Reborn

5

Bill hurried back to the interview room, wondering why he was in such a rush. He didn't have anything to tell them. It had taken him only an hour or so, but he was sure he had found all there was to be found.

Was it Carol?

She looked good, didn't she? Her hair was longer, straighter, but her face was the same, that same sharp, upturned nose, thin lips, fine sandy hair, the same natural high coloring in her cheeks.

Was he in a hurry to see her again?

Not likely. She had been a teenage infatuation, a stage in his adolescence. That was all over and done with.

So why this sense of urgency to get back to where she was waiting?

As he entered the little room he pushed the question away. He'd think about it later.

"Sorry," he said, dropping into a chair. "Couldn't find a thing."

Jim slammed his fist against his thigh. "Damn! Are you sure?"

"I started the search somewhere around three years before your drop-off date and went through every year since. The name Hanley doesn't crop up a single time."

Jim obviously wasn't satisfied. Bill could guess what was on his mind. He was probably looking for a delicate way to question how thoroughly anyone could have combed through three decades of records in a little over an hour.

"That's an awful lot of years, Bill. I'm just wondering…"

Bill smiled. "A lot of years, yes, but not a lot of contributions, I'm afraid. And the name Hanley doesn't appear in any of our index files or on our mailing list." As he saw Jim's shoulders slump, he added, "But…"

"But what?"

"But just ten days after you were left here, St. F.'s received an anonymous contribution often thousand dollars. One whale of a sum in those days."

"It's nothing to sniff at these days, either, let me tell you!" Jim said, animated again. "Anonymous, huh? How unusual is that?"

"Are you kidding? Even today we occasionally get twenty-five or fifty, or rarely, a hundred bucks anonymously. But the rest of the time everyone wants a receipt for tax purposes. A five-figure donation that won't be written off is unheard of."

"Guilt money," Jim said.

He nodded. "Heavy guilt."

Bill glanced over at Carol. She was staring at him. Why was she looking at him that way? It made him uncomfortable.

At that moment a mailman stopped in the hall at the door. He held up an envelope. "Care to sign for this, Father? It's certified."

Bill took the envelope and dropped it on the table as he signed the receipt. When he turned back, Jim was on his feet, clutching the envelope in his hand.

"Look at the return address! Fletcher, Cornwall & Boothby! That's the same law firm that contacted me!" He shoved it toward Bill. "Open it!"

Propelled by the infectious urgency in Jim's voice, Bill tore open the envelope.

After skimming the astonishing contents, he handed the letter to Jim.

"They want St. F.'s to send someone to the reading of the Hanley will!"

Jim glanced at the letter and grinned.

"Same letter I got! I knew it! This clinches it! Let's celebrate! Dinner's on me! What do you say, Bill?"

Bill took back the letter and shook his head.

"Sorry. I can't get away just now. Maybe some other time."

Partly true. With Father Anthony out, he couldn't simply walk off and leave the boys without supervision. Of course, if he really worked at it, he could probably find somebody to cover for him, but in a strange way he was glad to get out of it. He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes off Carol. And every time he looked her way, she was looking back.

Like now. Carol was staring at him again.

She said, "A rain check, then. We'll owe you one."

"Sure. That'll be nice."

The good-byes were protracted, with much handshaking and promises of keeping in touch this time and getting together soon. Bill breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he finally closed the door behind them, figuring his insides would begin to quiet down now.

But they didn't.