Chapter 14: Trinity

July 22, 1984, West Monroe, Ohio

When I drove up to my parents' house, I didn't see Liz's car, so I continued down the road and drove around for about ten minutes. I really didn't want to be grilled by my mom, and if Liz was there, I could avoid that uncomfortable conversation. All such a conversation could do would be to frustrate both my mom and me. When I drove by the house a few minutes later, Liz's car was in the driveway, so I backed my car into the driveway, parked, got out of the car, locked it, and went inside.

"Hi, Mikey!" Liz exclaimed, jumping up to hug me.

"Hi," I replied.

I greeted my mom and dad, got myself a Coke from the fridge, and sat down in the living room.

"When will you receive your test scores?" Mom asked.

"In a week or two," I replied. "Clarissa and I both received letters asking us to schedule interview dates at McKinley Medical School."

"What does that mean?" Liz asked.

"That they like our applications. They'll need to see our MCAT scores, and we have to pass the interview, and then we'll be accepted."

"What kind of questions do they ask?" Dad inquired.

"Everything from why I want to be a doctor to why that school to what I feel a doctor's responsibility to society is, and anything they feel is relevant to decide if I'm going to make it through medical school."

"You could have perfect grades and whatever is a top score on the test and still not get into medical school?" Liz asked.

"That's entirely possible. Just as you can go through medical school and not Match and not be able to find a Residency spot. Those are interview-based as well."

"What would you do?"

"I don't think getting into medical school will be a problem," I replied. "My backup plan for Residency has always been the Army or Navy — preferably the Navy — if it came to that. I'd apply for a commission and a Residency spot. But I don't think that's going to be necessary, either."

I heard the timer in the kitchen, and Mom got up to get dinner on the table. I offered to help and followed her into the kitchen. About two minutes later, with a pot of savory stew, bread, and salad on the table, we called my dad and Liz to come eat. Liz waited until Mom served ice cream to drop her bomb.

"I'm dating Paul Reynolds, and we're going to get married," Liz said firmly.

The explosion was immediate. My dad's face went red, and I expected to see steam literally come out of his ears. I was afraid his eyeballs might actually pop out of his head.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" my dad demanded harshly. "YOU'LL DO NO SUCH THING!"

"I'm eighteen," Liz said calmly. "We're in love. We have been since I met him."

"HE RAPED YOU!" my dad exclaimed, becoming angrier by the second. "I'LL HAVE HIM ARRESTED AGAIN!"

"You can't rape the willing," Liz replied in a snarky tone.

If the explosion had been nuclear before, her response made it go thermonuclear.

"ELIZABETH PETRA LOUCKS! THE MAN RAPED YOU! AND I WILL MAKE SURE HE GOES BACK TO PRISON! I'M CALLING THE SHERIFF RIGHT NOW!"

He got up and moved towards the phone.

"Dad," I said calmly, "she's eighteen. The Sheriff can't do anything."

Which wasn't entirely accurate. I suspected if the fact that Liz was Paul's victim came out, it might cause difficulty with his parole, though I was reasonably sure it couldn't be revoked for dating Liz, based on what Melody had said. And all calling the Sheriff would do was ensure a permanent rupture in our family. It might cause trouble with Mr. Zhuravlyov, but Paul was doing his job dutifully, so I felt I could prevent the worst outcome.

"You stay out of this, Mike!" he said tersely, reaching for the phone.

"Dear," Mom said, "don't. Mike is right."

"HAVE YOU BOTH LOST YOUR MINDS?!" he screamed at us.

According to the limited physics I knew, there was nothing past thermonuclear, but I remembered what Oppenheimer had quoted — 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds', and that's where we were. I had to defuse the situation, if I could, if such an analogy even made sense after the bomb had gone off. My mom was calm, although I was sure she was holding in her emotions, and perhaps that was the solution.

"Dad," I said calmly, "let's go talk in your workshop and let Mom talk with Liz, please."

"THERE IS NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT!"

I took a deep breath, "Then let's go to your workshop, and you can scream at me as much as you feel you need to while Mom talks to Liz."

"Peter," Mom said lovingly, "Mike has a point."

Dad glared at Mom, but I could tell he was going to acquiesce. I got up, filled both our coffee cups, and walked out of the kitchen, heading to the basement. I put my dad's coffee cup on his workbench, then sat on the stool in the corner of the workshop to wait for him. He appeared about ten seconds later, his face still red and his eyes still bulging.

"You knew," he said harshly.

I had to be very careful how I answered to protect Liz, Paul, Mr. Zhuravlyov, and myself, though the others were far more important than I was.

"She told me what she was going to tell you today. When she told me, I told her dating Paul was a very, very bad idea. She didn't listen."

"And you didn't call us immediately? Just like before?"

I took a deep breath, "This time it was up to Liz."

"Is this what your mother suspected?" he demanded angrily.

"I have no idea what Mom suspected," I replied. "Liz and I have shared quite a few things since she turned eighteen. I wouldn't want her to reveal what I've told her any more than she would want me to reveal what she's told me. That would break trust. I was wrong three years ago, and I freely admit that. This is different because she's eighteen and living on her own."

"But when you couldn't talk her out of it, you should have said something!"

"To what end?" I asked, remaining as calm as I could. "A permanent rift between Liz and me? I can't do that."

"You know I'm going to find a way to put a stop to this, don't you?"

I took a deep breath and let it out, "I know that's your first response, but she's eighteen, and there isn't really anything you can do about it. And let's say you do find a way to stop it; how do you think Liz will react?"

"When she comes to her senses, she'll thank me for saving her from a CHILD MOLESTER!"

"Dad, I know what the law says and how you feel, but Liz doesn't see it that way."

"The psychologists said that's not uncommon, Mike! A girl who has been sexually abused will behave in ways that otherwise make no sense, and she'll think it's fine and normal. It's not fine, and it's not normal!"

"And you think screaming at her is going to change her mind?"

"And you think talking to me here is going to change MY mind?"

"No, I don't. But yelling and screaming accomplishes nothing. Calm, reasoned discussion, in love, is the only way."

Which was how I'd managed to bring Deacon Vasily down off the ceiling, but in some ways, this was worse because my dad wasn't a clergyman and wouldn't care what the rest of the congregation thought. And he wouldn't have to answer to the bishop the way Deacon Vasily would.

"And you think your mom will change Liz's mind?"

I shook my head, "No, I don't."

"As her parents, we have to put a stop to this, Mike."

"And if you do, that will be the end of any relationship you have with Liz, now or ever."

"You're just going to accept this? Let it happen?"

"I'm powerless to stop it. I recognize that fact, and I love Liz. To me, that presents a horrible dilemma. My choice to resolve the dilemma is to love Liz and do my best to help her, even when she doesn't follow my advice. That's who I am, and I really can't be anyone else. What I learned from what happened three years ago is that the family can get through anything if we love each other."

"You do realize there's a fundamental difference between getting through adversity and allowing a child molester to continue to abuse your sister, right?"

"I know that's how you see it," I replied carefully. "Liz sees it differently."

"And how do YOU see it?"

"I love Liz," I said. "And even when she makes bad decisions, I'll still love her. And I will always be there for her."

"And you would let this man into your home?"

"Would you reject your own grandchildren because you didn't approve of Liz's choice of husband? Punishing the children for the sin of their father? What if I were to marry someone of whom you disapproved?"

"You're playing philosophical games, Mike. It's pure sophistry to avoid what you KNOW to be the truth."

"The only thing I know for sure about any of this is that I love Liz. I'm sinful. She's sinful. Paul Reynolds is sinful. He went to prison for what he did. He'll answer to God for what he did. As a clergyman, even a minor order, my duty is to witness the Gospel and let my light shine in the world, as dim as it might be. I'm not sure what you want me to do."

"Help me put a stop to this!"

"What? Go to Dale's house and get my gun? Then you and I go find Paul and shoot him?"

"Don't be hyperbolic!"

"Am I? You went looking for my gun when you first heard about Paul. I had taken it to Dale's house because I was sure that would be your first reaction. And as much as I believe the Second Amendment gives us the right to own guns, as a clergyman and future doctor, I'm seeing firsthand why some people think nobody should have access to them, except the military and police."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"Kneecapping will send you to prison, too," I replied with a slight smile.

"I can't not take some kind of action."

"Call Mr. Winston and ask him," I replied. "At least then I won't have to come visit you in prison."

"What do you think should happen to Paul?"

"He served his time and is entitled to rebuild his life as best he can with a felony conviction, a divorce, and the loss of his son. I'd say he paid a heavy price already. And I believe everyone can be saved, Dad. Everyone."

"He can do that without abusing your sister!"

I took another deep breath and let it out.

"I don't know what else to say except to plead with you to do whatever it is you think you need to do in love. That's how I'm going to move forward — loving Liz unequivocally."

"Thus, washing your hands of the whole situation."

I shook my head, "Not at all, but what I do will be informed, first and foremost, by that love."

"How long have you known?"

"Since Liz told me."

"That's not an answer!"

"It's the only one I choose to give at this point. I can't break faith with Liz. When she quit going to church, I became, in effect, her confessor. I know that's not theologically sound, but it is the role I'm playing. As such, I can't reveal her confidences."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it!"

"Is it? Do you tell Mom things you tell nobody else?"

"That's different! We're married."

"Would you expect Father Herman to tell you Mom's confessions?"

"You aren't a priest, Mike!"

"Obviously," I replied. "But, be that as it may, my role in Liz's life is as her confessor. She needs me for that, and I intend to do that for so long as she stays away from the Church. I pray, daily, that she'll return, but until she does, she needs me, and I will never abandon her or betray her."

I could only imagine the turmoil going through my dad's mind as he glared at me for almost two long minutes.

"I'm calmed down now, Mike. And given what you've said, I think this is best left to your mom and me."

"You stopped yelling, but you haven't calmed down," I replied. "Your face is just as red, and your heart is beating just as fast. And I can see it in your eyes — they have a look of 'hot death'. And I guarantee you that when I leave, Liz will leave."

"Why? Because she needs you to protect her from her parents?"

"No, because she needs my support and my love."

"It looks the same from where I'm standing."

I imagined it did. Despite over twenty years in the Church, my dad STILL had Calvinist sensibilities about many things, and in his eyes, Paul Reynolds was 'reprobate' and thus was on what AC/DC called a 'Highway to Hell,' and there were no exits, intersections, alternate routes, or places to make a U-turn by which Paul could escape his fate of eternal torment in Hell.

I, on the other hand, had meant it when I said I believed anyone could be saved right up to their last breath. That included Charles Manson and John Wayne Gacy, the most evil individuals I could think of who were still alive. And that belief was the source of my main objection to the death penalty — it denied both the individual and God the chance to 'work out his or her salvation in fear and trembling'.

I shrugged, "Either way, it is true that if I leave, she'll leave. She asked me here for a reason..."

"To run interference with me," he interrupted.

"To help her in her time of need," I replied. "But it is true that we both knew how you would react."

"With good reason!"

"I understand. And what I'm doing is trying to prevent this family from ripping itself apart at the seams."

"That's your mom's and my job as parents."

"Can the hand say to the foot, 'I have no need of you.'?" I asked.

"Yes, and it says he gave to some specific roles, and our role is as parents."

"And yet, in that role, you cannot say that you have no use for the son. Or the daughter."

"I'm done debating this with you, Mike," Dad said. "You've made it clear which side you've chosen."

I shook my head, "There are no sides. If we have to pick sides, then it's the end of our family."

I picked up my coffee cup and sipped because there really wasn't anything else to say. I wasn't going to change my dad's mind, and he wasn't going to change mine. Ultimately, everything would fall to my mom to convince my dad. I could convince HER if her talk with Liz was fruitless, but that would take some time.

When my dad didn't say anything for over a minute, I stood up.

"I'm going upstairs," I said.

He just stared at me, saying nothing, so I left his workshop and went upstairs, where I found my mom and Liz basically squared off in the kitchen, both looking intent and upset but talking in relatively hushed tones.

"Everything OK?" I asked.

"No, it's certainly not," my mom said. "I take it you calmed your father down."

"No. He's still fuming, but he's stopped screaming. Liz, are you OK?"

"I suppose. We're going around in circles."

"Same as Dad and me."

"You agree with Liz?" Mom asked.

"I told her I thought it was a bad idea, but when she persisted, all I could do was love her."

"How long have you known?"

"Since she told me," I replied. "Dad asked that question, and I could repeat the entire conversation if you want, but in the end, Liz asked for my confidence, and I agreed."

"It was before graduation," Mom said, stating it as fact, not asking a question.

"Mom," I said gently, "none of that matters. What matters now is how we handle this as a family."

"Something for your mother and me to decide," Dad said, coming into the kitchen.

"Then I suppose the thing for me to do is go back to McKinley and wait to hear from you."

Liz stood up, "And I'm going back to Rutherford. Mom, Dad, I'm not changing my mind. This is what I want. This is what I've wanted since I met Paul."

"Elizabeth, sit down!" my dad ordered.

"No," she replied calmly but firmly.

She walked out of the kitchen, ignoring my dad's calls for her to come back, and I followed her out the front door to the driveway.

"Grant Park?" she asked. "Please?"

I nodded and got into my car while she got into hers, and we drove to Grant Park. We parked side by side, and when she got out of her car, she sprinted around to where I was standing and flung herself into my arms, sobbing. I let her cry for the best part of ten minutes, then got the pack of tissues I kept in my glove box and let her blow her nose and wipe her eyes and cheeks.

"What did Mom say?" I asked.

"What didn't she say?" Liz sighed. "That I needed counseling. That Paul abused me and was continuing to abuse me. That I was acting out of rebellion. That I was acting out of spite. She tried every possible argument. She's not going to budge, Mike."

"Let things go for a few days, and I'll try to talk to Mom."

"What if they call the Sheriff?"

"And say what? That their eighteen-year-old daughter is dating a twenty-eight-year-old man? That he's a convicted felon? They can't do anything. The one issue would be the Parole Officer, but Paul told him about your breakfasts, as well as the date last weekend. I asked my friend Melody to check, and there is nothing illegal about what he's doing. She said her uncle, the attorney, told her this kind of thing happens fairly often with statutory rape cases. My concern is Mr. Zhuravlyov, but I can speak with him. You know his notions about teenage girls!"

Liz laughed softly, despite her tears, "If he could get away with it, he'd be chasing every teenage girl in the church!"

"I believe Mrs. Zhuravlyova has that issue firmly in hand."

"Or somewhere else!" Liz smirked. "Those old Russian women keep their husbands' balls in jars next to their beds!"

"Not just the old ones," I replied.

"What did Dad say?"

"Same as Mom, but more strident and more Calvinist. He was particularly offended when I said I wouldn't tell because I was, in effect, your confessor."

"You aren't a priest!" Liz objected.

"Which is exactly what Dad said. And yet, it's true that my role is as your confessor. You tell me everything, and you expect me to keep it completely to myself. I share everything with Clarissa, but only because you gave me express permission."

"She'd make the perfect wife for you, if only she weren't lesbian."

"Tell me something I don't already know," I replied.

"So now what?"