The Secret of Fatima (3 page)

“Sorry, Kevin,” she said. “I'm an attorney, you know. That's what I do. It comes naturally. I know, I know—I sound like my Bosnian mother.”

Oops. Kevin had ruffled her feathers. Katie was the product of a combative Croatian father and a willful, dominant Bosnian mother. The combination had produced the relentlessly inquisitive, chirpy Katie.

“I'll take you to the airport, okay?” Katie said.

“Sure, that'd be great.”

As he hoisted his suitcase from the depths of the closet, Kevin reminded himself that theirs was, by any measure, an unusual friendship. She, a high-powered attorney; he, a Catholic priest. She, so much in and of this world; he, more often in the next. What a bizarre combination! People raised eyebrows and … well, probably with good reason.

Kevin often thought about how they'd met. Both had been undergraduate students at Georgetown University in Washington. Kevin had been newly initiated to the Jesuit way of life, the teachings of St. Ignatius Loyola, and the Jesuits' special way of defending their teachings. Reading the theologians, he'd felt, for the first time in his life, connected. Empowered.

Given his early indifference to the church and its teachings, Kevin's gradual connection later in college to the Jesuit mystique surprised him. Kevin's parents, devout Catholics, had dragged him to Mass on Sunday. They'd enrolled him in a Catholic high school. But at that time nothing theological was sticking. It wasn't so much that he disbelieved, as he deemed the stuff of religion just plain dull and impractical. That is, until he matriculated at Georgetown and discovered for himself the lot of scintillating philosophers and theologians.

Only a Jesuit institution of higher learning offers an assortment of esoteric courses, in epistemology, ontology, and logic. It's all about wild gossamer journeys into abstract spheres. There, in one of these lofty philosophy classes, Kevin first set eyes on Katie. A beauty by any discerning eye, her auburn hair flowed to her shoulders, framing a sculpted face. Kevin always thought that if Katie's face were plastered on the cover of a girly magazine, it'd sell a zillion copies. It was a face to sink a zillion hearts. Yet it wasn't her looks alone driving Kevin toward her.

On campus, in classes, Katie had become famous for her aggressive questions. At every chance imaginable in philosophy and religion classes, Katie would take upon herself to challenge time-honored Catholic teachings. Kevin often revisited an early incident. It was pure Katie.

The professor in the class, a middle-aged Irish Jesuit, already had covered the concept of the Holy Trinity. The Holy Trinity should be thought of as one: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and they should be thought of as equal to one another.

Hearing this, Katie shot her hand up immediately. “So Father, if the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are equal, we must assume they look the same, right? If I were to accost them, how would I tell them apart?”

Audible muffled hoots filled the room, but the earnest student asking the question wasn't amused. She was dead serious.

The professor laughed. “Ah, my dear Katie,” the priest said in a lilting Irish brogue. “I often wonder if the Good Lord sent you to me as punishment for some long-forgotten transgressions in the old country … so be it.” The priest made an exaggerated sign of the cross while the class again erupted in laughter.

Katie would have the final word. “I meant no disrespect, Father,” Katie said, smiling. “Aren't the Jesuits known for having all the answers?”

“Indeed, Katie. It's a legend we've worked hard to propagate.” Lowering his head in a moment of reflection, the priest continued. “With respect to the Trinity, they're equal but also separate and different. Were you to accost them, as you suggest, you'd relate differently to each. That's how you'd know them apart.”

After class, having heard this amusing vignette, Kevin made a point of introducing himself and suggesting they go for a cup of coffee. They chatted for a while about school, Washington, friends. Wanting to know more about her, Kevin started asking questions about her childhood and her interests. At first elusive, it didn't take long before they were comfortable with each other. Soon she was opening up.

“My parents were born in what was then Yugoslavia,” she said. “After Tito died, the country fell apart and broke down into sectarian conflicts. I was a kid. My older brother and I were frightened and my mom wanted us to get out of there.”

“Did your family move to the U.S.?” Kevin asked.

Katie's expression saddened. “I wish they had,” she said. After a moment she looked up. “Have you ever heard of a town called Vukovar, Kevin?”

Kevin thought for a moment and shook his head. “Don't think so.”

“It's a town in Croatia. That criminal Milosevic invaded it in 1991. His army should have won the battle in a few hours. Instead, the townies wanted to fight. My dad was one of their leaders. Against all odds, they held the town for a long time against the much larger Serbian Army.”

Kevin wanted to ask the gruesome details of what had happened, but hesitated. Katie read his mind.

“They were massacred, Kevin. All of them. Massacred. Then they were buried in mass graves. Oh, there's an impressive memorial in the town.” She sounded more angry than sad.

“I'm sorry, Katie. I don't know what else to say.”

“Well, all my life it's been an issue for me. At that time, in the town, my dad was a hero. But the price was too high; it cost me a father. Never have I forgiven him for that.” She turned to face Kevin and smiled. “How the hell did you get me to talk about something I hate talking about? You are devious, Mr. Thrall.”

“Not me, Katie. You want to talk about it. And it's good for you. Helps with the pain,” Kevin said, smiling back. There was something about this hot-headed rabble-rouser diva that was getting to him.

They got to talking about their dreams for the future. Katie expressed interest in law school. Kevin said his post-graduation plans already were in place and spoken for: he was enrolled in ROTC. After college, military service.

And it seemed they both weren't far off from what transpired. As the years unfolded, Katie enrolled at Georgetown Law. Kevin, a freshly minted U.S. Army second lieutenant, went first to Ft. Benning, Georgia, for infantry training; then to Airborne and Ranger School, then a combat unit in Iraq. Kevin's army stint, however, ended badly. Understandably, after that, he wouldn't revisit it often.

Before graduating, Kevin and Katie had become more than friends. It started one evening when Kevin invited Katie to dinner at his place in upper Georgetown, offering to cook for her. Apologetically, he explained his apartment was small, a studio. Katie was charmed and undeterred, teasing that she'd go anywhere to have a smooth cowboy cook for her.

True, his efficiency apartment was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But it was cozy. He was cooking his specialty, shrimp scampi with linguini. Well, not so much a specialty; it was the only dish he cooked with any confidence. Wanting everything to be just right, Kevin picked up a couple bottles of Chianti. As his pièce de résistance, he'd stopped by the Catania Bakery for a tiramisu, Katie's favorite. When they'd gone out for Italian, she'd always ordered it. To add to the deliciously smoky ambiance, he lit a couple of candles on his wobbly card table.

When she walked through the door, he'd known it'd be a special evening. She looked radiant. As she turned her head, her shoulder-length hair would tumble over her oval brown eyes and full lips. On that night, instead of her loose-fitting student garb, Katie had opted for a black knit dress accentuating her curves, showing off endlessly long legs.

“Oh, this is nice,” Katie cooed. She'd not been to his apartment, though on a few occasions she'd invited herself. She flung her small black Kate Spade backpack on a chair.

“Would you care for the VIP tour?” Kevin joked, brandishing his hands in the air.

Kevin's stomach was in somersaults. He was jittery. This was just Katie.
No big deal
. They were the best of friends.

“If you'd like me to get lost while you're cooking, I brought homework,” Katie said, pointing at the backpack.

“Uh, not what I had in mind,” he said.

“Me neither.” She beamed. “But I stirred things up in Catholic Theology class today.”

“Really? Big surprise,” Kevin said, smiling.

“No, this is serious. We were analyzing The Lord's Prayer. It's the one that Jesus himself wrote, right?”

Kevin wasn't sure where she was going with this one, but on this evening, wrestling around God-riddles wasn't what he'd hoped for.

“OK,” Katie continued, looking up through the ceiling as if to the heaven beyond. “I have a real problem with the line: ‘Lead us not into temptation.'”

“And that would be …?”

“Why must we implore God
not
to lead us into temptation? Is He so mean-spirited that unless we call him on it, he'll say: ‘Oh there's Kevin down there. Let's throw some temptation his way, see how he handles it?”'

Kevin laughed. “You might have a point, Katie. An idiotic one, but a point.”

“Don't patronize me, Kevin. Assuming Jesus wrote this, what the hell did he have in mind? The prayer says: ‘Lead us not into temptation.' So writing it, was Jesus saying, ‘Father, please stop hurdling these bolts of temptation before us mortals. We're pathetic and can't handle it.'”

“Katie, let's cover this another evening or maybe leave it to the theologians to worry about. I'm only an occasional cook, don't want to burn dinner.”

Katie grimaced good-humoredly, then reached for the girly backpack.

“I brought you something,” she said, hiding her hands behind her back. Her arm swished around with a flourish. “Here!” she said coyly.

Kevin accepted the small box from her, wrapped and topped with a bow with a wide grosgrain sun-yellow ribbon.

“Open it.”

Carefully Kevin unwrapped the package, peeking inside as he did. He smiled broadly. “A Mickey Mouse watch? Ha!” The watch had a gold frame, a black leather band, and Mickey's gloved hands pointing to the hours and minutes.

“Turn it over,” Katie said, smiling.

Kevin did as she asked, wondering what'd possessed her. He turned it over. On the back there was a personalized inscription. “Don't Take Yourself Too Seriously. Love, Katie.”

Kevin stared at it for a few moments, beaming. “Thanks, Katie. How kind of you.”

And then he thought the irony of this gesture was that on this special evening, at least, it was Katie who was taking things too seriously.

“The real reason for this early birthday gift is that you're a serious guy, Kevin. And I want this silly watch to be a constant reminder to you that there are many ways to see things in life. Now get on with our dinner. I'm famished.”

“This is absolutely divine,” Katie said, heaping what she realized was an unladylike portion of the linguini onto her plate. “I'm impressed, Kevin. You can cook.”

“There's tiramisu for dessert.”

“What? You made that?”

“It's tempting to say, yes, of course I did, which would lead me to chastise you, my darling, for leading me into temptation!” Reaching for the garlic bread, Kevin hoped she wouldn't take umbrage. He was tempted to go on about the temptations in our daily lives, his sermon in the studio—but he stopped himself. He was pleased with himself for steering past disaster and catching himself. He'd already said enough. He'd softened the mood and calmed the beast. “No, bought it from a little bakery down the street.”

“I'm sure I'll love it,” she said, laughing.

Kevin opened the second Chianti. She accepted it gladly. Not wanting the night to end, Kevin said, “How about watching a movie with me?”

“Sure,” she said. “What is it?”

“
A Man and a Woman
. It's a French film by Claude LeLouche. It's romantic with beautiful scenes of Normandy. Music by Francis Lai. I think you'll like it.”

“Didn't it win a Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, way back when?” she asked.

“You know it?” Kevin was surprised. The film was released in 1966. Not many remember it.

“I'm a film buff,” Katie said. “For a second, I thought you'd produce the likes of the more subtle
Casablanca
.”

Kevin smiled. “Lucky I didn't. I could have. Then you've seen
A Man and a Woman
?”

“No, but I've always been meaning to,” she said.

“Awesome,” he said. Kevin refilled their wineglasses and started the DVD. Katie gently kicked off her heels, folding one leg beneath her, patting the seat beside her. Kevin sat down, kicking off his shoes as well.

Nursing the wine, watching the movie, they quipped back and forth, commenting on this scene and that, enjoying themselves. During a romantic moment, Katie's eyes filled with tears. Kevin put his arm around her. She didn't resist, and snuggled closer, her head nestled on his shoulder.

Finally emboldened, Kevin leaned over and kissed her, tentatively at first, then passionately. As his hand moved up her back, Katie sat up. Taking a deep breath, she laid a tender hand on Kevin's face.

“Well, Kevin, it seems we've hit a crossroads. It's no longer about temptation. Now it's about brushing temptation aside. Mortal Sin, anyone?”

He looked at her quizzically, loosening his grip, as if to say: I don't get it.

“I think you know.” She stood up. “Let me make this easy for both of us. Yes, I care about you, and yes, I'm dead set on staying over tonight.”

Kevin smiled. Katie turned to him and gracefully stepped out of her dress. It wasn't long before they moved, in a lingering embrace, from the sofa to his bed in the corner of the room. Soon thereafter this spot would become their regular soul sanctuary. After this sensual evening, there were more to follow, nights of making love to the steady beat of French drums.
Bolero, anyone?