Joe's Point of View

When I glanced over at the bedside clock, it was just after 9:00 pm. I had finally taken some pain meds around 7:30 and had fallen asleep with Stephanie in my arms and Bob snoring at our feet.

Steph's side of the bed was still warm. She had just gotten up. I closed my eyes and started to drift off again. I expected to hear the toilet flush and feel her returning to bed. But then I thought I heard voices. Was she on the phone?

I opened my eyes, awake suddenly. Bob was snoring, so I nudged him with my foot to wake him up. He lifted his head and looked at me, then dropped his head back down on my foot.

I strained to hear what she was saying. She was apologizing. She was making up with someone. My first thought was Ranger. I immediately felt chemicals being released in my body. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. My teeth were clenched. My fists were clenched. I shut my eyes, and willed myself to lie still and listen.

She was crying. I looked over to the clock again. That's when I noticed her cell phone lying beside it, hooked up to the wall charger. She wasn't on the phone. Someone was here.

I leaned over the edge of the bed so I could see into the living room. She was sitting alone on the couch hugging a big pillow, wiping her nose with a tissue. I just stared for a minute, then I quietly lay back down. My heart was still banging around in my chest from the adrenaline and my blood pressure was through the roof. I breathed deeply, trying to get a grip.

She hadn't seen me. Her eyes were closed. Was she praying? I had never seen Stephanie pray before. I had to be sure. I crawled slowly to the edge of the bed again.

I couldn't make out most of what she was saying now. Something about Mr. Kleinschmidt. I remembered what he'd said at the funeral. Maybe God had needed me out of the way this morning.

I may have lived like a heathen growing up, but my mother made sure her boys were in church every Sunday. I wasn't an altar boy by any stretch, but I knew the standard Catholic prayers, and Stephanie wasn't using any of those. She was free-styling. Not that I cared. Whatever got her to church tomorrow was fine with me.

I hadn't attended church with my mom since I left home, except on special occasions. And our shoddy attendance hadn't bothered me while Stephanie and I were dating. We were both working all the time. But now, our time was our own, and marriage made me officially responsible for her. I was the husband. The man of the house. The head of the household. And I was not only responsible for caring for her physically and emotionally, but spiritually, according to the Holy Catholic Church. I was responsible for making sure we were both making it to mass and confession on a regular basis, whether we had children yet or not. But especially when we had kids.

I was turning into my mother. That was a frightening thought. But, it was a damn sight better than turning into my father, an angry drunk, child and wife beater, and womanizer.

I tried to channel Frank instead. Division of Labor, I said to myself. Check another one for my side. But somehow, it didn't feel like an added burden. It sort of felt like I'd be getting some help. I felt a little lighter.

I debated going to Stephanie and asking her about this morning, but she was in prayer, alone with God. I decided against it. I waited for her to come back to bed, but the pain meds were time release, and apparently they were kicking in again. Next thing I new, it was morning.

Stephanie and Bob were both asleep. I slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. Stephanie was lying in the middle of the bed in her thinking position when I returned.

"What's on your mind?" I asked, noticing that I was bandaged when I tried to scratch my side. I didn't remember her doing that for me. I must have been out.

She glanced over at the clock. "Are we going to the 9:00 or the 11:00 mass?" she asked.

I smiled. "I think both our families attend the 11:00, don't they?" The earlier mass was for young people and was more progressive. The 11:00 mass was traditional with hymns sung from the same dusty old hymn books our grandparents had used. I smiled, shaking my head as I corrected the thought. We would be using the same dusty old hymn books our grandmothers were still using. It doesn't get any more traditional than that.

"We could make it to the 9:00," she said, hinting that she would like to avoid our families while still attending mass.

"I think we're expected," I told her.

"You want to go to the 11:00," she sighed.

"All your friends will be there," I reminded her enticingly, tickling her feet.

She drew her feet up under the covers. "What am I, five?" she complained.

I was about to say that sometimes she acted like it, but I knew we'd never make it to either service if I did.

I put on my robe and shuffled into the kitchen to start the coffee. Bob took his cue and started sniffing at the door. Stephanie groaned, but slid out of bed and put her robe on, taking Bob's leash in hand.

Once we were both seated at the table with a bowl of Fruit Loops in front of us, I asked, "So, what happened yesterday morning? What did I miss?"

She took her time responding, pouring milk slowly over her cereal. "I told you. We found the treasure."

"You told me about Joyce. You told me about Carl. You told me about your grandma. You told me about Eddie and Costanza and Big Dog. But there's something you're not telling me."

She shifted a little in her seat. "Mr. Kleinschmidt told me where the Ark of the Covenant is hidden."

I froze with my spoon half-way to my mouth. "Say what?"

"Solomon Olmer knew where it was. And Johann Olmer likely did too."

"So, they really were descended from ancient priests?" I asked.

"I guess so," she shrugged.

I put my spoon down, waiting expectantly, but she just kept eating.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" I nearly exploded, not with anger, but with some undefined emotion mixed with a large dose of anticipation.

"I'm not sure you'll believe me," she admitted.

"Do you believe it?" I asked seriously.

She didn't look up. She just nodded.

"Then, why wouldn't I believe you?"

My cereal got soggy while Stephanie related to me all that Mr. Kleinschmidt had told her down in the tunnel. I listened intently. When she was done, I got up to look for my old Bible. I had to wipe the dust off of it before I brought it back to the table.

I felt like we were taking part in some kind of ceremony or religious ritual. My first official Bible reading with my wife in our own home. It felt like some sort of rite of passage. How weird is that?

Stephanie and I both found it daunting to open the book without supervision. Usually, a priest told us where to turn, and expounded on the meaning of the passage for us. I was embarrassed to find that I felt intimidated as we flipped through the four Gospels looking for the story of the crucifixion. After all those years at mass, I didn't know exactly where to find it. I felt a little guilt of my own before we were done.

"Do you feel better, after praying?" I asked.

Stephanie looked a little surprised. "I thought you were asleep," she said.

"I wondered where you went when you got up. I checked on you, and then went back to sleep."

"Oh." She didn't seem to be too upset with me.

"So, did it help? Do you feel better?"

"I think so," she said. "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

"I think there's something I should say, out loud." Something was gnawing a me. Something Mr. Kleinschmidt had said at the end of the funeral. It didn't mean anything to me at the time, but in the Sunday morning hush in our house, it seemed an almost urgent need.

Stephanie reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"This is going to sound stupid," I said, embarrassed. For a second, I lost my nerve and decided I wasn't going to say it.

"I just went Indiana Jones on you, and you think you're going to say something stupid?" she joked.

"I was going to say," I began. I squeezed her hand. "Solomon Olmer has made a difference in my life. You have made a difference in my life. Mr. Kleinschmidt. My mom. Your dad." I took a deep breath. "And it's been easier to credit people than God. I've been ignoring him too."

Tears ran down both her cheeks. "Yes, it helped," she admitted.

"I think I'm going to need a few minutes outside before we go," I told her.

"Ok," she said, wiping a tear away as I got up.

I stepped onto the front end of the boat and looked up and down the river. I started by whispering a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys to get warmed up. Then I remembered reciting the Lord's prayer at Solomon's funeral. I remembered Father Gabriel saying we were to pattern our personal prayers on that example. So I did that. A fine breeze started blowing across the water, and I knew I wasn't alone. Before long, I relaxed and stopped worrying about formalities.

By the time I came back inside, I knew I was going to have to own up to Stephanie that she was one of the bravest people I had ever known. And I loved her for it. When it counted, she would lay it all out there. Most people wouldn't. She could have kept me in the dark. And next time she would if I didn't respond in kind.

"You were right," I told her, leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom. She was dressed, trying to decide which shoes to wear. "It did help."

She stood staring at me for a second. "I'm glad," she said. I could tell she just wanted to get through mass without crying.

"I like the black pumps with the closed toe," I told her.

She tossed the others back into the closet and stood up. I slipped down on the floor and took the shoes from her. She sat on the edge of the bed while I softly kissed her kneecaps as I slid the shoes on her feet.

"You're the second best thing that's ever happened to me," I whispered, looking up at her.

She seemed to understand. "You're the second best thing that's ever happened to me, too," she answered, pulling me up for a kiss.

"I feel less afraid," I admitted. "Of losing you."

She paused, surprised. "I like the way things are changing with us," she said. "I was afraid...nothing was going to change."

"Me too," I said. "I'm sorry I was so stubborn. I let my pride get in the way too many times. But this feels so much better than saving my pride. You make me feel brave."

She laughed softly. "You jumped out a window and," she gestured to my left side.

"Opening up like this has been scarier," I said.

She nodded. "I was stubborn too," she apologized.

"You were brave," I told her. "In every way. And I love that about you." Before we got too mushy, I thought I'd better pull up or I'd plow into the ground and ruin everything. We still needed to get to church on time. "I'm crazy about you. I'd do anything for you," I said, imitating Carl's declaration of love for Grandma Mazur.

Stephanie laughed. "Anything?" she asked.

I nodded, enjoying the naughty look in her eye. That's my Cupcake.

"I like your navy blue shirt with those new jeans," she told me.

I waited for it, raising an eyebrow.

"Go commando," she ordered.

"You are a wild one," I said, pushing her back on the bed and tickling her as much as I could with only one hand. "What are you wearing?" I asked, trying to get a peek under her dress.

Needless to say, we were running late, but we were both wearing underwear.