way to you, little brother?"
"Truth? It feels like Close Encounters to me," Neil admitted, at last putting into words the thought that neither he nor Molly had been willing to express. "But where it's ultimately going-who knows?"
"I know," Paul said, his voice firm and calm. "I've accepted with good will all the anguish, pain, and sorrow that might come."
Molly recognized his stilted words as a paraphrasing of Acceptance of Death, one of the Church's evening prayers.
She said, "It's not going to be like that, Paulie. There's something I don't know something positive about this, too."
"Molly, I love your sweet voice," Paul said. "Always the one to see a rainbow in a hurricane."
"Well life's taught me to be optimistic."
"You're right. Death is nothing to fear, is it? Just a new beginning."
"No, I don't mean that." She told him about the coyotes on the porch. "I walked among them. They were so docile. It was miraculous, Paul, exhilarating."
"I love you, Molly. You've been a godsend to Neil, made him happy, healed his soul. That first year, I said hurtful things-"
"Never," she disagreed.
Neil took her hand, squeezed it gently.
On the TV, in yet another city, no buildings were afire, but looters smashed store windows. The cascades of shattered glass glittered no more brightly than the spangled rain.
To Molly, Paul said, "This is no time for lies, kiddo. Not even the polite kind meant to spare feelings."
Initially Paul had not approved of their marriage. Over the years, however, he adjusted to it, eventually embraced it. He and Molly had become fast friends, and until now they had never spoken about his early antagonism.
She smiled. "All right, Father Paul, I confess. There were times you really pissed me off."
Paul laughed softly. "I'm sure God felt the same way. I asked His forgiveness long ago-and now I'm asking yours."
Her voice thickened. She wanted to hang up. She despaired over the inescapable implications of this conversation. They were saying goodbye. "Paulie you're my brother, too. You can't know how I treasure you."
"Oh, but I know. I do. And listen, kiddo, your last book would have made your mother proud."
"Sweet melody, good rhythm," she said, "but in the service of shallow observations."
"No. Stop beating yourself up. It rang with the same wisdom as Thalia's best work."
Tears blurred Molly's vision. "Remember this is no time for lies, Paulie."
"Haven't told any."
Silently, a rain-drenched, wild-eyed mob raced toward and past the TV camera. They appeared to be fleeing in terror from something.
From the phone, Paul said, "Listen I have to go. I don't think there's much time left."
"What's happening there?" Neil worried.
"I finished saying Mass a few minutes before you called. But not everyone gathered here is a Catholic, so they need a different kind of comforting."
On the screen, the cameraman was knocked over by the panicked throng. The point of view swung wildly, crashed down to pavement level, revealing running feet that splashed up luminous sprays from darkly jeweled puddles.
Holding tightly to the handset even though the speakerphone feature was engaged, as though he were keeping his brother on the line sheerly by the intensity of his grip, Neil said, "Paulie, what did you mean-the courthouse can be more easily defended? Defended from who?"
Interference distorted the reply incoming from Hawaii.
"Paulie? We didn't hear that. The line broke up a little. Who're you expecting to defend against?"
Although audible again, Paulie sounded as if he were speaking from the bottom of a deep pit. "These are mostly simple people, Neil. Their imaginations may be working overtime, or they might see what they expect to see rather than what
"Truth? It feels like Close Encounters to me," Neil admitted, at last putting into words the thought that neither he nor Molly had been willing to express. "But where it's ultimately going-who knows?"
"I know," Paul said, his voice firm and calm. "I've accepted with good will all the anguish, pain, and sorrow that might come."
Molly recognized his stilted words as a paraphrasing of Acceptance of Death, one of the Church's evening prayers.
She said, "It's not going to be like that, Paulie. There's something I don't know something positive about this, too."
"Molly, I love your sweet voice," Paul said. "Always the one to see a rainbow in a hurricane."
"Well life's taught me to be optimistic."
"You're right. Death is nothing to fear, is it? Just a new beginning."
"No, I don't mean that." She told him about the coyotes on the porch. "I walked among them. They were so docile. It was miraculous, Paul, exhilarating."
"I love you, Molly. You've been a godsend to Neil, made him happy, healed his soul. That first year, I said hurtful things-"
"Never," she disagreed.
Neil took her hand, squeezed it gently.
On the TV, in yet another city, no buildings were afire, but looters smashed store windows. The cascades of shattered glass glittered no more brightly than the spangled rain.
To Molly, Paul said, "This is no time for lies, kiddo. Not even the polite kind meant to spare feelings."
Initially Paul had not approved of their marriage. Over the years, however, he adjusted to it, eventually embraced it. He and Molly had become fast friends, and until now they had never spoken about his early antagonism.
She smiled. "All right, Father Paul, I confess. There were times you really pissed me off."
Paul laughed softly. "I'm sure God felt the same way. I asked His forgiveness long ago-and now I'm asking yours."
Her voice thickened. She wanted to hang up. She despaired over the inescapable implications of this conversation. They were saying goodbye. "Paulie you're my brother, too. You can't know how I treasure you."
"Oh, but I know. I do. And listen, kiddo, your last book would have made your mother proud."
"Sweet melody, good rhythm," she said, "but in the service of shallow observations."
"No. Stop beating yourself up. It rang with the same wisdom as Thalia's best work."
Tears blurred Molly's vision. "Remember this is no time for lies, Paulie."
"Haven't told any."
Silently, a rain-drenched, wild-eyed mob raced toward and past the TV camera. They appeared to be fleeing in terror from something.
From the phone, Paul said, "Listen I have to go. I don't think there's much time left."
"What's happening there?" Neil worried.
"I finished saying Mass a few minutes before you called. But not everyone gathered here is a Catholic, so they need a different kind of comforting."
On the screen, the cameraman was knocked over by the panicked throng. The point of view swung wildly, crashed down to pavement level, revealing running feet that splashed up luminous sprays from darkly jeweled puddles.
Holding tightly to the handset even though the speakerphone feature was engaged, as though he were keeping his brother on the line sheerly by the intensity of his grip, Neil said, "Paulie, what did you mean-the courthouse can be more easily defended? Defended from who?"
Interference distorted the reply incoming from Hawaii.
"Paulie? We didn't hear that. The line broke up a little. Who're you expecting to defend against?"
Although audible again, Paulie sounded as if he were speaking from the bottom of a deep pit. "These are mostly simple people, Neil. Their imaginations may be working overtime, or they might see what they expect to see rather than what
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