarian than ostentatious.
Completing the church were two hollowed out enclaves on each side of the platform that housed white marble sculptures of the Pietà and St. Winifred, who was depicted as having a long narrow face; high, flat cheekbones; and swathed in a royal blue head covering. Fresh flowers in an array of bright colors were laid at the feet of both carvings as a sign of devotion.
And in the center of it all was Father Sal.
His jet black hair was a beautiful complement to his green vestments, his outstretched arms gave his physical appearance both an embracing and a foreboding quality, but it was his voice that kept his parishioners enthralled. His deep baritone boomed throughout the church, and Jinx was surprised to find that she felt compelled to listen and, most shockingly, to agree with his words. She was hardly a devout Catholic, but hearing Father Sal speak outside of his office and in his more natural setting she wanted to become one.
Looking over at her Aunt Helen, Jinx realized she did not feel the same way.
Mouthing the words of the responsorial psalm, “The Lord is compassion and love,” Jinx got the distinct impression that her aunt no longer believed that sentiment to be true. Unlike Alberta, Jinx hadn’t spent much time wondering why Helen had left the convent she spent so much of her life in, and like most young women was more astonished that a young woman would devote herself to such a life of subservience. Bowing her head in shame, Jinx realized that she had been quite narcissistic in her thoughts and hadn’t truly considered how difficult a decision it must have been for Helen to, in essence, turn her back on the church, or the depth of pain her aunt could be feeling returning to a place she once revered in order to play amateur detective.
“Aunt Helen, do you want to leave?” Jinx whispered.
Helen turned to Jinx and even the thick lenses of her glasses couldn’t hide her gratitude. “No,” she replied, “but thank you for asking.”
The mass continued and Jinx listened intently, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember who the Corinthians were that Paul had written a letter to; she made a mental note to google that later on. Right after Father Sal wrapped things up because she didn’t want to miss a word he had to say.
He stood up from the wooden chair he was sitting on against the back wall behind the altar and walked to the pulpit, the sleeves of his robe flowing behind him.
Standing in front of the podium Sal stood still for a moment. It looked as if he was collecting his thoughts and surveying his domain, but Jinx knew that it was to allow his domain to survey him. People flocked to church during times of crisis, and with two murders in less than a month the townsfolk of Tranquility were suffering. It was Father Sal’s job to help them heal.
“Death becomes him. And he becomes death,” Sal said. The cryptic opening lines of his homily resulted in the exact response he was hoping for, stunned silence. “It doesn’t matter if you capitalize the h in ‘he’ or keep it lowercase, the result is the same. Human beings or Jesus Christ, we all become death and death becomes us. No matter how hard we try to avoid it, we fail because death is inevitable. We can fight it, rail against it, ignore it, curse it, court it, but nothing will change and the only thing we can do is accept it. Death is part of life. Just as life is part of death.
“What’s the old saying? Resistance is futile. We all know that and yet we continue to try. We try because we often don’t understand why a good man like Jonas Harper—quiet, gentle, harmless—who lived his whole life here in Tranquility, would be killed. What did he ever do in his lifetime to deserve an exit like that? Or Kichiro Miyahara. Who was even younger, a policeman, a defender of the people in this town, how could God possibly allow him to be shot down in his youth? It makes no sense. To us. But it makes Godsense if you try to stop thinking like yourself and think like Him. We have given death power. We have allowed it to be synonymous with an ending, the end of life, the disruption of everything good, everything we desire and need and want instead of what it really is: a gift from God. God giveth and God shall taketh away. He gives each and every one of us life, stands back so we can freely live that life, and then returns to offer us death, which is just another way to say everlasting life. So turn death on its head, look at it from a different angle, and instead of looking at it through angry, tear-stained eyes, you might look at it and smile and see it for what it truly is: God’s love and his promise of a life unbroken and eternal.”
When Father Sal finished, the only sound that could be heard was the click of his heels against the floor until the clapping began. Jinx was stunned at first to realize that the applause was started by Helen, then mortified when several members of the congregation turned to gape at Helen for her blatant display of public disrespect, but finally a feeling of pride came over Jinx when the rest of the parishioners joined in and kept the clapping going for a full minute.
* * *
Ten minutes after mass, Helen knocked on Father Sal’s office door with Jinx by her side.
“Come in,” he shoute
d from the other side of the closed door.
When they entered they saw that Sal had already changed out of his robes and was wearing a normal outfit of black pants, black long-sleeved shirt, and white priest collar. The only indication that Sal was not a typical priest was the burgundy bedroom slippers with a lamb’s wool lining he was sporting. What was even weirder to Sal, though, was seeing Jinx once again not dressed in her Sister Maria garb. But only because he had enjoyed the charade.
“Jinx,” Sal said. “I have to say I am disappointed in your attire.”
Quickly surveying her outfit, Jinx didn’t think there was anything wrong with wearing jeans, a mohair sweater, and ankle boots to church, but maybe today was a special occasion that she had forgotten about. “I’m sorry Father Sal, are jeans not really allowed?”
“Jeans are fine for Jinx,” Sal said. “But Sister Maria normally adopts a more conservative wardrobe.”
Startled, Jinx didn’t immediately realize Sal had called her by her fake ecclesiastical name until Helen pointed it out.
“Looks like the gig is up, sis.”
“Holy Stefani Germanotta!” Jinx cried.
“Who?” Helen asked.
Before Jinx could explain, Father Sal interrupted, “Lady Gaga, of course. Helen, you may be old, but you really need to get with the times.”
“There is absolutely no reason why a priest should know who Lady Gaga is,” Helen retorted.
“And there is absolutely no reason why a former nun should be in cahoots with Sister Fraudulenta here.”
“Oh . . . oh my . . .” Jinx stammered, her cheeks flushing and growing a deep red. “I’m so sorry, Father, I never meant you or the church any disrespect.”
“No offense was taken,” Sal assured, chuckling. “On the contrary, I’m flattered you’d go to the trouble of impersonating one of us merely to acquire information. It speaks of your dedication to uncovering the injustices of the world.”
“Did you know it was me when I saw you in Nola’s cell without my disguise?”
“Yes, but that wasn’t what gave you away,” Sal confessed. “I had already figured out Sister Maria wasn’t a real Sister.”
