Chapter 30: Thank the Lord for Small Favors

August 17, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

"Remember, Kitten, you've won," I counseled just before we joined the rest of her family for our mid-day family dinner on Saturday.

"You don't have to remind me!" Elizaveta protested.

"It seems I do," I replied gently. "Just be as sweet as sugar with your mom."

My young wife rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Fine."

I let it go because, except for this one issue, Elizaveta was very mature. But when it came to her mother, she acted like a typical rebellious teenager despite no longer needing to rebel!

"Are you wearing your cassock?" she asked.

"No. I don't consider dinner with your family a 'public' situation."

As we were walking out the door, the phone rang, and I turned back to answer it.

"Mike, this is your grandfather."

"Hi, «Дедушка» (dedushka)," I replied. ("Grandpa")

"Your Grandfather Jonathan and I would like to see you tomorrow afternoon, if you're available."

"If 2:00pm would work, I can drive to Rutherford after I finish at the Cathedral. Elizaveta would be with me, so Grandpa Loucks can meet her, and then she can spend time with your wives."

"We'll go to the coffee shop across from Lou's."

"The Yolk's On You?"

"Yes, that one. Such a silly name!"

"See you at your house at 2:00pm," I said.

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up.

"We're going to my grandfather's house tomorrow," I said. "You can meet my Grandpa and Grandma Loucks and then hang out with my grandmothers while I have coffee with my grandfathers."

"Did he say anything?"

I shook my head, "No, just that he and my Grandpa Loucks wanted to see me."

"What do you think?"

I shrugged, "I think I don't know any more than I did before the phone rang. Let's go have dinner."

We left the cottage and went to the main house, where I joined Viktor, Geno, Joe, and my wife's grandfathers in Viktor's study while Elizaveta joined her mom and grandmothers in the kitchen. I accepted the before-dinner drink which was offered, and a few minutes later, we all went to the table to eat.

Elizaveta did as I asked and the meal was pleasant in addition to the food being very good. After dessert, the men drank coffee while the women cleaned up. I considered offering to help, but that wasn't the way things were done in my in-laws' home, and my goal was to do everything possible to keep the peace.

When the dishes were done, we all went outside to the garden and sat in the warm August sunshine with glasses of lemonade, and about an hour later, Elizaveta and I excused ourselves so we could run a few errands before Vespers.

"Do you think we'll be home tomorrow in time for our dinner with Mark and Alyssa?" Elizaveta asked as I pulled out of the driveway.

"I would suspect so," I replied. "If we're going to be late, you could always call from my grandparents' house. What did you plan for dinner?"

"A pot roast, so it will be in the slow cooker when we leave for the Cathedral. Do you think I should bring a dessert or something tomorrow? Cookies, maybe?"

"That probably wouldn't be a bad idea," I replied. "Grandpa Loucks is on the usual 'heart-healthy' diet, but that doesn't preclude a cookie or a piece of cake."

"Sorry; what's that?"

"Low fat, low cholesterol, high fiber."

"So, fasting food?"

"He can have meat; he just has to be careful about the fat. So, white meat chicken without the skin prepared in a way that doesn't add fats or oils, and fish, but bacon is right out."

"That sounds like torture!" Elizaveta giggled.

"We can't have bacon about half the days of the year," I replied.

"But we can the other half!"

"True. He also has to watch things like eggs and shrimp and other foods with high cholesterol. He'd also be told not to smoke nor drink, but he's never done either of those in his entire life."

"Don't they have the Eucharist in his church?"

"Not so that you'd notice," I replied. "I think they have a quarterly service, but it's not anything like ours, and they use grape juice."

"Grape juice? Why?"

"Because they've decided drinking alcohol is a sin."

"But Jesus drank!"

"No kidding. But as a rule, I don't discuss religion with my dad's parents. Unlike Reverend Saddler, I do need to keep a good relationship with them."

Well, I had actually done that because of the situation with my dad, but otherwise, I would never have broached the subject with Grandpa Loucks.

"You know, I don't really know much about other churches."

"I'll talk to Father Nicholas about doing a comparative religion unit during Sunday School."

"What's Jocelyn's church like?"

"Actually, not too different from ours in terms of how they do their services — their Liturgy of the Word and Liturgy of the Eucharist match our Liturgy of the Catechumens and Liturgy of the Faithful. Their vestments are simpler, and they don't have an icon screen, but they do have an altar rail, and only baptized Lutherans are allowed to receive communion."

"The wedding isn't like ours, though, right?"

"Right. They'll do the usual American thing, though there are some prayers similar to ours, and the readings might be the same, depending on what they choose."

"So it's not pre-determined?"

"That would be a Calvinist wedding," I chuckled. "Sorry. It's not like ours, where everything is fixed. Jocelyn and Gene can choose which hymns they want and which Scripture readings they want."

"You're a goofball, husband!"

"Oh, I know!"

August 18, 1985, Rutherford and West Monroe, Ohio

On Sunday, Elizaveta and I left the cathedral in Columbus and headed to my grandparents' house in Rutherford. When we arrived, I removed my ryassa and hung it in the coat closet by the door, then introduced Elizaveta to my paternal grandparents. After greetings all around, I put my ryassa back on and my grandfathers and I went out to my Grandpa Loucks' Buick. He handed me the keys, and I drove us to the restaurant, where the hostess led us to a booth.

I hung my ryassa on a hook, and the three of us sat down. The waitress came with the coffee pot and filled our cups, and we declined menus.

"You're going to have to explain your clothing, Mike," Grandpa Loucks said.

"The blue cassock, also called a «подрясник» (podryasnik), is standard street clothing for deacons, not all that different in character from the suits and ties your pastor wears, and, per our bishop, is to be worn at all time when we're in public. The black outer garment is called a ryassa, which is functionally like a long coat or cloak, protects the cassock from rain and snow, and helps keep it clean. It's actually a privilege to wear it, granted by the bishop."

"It seems awfully ostentatious for a minister."

"Jonathan, this is no time to have a theological debate," Grandpa Mikhail cautioned gently.

"How are you feeling, Grandpa?" I asked my paternal grandfather, heeding my maternal grandfather's advice.

"According to me? Or, according to my doctors?"

"According to you."

He laughed softly, "Not the answer I expected from my grandson, who will join that cabal in a few years! I'm feeling pretty good. I'm not fond of the diet, but your grandmother is enforcing it. I take my morning walks, work in my garden, and I don't get winded or have any chest pains."

"Good. How did things go with Dad?"

"Do you drink, Mike?" Grandpa Loucks asked.

"You know I'm more Russian than Dutch in my thinking," I replied. "I drink occasionally, but once I start my clinical rotations in two years, it'll be extremely rare."

"You really should stop. No good can come from it."

"It sounds as if you made no progress with Dad."

"It's hard to speak to a man controlled by spirituous liquor, Mike. Nobody is immune from the effects."

"Did you learn anything?"

"No," he replied. "Nor did Mikhail from your mother."

"Mike," Grandpa Mikhail said, "do you have any idea what's causing him to drink?"

I was on the horns of a dilemma — not revealing the true nature of Liz's relationship and risking my parents' marriage or trying to save their marriage by revealing the truth of what had happened between Paul and Liz. Ultimately, I felt I could work with Grandpa Mikhail to minimize any harm to Paul and Liz, and that convinced me of the proper course of action. The problem with THAT, though, meant potentially revealing Liz's entire past, something I wasn't sure I could do.

"How much do you know about what happened with Liz four years ago?"

"What I told you on the phone," Grandpa Loucks replied. "That she'd fallen in with a bad element and been involved with drugs. You told me she'd been involved with her husband before she turned eighteen."

"That's basically what your mom told me, too," Grandpa Mikhail said.

"If you'll excuse me for two minutes, I need to make a phone call," I said.

"Phone call?" Grandpa Loucks asked.

I nodded, "Yes."

They both nodded and I got up and went to the payphone in the lobby, dropped in a quarter, and dialed Liz's number. She answered on the third ring.

"Liz, it's Mike."

"Mike? What's up?"

"I'm having coffee with both grandfathers. They didn't make any real progress with Dad, and I need to tell them more about what happened so they understand why he's behaving the way he is."

"Where are you?"

"At The Yolk's On You. Why?"

"I tried calling your house about ten minutes ago. I assumed you weren't back from Columbus."

"Why?"

"There's something you don't know," Liz said quietly.

"What?"

"Emmy is here; let me have her tell you what she told me about twenty minutes ago."

"OK."

A few seconds later, Emmy came on the line.

"Hi, Mike."

"Hi," I replied. "What's going on?"

Emmy took a deep breath and let it out, "About three months ago, I saw your dad in the apartment building where my boyfriend lives. Your dad didn't see me, and I didn't think too much about it. Then I saw him again on Friday. With a girl."

"Come on!" I protested. "You have to be mistaken!"

"No, Mike, I'm not. I'm one hundred percent sure. I saw him at the Lakeview Apartments. With a girl. And he had his arm around her."

"Do you know this girl?"

"Yes. Holly Vogel."

I groaned. That was the daughter of the receptionist at the County Property Division, where my dad worked. And she was about the same age as Liz and Emmy. If what Emmy was telling me was true, the Hindenburg was a minor aircraft incident compared to the situation in which we now found ourselves. I had no idea what to do or what to say.

"Could you put Liz back on the phone, please?"

"Sure, Mike. I'm sorry."

"It's OK, Emmy."

A few seconds later, Liz was on the line again.

"What do we do, Mikey?"

"I have no clue," I replied. "I was going to tell our grandfathers more about you and Paul, but that kind of seems irrelevant now. I think I have to tell them what Emmy just told me. Well, either that or just go talk to Dad and ask him to his face."

"Jesus, Mikey!"

"If Dad is really having an affair with Holly Vogel, that changes everything, don't you think?"

"Sure, but just going to him and asking him?"

"Got any other ideas? I could tell Mom, but I don't think I'm the one who should do that. He should."

"She'll divorce him either way," Liz said quietly.

"Assuming she doesn't go full Russian on him and serve him his gonads for breakfast."

Liz laughed softly, then stopped, "Sorry for laughing, but I found it funny that you didn't use any Russian words."

"It's OK. I'm making a determined effort not to do that anymore, except for a few things to do with church. Sometimes, one slips out, though. But seriously, I need to go talk to Dad. Well, assuming Emmy is right."

"She is," Liz said. "I'm sure of it. Why would she make up something like that? And what possible reason could Dad have for being in the apartment building with Holly?"

"None I can think of," I replied with resignation. "And it explains why he wasn't interested in going to see his dad and why he's reluctant to talk to Father Herman."

"I wonder when it started?"

"Who knows? But that's not particularly relevant. Let me go back to the grandpas and figure out what to say to them."

"Call me, Mikey."

"I will."

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up, then slowly walked back to the booth, trying to figure out what to say to my grandfathers.

"Who'd you call, Mike?" Grandpa Mikhail asked when I sat down.

"Liz. I think I need to go talk to Dad right away."

"What did she tell you?" Grandpa Mikhail asked.

"I'd rather not say until I talk to Dad, «Дедушка» (deduskha)," I replied, going directly against what I'd said to Liz about using Russian, but with good reason. ("Grandpa")

"Then I suppose you should head over to the house," he replied. "Take Jonathan and me back to my house."

Grandpa Mikhail dropped some money on the table for the three coffees, which were largely untouched, and we left the restaurant to head back to his house. Elizaveta was surprised to see us so soon and wondered what was going on.

"I need to go talk to Dad," I said. "Privately."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later, OK? I promise. Just let me do this, please. Stay here with my grandparents."

"OK."

I left the house, got into my Mustang, and headed for West Monroe. As I drove, I debated with myself exactly what I was going to say to my dad. A direct accusation was likely to result in a direct denial, which would force me to call him a liar and would probably result in an impasse. But beating around the bush probably wouldn't help either, as it would be too easy for my dad to deflect any attempt to draw out the information. I hadn't come to any conclusions by the time I backed into the driveway nor by the time I walked into the house.

"Mike?" Mom queried in surprise as I hung up my ryassa.

"Hi," I said. "Where's dad?"

"In his workshop. Why?"

"Because I want to talk to him."

"Did you see your grandfather?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm here. I'll come talk to you in a bit, OK?"

"Elizaveta's not with you?"

"She's at Grandpa's house."

Mom looked concerned, and she was certainly right to be; she just didn't know the real reason. Or maybe she did, deep down, have some suspicions. Either way, I had to talk to my dad first. I went down the stairs to the basement, then to my dad's workshop, and sat on the stool in the corner as I usually did. He was turning a dowel in the lathe, and on the shelf above him was a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's and a glass with perhaps a swallow left.

"Mike," he said flatly.

"Hi, Dad."

"Your grandfather sent you, didn't he?"

"No. I came on my own. Dad, can you stop for a minute?"

He shut off the lathe and turned to face me.

"What?"

"I know," I said flatly.

"Know what?"

I ignored the question and continued.

"Drinking won't solve the problem, nor make it go away, nor erase it from your memory."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm referring to. And you know what you have to do, too."

Dad shook his head, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Spit it out."

"Emmy's boyfriend lives at the Lakeview Apartments," I replied.

Dad sagged visibly but kept his face stony. If he'd been sitting down, I might not have noticed. That reaction made me absolutely positive that Emmy was right, and Dad now knew I knew. The ball was in his court. His next reaction was to reach back to the shelf, get the glass, and down the last swallow of Jack Daniel's. That confirmed my belief.

"I'm not sure what that has to do with you," he said.

"Nothing," I replied. "But we're not talking about me; we're talking about you."

"You're talking. And sitting there in that robe thinking you have some kind of moral high ground."

I shook my head, "You've never really been able to get your head around my faith and my approach to sin."

"Oh, you approached sin all right," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, I did. But my point here isn't about judging; it's about loving you. I want you to stop drinking, get your spiritual life in order however you think best, and reconcile with Liz and me. The OTHER problem, well, I think you need to speak to Father Herman, but any pastor will do at this point. Then you need serious counseling, and you and mom will need counseling as well."

"Don't give me your moralizing BS!" he growled.

"I didn't judge," I replied. "I simply stated what needed to be done."

"And in your mind, you're comparing me now to that child rapist your sister married!"

"We can debate the finer points of the law later, but that's not the issue. I'm saying it directly now because your body language and your verbal responses have made it clear that what I know is fact — the issue is the 7th Commandment, or 6th, if you go with Grandpa Loucks' numbering. Both you and Paul broke that commandment."

"Get out of here!" he growled.

"Dad, telling me to go away isn't going to solve anything. I'll go rather than fight with you, but the ball truly is in your court. Go see Father Herman and confess. Follow his guidance. And call me if you ever want to talk."

I got up without waiting for a response, left the workshop, heard him open the bottle of whisky, and went upstairs to the den. My mom offered me some tea, and I accepted. After she poured two mugs, I followed her out to the patio. We sat quietly for a bit sipping our tea, as I had no idea what to say to my mom. Suddenly, I wondered if the 'vent listening' worked for Dad's workshop. If it did, then I'd accidentally revealed something that was not my business to reveal.

"Does your vent listening trick work for Dad's workshop?" I asked.

Mom smiled and shook her head, "No. And I would never do that, Mike."

"You'll forgive me if that sounds like a bit too much of a protest, given that you DID do that to Liz and me."

"In my defense, I'll say that there is a serious difference between listening to your kids versus spying on your spouse."

"You can say that, I suppose. Let's just say I find it less than convincing, and I suspect Liz would say the same thing. Have you been talking to her?"