Confession of Adultery

"Welcome to our city, Mr. Harrison," the heavy-set woman gushed. "Preston here has told us such marvelous things about you!" She paused for breath, her ample bosom heaving. "We'll all miss Bob Allen, of course, but we're so excited to have you succeed him at the United Fund."

"You're very kind to say so," Carter Harrison responded. "Bob is leaving behind some awfully big shoes to fill, but I'm looking forward to the challenge."

Preston Charlton, the president of the bank that was hosting the reception, beamed happily as he skillfully guided his guest of honor around to meet other invitees. He had headed the search committee that had found Harrison, and now that the United Fund's full Board of Trustees had ratified the committee's recommendation, Preston was eager to show off his find.

The reception room was filled with a mix of local business leaders, city politicos and representatives from the various charitable agencies that received grants from the United Fund. The mood was convivial. A little free booze and some high quality hors d'oeuvres were just the thing to ensure a warm welcome for the new man, Charlton thought.

"Who's the tall fellow chatting with the Mayor?" Harrison asked. "And who's the attractive woman with them?"

Charlton looked around to see where Carter Harrison was indicating, and a smile came to his face. "Oh, that's Father Mac Maclanahan, the priest at St. Ann's. The woman is Colleen O'Reilly. She's the director of one of your member agencies, the Second Chance Women's Shelter. She's also Father Mac's wife. You've got to meet them."

Carter's face took on a puzzled expression. "A priest with a wife?"

"Oh, sorry, I should have said St. Ann's Episcopal Church. And before you ask about the difference in names, Colleen kept her maiden name when they married."

Harrison's face was still skeptical. "And why is it so important that I meet Father Maclanahan?" he asked.

Charlton smiled. "Father Mac is one of the most influential men in town."

"Oh, really?" Harrison replied. "I wouldn't have thought a priest would have that much influence, except on spiritual matters, of course. What makes Maclanahan so special?"

"It's hard to say, but he's just one of the most decent people you'll ever meet. Everybody likes and trusts him, and everybody goes to him for counsel and advice. And not just members of his parish either."

"Well let's go meet this paragon priest," Harrison said. Hearing an odd tone in Harrison's voice, Charlton glanced quickly at the shorter man. But Harrison had a smile on his face, so Charlton led his honored guest over to the couple.

"Colleen, Father Mac, I'd like to introduce you to Carter Harrison, the new Executive Director of the United Fund," Charlton said heartily.

Once the introductions were made all around, Father Mac smiled at Harrison. "Preston tells us that before you entered the non-profit sector you had quite a career at Proctor & Gamble. Has that experience been valuable in working with United Funds?"

Harrison didn't hesitate. "The private sector all too often focuses on short-term gain to the detriment of long-term goals, but its emphasis on measurable results is something that I've found can be very useful in working with charities. You'll find that I'm a very results-oriented individual."

Then he turned to Colleen. "One of the techniques I've used very successfully is to establish small inter-agency task forces to tackle some of the issues that communities face. Ms. O'Reilly, Preston here tells me that you're one of the most energetic and successful agency heads in the city. Perhaps I could persuade you to lead one of those task forces?"

Colleen blushed at the unexpected compliment. "I'd be honored, Carter. That sounds like a great idea."

After the reception, when Mac and Colleen had returned to the parsonage, he teased Colleen about her blush. "Well, we learned one thing about Carter Harrison: he knows how to make a good first impression, at least on some agency heads I know."

Colleen blushed again. "Well, I know a certain husband who could take a few lessons on paying compliments to his wife," she said with a saucy grin.

"Are you talking about the husband with the hottest wife at the reception tonight?" he asked archly. When Colleen grinned at him, he went on, "See: I may not be the most debonair husband, but at least I'm teachable."

With that he made a grab for his wife, who giggled as she eluded his grasp and ran into the bedroom, making sure that he was hot on her heels.

* * * * * * * * * *

A couple of months later, Father Mac had lunch with Bob Allen. He hadn't seen his old friend since the former United Fund executive had retired, and he wanted to find out how the man was enjoying his new life. When they'd finished their meal and the waitress had brought them coffee, Allen looked at Father Mac appreciatively.

"I'm glad you wanted to get together, Father Mac. One of the things I miss most in retirement is not meeting with people as often as I used to. Once you're out of the game, people tend to think you don't have anything of value to contribute anymore."

"I'm surprised to hear that, Bob. I know for a fact that your old team holds you in high regard. I would think they'd still come to you for your opinion and advice."

Allen's face took on a resigned expression. "You're kind to say that, Father Mac. And maybe some of them would. But I've gotten the sense that the new man in charge wants to cut ties with the past. After one of the team called to ask me a question, I heard that Harrison chewed her out and told her to check with him before she called me again."

Father Mac's brows furrowed. "That doesn't sound like a very helpful attitude to take," he said mildly.

Allen brushed it aside. "It's probably for the best. The new guy has his own agenda and wants to do things his own way. Calling an old fart like me just slows down the transition."

Father Mac smiled at him. "You're hardly an old fart, Bob. Besides, you know more about this United Fund than anybody else around."

The two finished their lunch and agreed to stay in touch. Afterwards, as he returned to his little office at St. Ann's, Father Mac kept thinking about Bob Allen's comments. "I think I'll check in with Preston and get his take on how Harrison is doing."

Charlton's secretary was a member of Father Mac's congregation, and she was happy to put her priest straight through to the bank president.

"What can I do for you, Father Mac?" Charlton said warmly. "I hope you're not calling to bawl me out because I missed Mass last Sunday."

Father Mac laughed. "If I had to scold everyone who ever missed a service I wouldn't have time for anything else. No, I just thought I'd touch base with you on our new United Fund exec and see how he's working out."

"He's doing great!" Charlton exclaimed immediately. "He's already been calling on major donors and he's gotten a number of them to agree to an increase even before the campaign begins. That fellow is a go-getter - I think we've found a real winner."

"That's great news, Preston," Father Mac responded. "I was a big fan of Bob Allen, and when he left I was worried that we'd have a hard time finding a suitable successor. But it sounds like you've done really well for us."

The call with Preston reassured Father Mac, and he decided that he'd been concerned unnecessarily. Accordingly, when he went by the United Fund office a week later to meet with one of the account executives, he'd largely forgotten his earlier unease. On his way back to Bill Simpson's cubicle, he had to pass Marge Terrell's desk and he gave her a friendly wave. "How's my favorite bookkeeper today?" he asked pleasantly. He'd actually never been introduced to the older lady, but she'd been a fixture at the United Fund for years and always had a smile and a friendly greeting for the priest.

When he reached Bill Simpson's desk, the two men began to talk about the homeless audit they hoped to conduct in the coming months. Working with the homeless was an area of special interest for Father Mac, and St. Ann's regularly conducted clothing drives and operated a soup kitchen to help them.

After the two men had finished their discussion, Bill asked Father Mac not to leave right away. "Have you got time to get a cup of coffee with me in the break room, Father Mac? There's something else I'd like to discuss with you."

Something in the way the man asked caught Mac's attention, and he quickly agreed.

When they reached the break room, Bill looked in to make sure it was empty and then poured cups of coffee for the priest and himself. Once they were seated, Father Mac asked, "So what did you want to talk about, Bill? Is everything going okay?"

The young man looked around furtively and then said in a low voice, "Not really, Father Mac. Actually, I'm thinking about leaving the United Fund. This place has changed, and not for the better."

Father Mac frowned and lowered his voice as well. "I'm sorry to hear that. What's the problem, Bill? What's going on?"

"It's him, Father Mac, the new boss," he said conspiratorially. "He's a real micro-manager. He's got everybody looking over their shoulders, scared he's going to chew us out for not doing things exactly the way he wants them done."

Father Mac gave a little shrug. "We both know Bob Allen was pretty easy-going when he was here, Bill. Are you sure this is not just a case of Harrison trying to tighten things up a little."

Simpson shook his head emphatically. "It goes way beyond running a tight ship. The man is a petty tyrant. Everything has to be the way he wants it, when he wants it. If it isn't, he lets you and everyone else know about it."

He leaned closer to the priest. "He's already run off a couple of people, and there are others besides me who are talking about leaving. I've been here eight years and want to stay, but I don't know how much longer I can stick it out."

Father Mac shook his head. "That's very disturbing news, Bill. I had no idea things were like that."

Simpson gestured to illustrate his point. "I know what the problem is, Father. He's got 'short-man syndrome.' He's like a Chihuahua - always barking at the top of his lungs because he wants everyone to see how fierce he is."

He abruptly checked his wristwatch. "My break time is almost up, Father Mac. I've got to get back to my desk or I'll catch Hell for being late - no offense."

"I'll walk back with you, Bill," the priest told his friend as he stood to leave. "Please keep me posted. And don't do anything hasty, okay?"

The conversation troubled him, and he frowned as he started toward the entrance after leaving Bill. Looking up, he was startled to see the very person they'd just been discussing. The United Fund executive approached him rapidly. "Well, Father Mac," Harrison said in a hearty tone that rang false to the priest, "what a surprise to see you here. Are you conducting a surprise inspection?"

The aggressive tone in the man's voice caught Father Mac off guard and he responded defensively, "No, Carter, not at all. Actually, I've been working with one of your people on the homeless issue. I just wanted to get some information from him, that's all."

"I've got the latest homeless data in my office," Harrison said peremptorily. "Come this way."

Father Mac felt he had no choice but to comply so he followed the diminutive figure warily. Once in the office, Harrison handed him a file, then looked at the priest carefully. "I hear you've been checking up on me," he said. "If you have any concerns about my work, you should come to me with them, Father."

"No, Carter, I haven't been checking up on you," Father Mac said uncomfortably. "The United Fund is very important to this community, and I only wanted to see how it's going under the new regime."

"I appreciate the interest, Father, but I think you'll find the organization is doing very well. From now on, if you need any further information, come to me and I'll take care of it for you."

"Sure, Carter, sure," Father Mac said quickly. "I'll definitely do just that." Then he turned and made his way out of the building, wondering at the prickly reception he'd just received. "What did I do to get under his skin like that?" he asked himself.

He was still put off by the episode when Colleen got home from work that evening, so when she mentioned that she'd spent part of the afternoon working with Harrison's task force, his ears pricked up. "Tell me," he asked his wife, "what's your take on Carter Harrison? How do you find him to work with?" he asked casually.

"Honestly, he's a breath of fresh air. Usually, United Fund committee meetings drag on forever and never get anything accomplished. We've had two sessions of Carter's task force and not only have we agreed on a list of needs but he's also gotten everyone to buy into ways to address the issues."

Colleen paused and then went on. "That's not to say that he hasn't stepped on a few toes in the process. He's very demanding and he doesn't suffer fools gladly. But I'll take that any day over people who talk problems to death and never get anything done about them."

She stopped and looked at her husband. "Why do you ask? What have you heard?"

Mac was reluctant to voice his own misgivings after Colleen's endorsement, so all he said was, "Well, Preston Charlton thinks he hung the moon. Apparently, he's getting a jump on the annual campaign by going after big donors in person. And Preston says it's working."

"See," she said, "I told you he was a go-getter."

"At the same time, I gather that he's rubbed some of the people in the United Fund office the wrong way," Mac added, curious to see what Colleen would say.

"I'm not surprised," she said immediately. "I loved Bob Allen to death, but he acted more like a grandfather than the boss at that place. I like a man who knows what he wants and goes after it."

"Well, right now you're looking at a man who wants his dinner," Mac said with a laugh, and the two of them headed to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

* * * * * * * * * *

That night Father Mac had the nightmare again. It was the same one that had haunted him off and on for a decade.

He and Rico were on over-watch duty in Baghdad. Rico Jimenez was his spotter; Mac carried the big Barrett M107 sniper rifle. The two men had been paired for eighteen months and had grown extremely close. It takes a special chemistry to make a good sniper team, and Mac and Rico were one of the best.

An Iraqi sniper had been tormenting their battalion for weeks, firing on them intermittently and causing numerous casualties and several fatalities. After repeated failures to find the bogey, command had decided to "fight fire with fire" and called in its own sniper team.

Mac was lying in the prone position behind a chimney on a rooftop, the barrel of his weapon hidden in shadows. Rico was crouched behind the façade of a building a block away in hopes one of them might spot something and be able to triangulate the shooter's location. They used throat microphones and ear buds to communicate.

It was only their second day on watch, but already Mac could tell it was going to be a challenge. No one had had any luck spotting a muzzle flash, and the irregular streets and alleys of Baghdad caused sound to reverberate from multiple directions.

As Mac lay there sweating in the late afternoon sun, he could hear the amplified voice of a muezzin in the distance calling the faithful to prayer. Just then a gunshot rang out and there was a scream from somewhere down below. Rico's voice whispered in his ear. "I've got action here on the street, half a block from my position."

There was a pause and then Mac heard, "Aw, shit, it's a kid, a little girl. Can't be more than nine or ten years old. She's been shot in the leg."

Another pause. "She's bleeding bad. She's trying to drag herself out of the street now, but she can't do it. Goddamit, I can see faces in the doorway but no one will come out to help her."

Then Rico's voice got louder. "I'm going down there, Mac. Cover me."

"No, wait!" Mac implored him. "Let me get help, call in a squad."

"No time," Rico came back. "She'll bleed to death before they get here. Keep me covered."

Quickly Mac scooted forward as far as he dared and swiveled the scope on the big rifle around, searching for the wounded girl while still trying to maintain his own cover. A minute later he spotted Rico's figure in a doorway. After taking a few moments to check his surroundings, Rico burst out of cover and ran to the little girl's side. He scooped her up in his arms and turned to run back to the building when a second shot rang out.

Rico's scream through the ear buds almost deafened Mac, and through his scope sight he could actually see the blood spurting from the wound in Rico's thigh. The soldier fell heavily, twisting to try to cushion the little girl.

"Rico!" Mac yelled, "Talk to me. Can you move? Can you get out of there?"

"Sunovabitch that hurts!" came Rico's voice. "I think he hit the bone. I'm stuck, Mac."

Adrenaline surged through the tall sniper. "Hang on, compadre, I'll be down in a second," he yelled.

"NO!" Rico screamed. "Don't move, Mac! Don't you see? It's a trap. He wants you to come out so he can get you too."

"No way, man, I'm not going to leave you there!"

"Stop, Mac. Stop and think about it. This bastard could have killed me easy, but no, he crippled me. Mac, he's using me for bait just the way he used the little girl. Stay put, hermano, don't give him what he wants."

Mac fell back against the facade in despair. He knew his spotter was right, but the idea of leaving him lying in the street was unbearable. "Listen, Rico, just hang in there. We'll get some armor in here to screen you, then pull you out of there slick as grease."

"Sure, Mac," came Rico's voice, and Mac was frightened to hear how calm he sounded. There was a long pause, and then Rico spoke again. "Mac, I want you to do something for me."

"Sure, Rico, anything."

"I want you to pray for me."

"Rico, I'm not a religious man. I don't know any prayers."

"That's O.K., Mac, I'll coach you. You just repeat after me."

"Rico! Why are we doing this?" Mac husked, his voice catching in his throat.

"You know why, Mac," came the calm voice on the other end. "It won't be long until he figures out you're not coming. Now I'll go nice and slow, and you repeat what I say. Ready? 'Our Father, who art in heaven . . .'"

With tears streaming down his face, Mac repeated the prayer one phrase at a time, until he reached "lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." That's when the third shot came, silencing Rico forever.

Cursing and crying, Mac futilely scanned the surrounding buildings. He felt ashamed that he hadn't spotted the killer, that he hadn't protected Rico. At the same time he felt guilty that he hadn't known any prayers to comfort his friend in his last moments. As he lay there in anguish, a fourth shot killed the little girl.

Mac sat bolt upright in bed, his face pale, his body covered in a cold sweat. No matter how many times he'd had it, the dream always shook him to the core. Every time he felt the same deep emotions; every time it made him question whether there was something more he could or should have done. Quietly he slipped out of bed, being careful not to wake Colleen, and went out to sit in the living room until the shaking subsided enough that he could go back to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Colleen awoke the next morning, she found the other side of the bed empty. When she went out to the living room to look for him, she was saddened to find her husband asleep on the couch. Mac's bad dreams were common enough occurrences, but she hated it that he was still haunted by his experiences in the war. Careful not to wake him, she covered him with a blanket.