Nora Roberts - Sacred Sins

“They’re turning my apartment building into condos, so I have to get married?”

“That’s the system. Let’s ask an unbiased party.” Ben leaned over to the woman beside him. “Excuse me, but do you believe with today’s social and economic climate that two can live as cheaply as one? In fact, considering the buying power of a two-income family, that two can almost always live more cheaply than one?”

The woman set down her spritzer and gave Ben a considering look. “Is this a pickup?”

“No, this is a random poll. They’re turning my partners apartment into a condo.”

“The dirty bastards did the same thing to me. Now it takes me twenty minutes on the Metro to get to work.”

“You have a job?”

“Sure. I manage Women’s Better Dresses at Woodies.”

“Manage?”

“That’s right.”

“Here you go, Ed.” Ben leaned toward him. “Your future bride.”

“Have another drink, Ben.”

“You’re blowing a perfect opportunity. Why don’t we switch places so you can…” He trailed off as he spotted the man approaching their table. Instinctively he straightened in his chair. “Evening, Monsignor.”

Ed turned and saw Logan just behind him, wearing a gray sweater and slacks. “Nice to see you again, Monsignor. Want to squeeze in?”

“Yes, if I’m not interrupting.” Logan managed to draw a chair up to the corner of the table. “I called the station and they told me you’d be here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ben ran a finger up and down the side of his glass. “What can we do for you, Monsignor?”

“You can call me Tim.” Logan signaled to the waitress. “I think that would make us all more comfortable. Bring me a St. Pauli Girl, and bring another round for my associates.” Logan glanced over as the piano player went into one of Billy Joel’s ballads. “I don’t have to ask if you two have had a hard day. I’ve been in contact with Dr. Court, and I had a brief discussion with your captain a couple of hours ago. You’re trying to pin down a Francis Moore.”

“Trying’s the word.” Ed pushed aside his empty plate so the waitress would clear it when she served the drinks.

“I knew a Frank Moore. Used to teach in seminary down here. Old school. Unshakable faith. The kind of priest I imagine you’re more accustomed to, Ben.”

“Where is he?”

“Oh, in God’s light, I’m sure.” He picked up a handful of nuts. “He died a couple of years ago. Bless you, child,” Logan said when his beer was in front of him. “Now old Frank wasn’t a raving fanatic, he simply wasn’t flexible. Today we have a lot of young priests who question and search, who debate such horny-you should forgive the pun-issues as celibacy and a woman’s right to give the sacraments. It was easier for Frank Moore, who saw things in black and white. A man of the cloth doesn’t lust for wine, women, or silk underwear. Cheers.” He lifted his glass and drained what was left of the beer. “I’m telling you this because I thought I might tug on a few connections, talk to some people who would remember Frank and some of the students under him. I did some counseling at the seminary myself, but that was nearly ten years ago.”

“We’ll take what we can get.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled, I think I’ll have another beer.” He caught the waitress’s eye, then turned back to smile at Ben. “How many years of Catholic school?”

Ben dug for his cigarettes. “Twelve.”

“The whole route. I’m sure the good sisters gave you an admirable foundation.”

“And a few good shots across the knuckles.”

“Yes, bless them. They aren’t all Ingrid Bergmans.” No.

“I don’t have much in common with Pat O’Brien myself.” Logan hefted his fresh beer. “Of course, we’re both Irish. Lecheim.”

“Father Logan-Tim,” Ed quickly corrected. “Can I ask you a religious question?”

“If you must.

“If this guy, any guy, came to you in the confessional and told you he’d done someone, murdered someone, would you turn him in?”

“That’s a question I can answer equally as a psychiatrist and as a priest. They’re aren’t many.” He studied his beer a moment. There were times when Logan’s superiors considered him too flexible, but his faith in God and in his fellow man was unwavering. “If someone who had committed a crime came to me in the confessional, or sought my professional help, I would do my best to persuade him to turn himself in.”

“But you wouldn’t push the button?” Ben persisted.

“If someone came to me as a doctor, or seeking absolution, they’d be looking for help. I’d see that they got it. Psychiatry and religion don’t always see eye to eye. In this case they do.”

There was nothing Ed liked better than a problem with more than one solution. “If they don’t see eye to eye, how can you do both?”

“By struggling to understand the soul and the mind-in many ways, seeing them as one in the same. You know, as a priest I could argue the subject of creation for hours, I could give you viable reasons why Genesis stands solid as a rock. As a scientist I could do precisely the same thing with evolution and explain why Genesis is a beautiful fairy tale. As a man I could sit here and say, what the hell difference does it make, we’re here.”

“Which do you believe?” Ben asked him. He preferred one solution, one answer. The right answer.

“That depends, in a matter of speaking, on what suit I’m wearing.” He took a long drink and realized if he had a third beer, he’d be pleasantly buzzed. While enjoying the second, he began to look forward to the third. “Unlike what old Francis Moore used to teach, there are no blacks and whites, Ben, not in Catholicism, not in psychiatry, and certainly not in life. Did God create us out of his goodness and generosity, and perhaps a sense of the ridiculous? Or did we invent God because we have a desperate, innate need to believe in something larger, more powerful, than ourselves? I argue with myself often.” He signaled for another round.

“None of the priests I knew ever questioned the order of things.” Ben swallowed the rest of his vodka. “It was right or it was wrong. Usually it was wrong and you had to pay for it.”

“Sin in its infinite variety. The Ten Commandments were very clear. Thou shalt not kill. Yet we’ve been warriors since before we could speak. The Church doesn’t condemn the soldier who defends his country.”

Ben thought of Josh. Josh had condemned himself. “To kill one-to-one is a sin. To drop a bomb, with an American flag on it, on a village, is patriotic.”

“We are ridiculous creatures, aren’t we?” Logan said comfortably. “Let me use a more simplistic example of interpretation. I had a young student a couple of years ago, a bright young woman who, I’m embarrassed to say, knew her bible better than I could ever hope to. She came to me one day on the question of masturbation.” He turned a little in his chair and jogged the waitress’s elbow. “Excuse me, dear.” He turned back. “She had a quote, I’m sure I won’t get it quite right, but it had to do with it being better that a man cast his seed into the belly of a whore than to spill it onto the ground. A pretty strong stand, one might say, against, ah, self-servicing.”

“Mary Magdalene was a whore,” Ed mumbled as the booze began to catch up with him.

“So she was.” Logan beamed at him. “In any case, my student’s point was that the female has no seed to cast anywhere or to spill on the ground. Therefore, it must only be a sin to masturbate if you’re a male.”

Ben remembered a couple of sweaty, terrifying sessions during puberty. “I had to say the whole damn rosary,” he muttered.