Read Online Man Who Loved God by William X. Kienzle - Free Book Online Page B

studied Marilyn Fradet. She was just “there.” Martin and Lois Whitston were seated on either side of Marilyn. The couple were talking to each other as if Marilyn were a pillar at Tiger Stadium that embodied the designation “obstructed view.”
    When husband and wife had finished their dialogue and each began another conversation with others at the table, Marilyn continued to just sit there. She had barely touched her steak. She put Father Tully in mind of Lot’s wife immediately after turning back to, see Sodom and Gomorrah catch hell from God.
    “Regular coffee, gentlemen, or decaffeinated?” A waiter filled their coffee cups.
    “She certainly seems to be a million miles from this party,” the priest commented.
    “Who?”
    “Marilyn Fradet.”
    Groggins glanced at her. “I’m told that’s the way it is. Seems like her kids would be doing her a favor to take her in. Talk is Jack has something on the side—if you catch my meaning.”
    The priest caught it.
    “I don’t know,” Groggins continued, “whether Jack’s paramour is a cause or an effect of his relationship with his wife.”
    The priest shook his head. “Pitiful.”
    “You said it. One of those relationships that, right at the beginning, should have been declared a failure and dissolv—” Groggins caught himself short. “Uh, sorry, Reverend. That’s against your religion, isn’t it? Divorce, I mean.”
    The priest smiled. “No, no. The Catholic version of divorce is annulment. But before we work on the annulment—which has no standing in civil law—the couple has to get a divorce—which has no standing in Church law.”
    Groggins’s brow furrowed.
    “Don’t try to make heads or tails of it.” The priest chuckled. “Let’s just say that divorce has its place in Catholics’ lives. And if what you say is so, I guess it should have had a place in Mr. and Mrs. Fradet’s life. They certainly do not appear to be happy people.”
    The waiters removed the last of the dinner plates and filled the remaining coffee cups.
    There was a general shifting about in the chairs. Some fresh conversations were begun. Still, no one sought to engage either Father Tully or Jack Groggins in small or large talk.
    “That,” the priest said, “leaves one vice presidential couple.”
    “Lou and Pat Durocher,” Groggins identified. “Last and probably least.”
    “Oh?”
    “Lou is vice president in charge of mortgage and individual lending. This is the real meat and potatoes of the banking business. Lou and his staff do things—on Adams’s small level—like financing cars for college kids. And they provide mortgage money, of course. They make loans. They establish sales and market plans. This and commercial lending, run by Marty Whitston, are where the banks make money.”
    “So why your remark that Lou Durocher was the least? The least of the vice presidents? A weak link?”
    “A lot of people—Nancy among them—have their doubts about Durocher’s judgment. Some of his loans have been highly questionable. Now, whether or not a bank gives a loan is a judgment call. And not all loans work out. But Durocher’s batting average is as low as a rookie who’s struggling to make it in the majors. And, like it or not, even if it’s there by the skin of its teeth, Adams Bank is a major league organization.”
    The priest measured Durocher in a more searching light.
    “Nervous” seemed the appropriate word. He appeared uncertain about his smile. Should he turn it on or off? And the eyes … in almost constant movement. As if he felt tardy in comprehending what was going on. As if he had to catch up just to stay even with his conversational partners.
    All in all, not the type to whom Father Tully would feel comfortable entrusting something precious, such as money.
    Finally, Father Tully considered the other half of the last-and-probably-least team: Patricia Durocher, Lou’s wife.
    In contrast to her husband, Pat seemed relaxed, enjoying a camaraderie