theology classroom.
"Breakfast?" he asked.
He took her to a movie that Saturday, a dance the next. As the weeks passed, she hardly realized that she had come to count on his invitations.
At one of the hops she danced with Mac.
"Are you and Karl going steady?" he asked.
"No, just dating. Nothing serious."
"Are you sure Karl knows that?�
"Of course!"
But Mac's question nagged her and when he asked her to go skating again, she accepted. She told Karl, who was going home for the weekend.
"Ice skating," he repeated. "Well, have fun. What else do you have planned for the weekend?"
"Study, write some letters, do laundry."
"I'll miss you, Jo."
Karl was the only one who called her that.
"I�ll miss you, too."
By Friday night, the ice had thawed a little and refrozen, leaving rough patches which could trip the skaters. Joanne and Mac did not stray far from the edge.
"You�ve been pretty scarce lately," he observed. "Did you tell Karl you were going with me tonight?"
"Yes," she answered, squeezing his hand for balance. "Do you know him well?"
"Not really. I know he sizes a girl up before he asks her out. I guess we all do that, but Karl seems more cautious. When he starts dating, he�s pretty sure of himself."
"What about you? Are you sure of yourself, Mac?"
"It's different with me. I'm not looking for the same things."
"Which are?"
"Look, Josie. I hope you won't take this the wrong way. I'm not jealous. I like you, but I'm not going to get serious about anyone. Karl likes you, too. I think he likes you more than you realize. If you like him, and if that�s what you want..."
"What are you trying to say?" She turned her head to look up at his face, more boyish than ever under a green and white ski cap. She wanted to read his expression, but her skate struck a bump. Mac sprang to steady her and they both slid on their backs. Laughing and brushing at their coats, they took off their skates and trudged to the club. It wasn't crowded yet, and they could talk easily.
"Now, what are you worried about?" she asked, when they had settled themselves at a corner table.
He warmed his hands over steam from his cup and stared at them.
"Do you remember when you said you were afraid of leading me on and I told you you weren't?"
Joanne nodded.
"Have you said anything like that to Karl?"
Joanne felt her cheeks warming . She and Karl had just drifted together. It was true that he took her for granted, but she hadn't asked him to. Their friendship was casual, comfortable, nothing more.
"No," she answered. "I didn't think I needed to. Karl and I are just friends."
"Then you are not in love with him?"
"In love? Oh, Mac, that never occurred to me. You don't-- you can't think he's in love with me.
"What I think doesn't matter. What does he think?"
"Oh, Lord, I don't know. How can I ask him that?"
"There are ways of finding out."
In bed that night, Joanne reviewed her evenings with Karl. They had petted a little, but she knew her roommates did the same, even on a first date. The last time, he had kissed her, open mouthed, forcing his tongue between her lips. She had drawn away.
"So that's French kissing," she thought. "I don't like it but I don't believe it's a mortal sin."
When Karl had loosened her bra and fondled her breasts, she froze, and he did not try to go any further.
He had talked about his goals, his plans for a family, a quiet, comfortable life. That had nothing to do with her, with now. Tonight, she tried picturing herself as part of his dream. Was that what he wanted? What if he did ask her to marry him? What did she want?
She had dreamed of a house on a rolling lawn, with a lake or stream nearby and children romping in the fields, a dog, maybe even a horse. Karl could give her that. However, she found it hard to sketch in the husband. He was a phantom, coming and going, necessary to the scene but not part of it. No, she was not in love with Karl, just, possibly, with the dream.
She had promised to miss him, though, and she did. Saturday night, she missed his brusque arrival, his strong hand guiding her to the car, his smooth, deep voice blending with the hum of the motor, his fingers soothing her hair. Could that be love? No, there was more. He wanted more, and she could not give it.
On Sunday, she asked Sue what it felt like to be in love.
"It's wonderful and miserable. You want to be closer and closer, and you're never close enough."
Sue looked at her ring. She was going to quit school in the spring and marry Mike. She would work while he took extra credits and summer sessions to graduate early. He had given up on med school.
"I don't think I'll ever feel that way," mused Joanne.
"You can't know until it happens."
"It's not going to happen to me. I don't even want it to."
"So you still want to be a nun?"
"Yes. At first I wasn't sure. I mean, I knew it was what I wanted, but I wasn't sure what God wanted."
"How do you know, now?"
"I can't tell, exactly. It's partly the way I feel about marriage. And I don't think I�m running away from anything any more. I know I could make it on my own. I needed this year to discover that. I'm going to talk to my parents at semester break. If they say yes, I'll enter next fall."
"Do you think they'll agree?"
"I hope so. My Dad isn't Catholic, but if he knows it will make me happy, I don't think he�ll object."
"Well, I'm happy for you if that's what you want. I'll pray for you. Have you told Karl?"
"I will, as soon as I talk to my parents."
At semester break, Joanne sat at the kitchen table with her mother, drinking coffee and chatting about Rick and Tim, her courses, and campus life. Daddy was in the living room, reading his paper and listening. It was a cozy scene, Joanne thought, two adults chatting.
"College seems to agree with you, Joanne. You are so relaxed and you look wonderful."
"I like it," said Joanne, "but what I really want to do is enter the Sisters of St. John."
"You mean become a nun? Is this because of Michelle?"
"No, I thought about it long before that, but I wasn't ready. Now I am."
"You don�t know anything about it. Surely you don't want to spend your life with a bunch of women."
"Why not? Aren't we women?"
"Well, that's different. Women living together like that? It isn't natural. It wouldn't work."
"It must. The nuns I've met are happy."
"I just don't think it's for you. You're too young. You haven't had any experience yet. When I was in high school, I thought I wanted to be a nun, too. Every Catholic girl does at some time. You'll change your mind when you learn more about life."
"But I have learned! I've been on my own; I've dated. I know I could get married if I wanted to. And this isn't something new. I've been thinking about it for years."
"But, Joanne, you love children."
"Yes, but they don't have to be my children. I'll be working with children, teaching them. I might even be sent to work in the orphanage. Mother, I know this is what is right for me."
"You knew college was right for you. You never finish anything you start. You want something until you have it, and then you want something else."
"But, don't you see, I will finish college. They have courses in the novitiate. They'll train me to be a teacher."
"What you do after you graduate is up to you. But you started at St. Aloysius, and you're going to finish there."
Mother was adamant. Daddy concurred. Joanne struggled to hold her temper. She must be calm and obedient. She would convince them quietly that it was God's will. God would help her. For now, the discussion was over.
The mail brought her grades for the first semester and a letter from Karl. She opened the grades first -- one B, ther rest A's. She had made the Deans List.
The only course that had worried her was advanced Latin. She had had only two years of high school Latin and signed up for intermediate, but the classes were so small, they were combined and called advanced. Old Father Joseph rarely gave tests and never took roll. The students read the translations aloud from their ponies and wondered how he would grade. Joanne had received an A and learned nothing. She smiled her relief and handed the transcript to Mother.
Then she opened Karl's letter. He was fine, enjoying the break, but eager to get back and finish his last semester. He was eager, too, to see Joanne.
"I miss you more than I ever thought I could," he wrote.
When she returned to school, Karl took her to a movie at the drive-in. The Incredible Shrinking Man was playing. Bored and tired, Joanne leaned her head into his cushioned shoulder and closed her eyes. She had lost the thread of the movie.
His hand moved from her breast to her stomach.
"No, Karl."
"I won�t hurt you. I won't do anything wrong. I just want to know you. All of you."
"Please. I don't like it."
"How do you know? You never tried."
She pulled away from him. "I mean it, Karl."
"Okay, okay, don't get mad."
He turned her face toward his, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked at her.
"Jo, don�t you know how I feel? Don�t you like me?�
"Oh, Karl, it's not you I don't like. It's -- I just don't feel anything. I never have. I don't think I ever will. With anyone. Oh, I didn't want this to happen. I didn't know how you felt, honestly, not until you wrote to me. I like you so much. But I don�t love you. I'm sorry. I really wish I did. It's not you. I just can't fall in love."
"How do you know that? If you like me it could still work. I won't rush you. I love you, Jo. Maybe that's enough. I can wait. We like the same things, want the same things. We can make it work."
"No, Karl, we can't. It wouldn't be right. I know I should have told you sooner. I just didn't realize. I'm so sorry. I've done a terrible thing. I wish I could make it up to you. But you do know how to love. You'll find someone who will love you back."
"What will you do? Catch another fish, then throw him back?"
Joanne forced words out in gasps, between sobs. "I -- didn't know. I'm --I'm stupid. There won't be anyone else. I was going to tell you tonight, anyway. I want to be a nun."
When he finally answered, his voice, though still bitter, was softer. "That's right. Go bury yourself in a convent. Maybe I should be a monk."
Silence again. He started the motor and kept his eyes resolutely on the road. Joanne looked out of her window. Neither spoke again until he pulled up in front of the dorm. "Some competition," he said, his voice controlled. "At least I'm not losing you to a mere mortal. Good night, Joanne."
For weeks Joanne hated herself. She who ran from conflict, she who bent over backwards to avoid stepping on anyone's toes, had leaned so far that she knocked Karl over and trampled him. How could she have hurt him so deeply?
A letter from Mother interrupted her brooding. Daddy had been sick; his gall bladder was acting up. It wasn't that serious, but he was scheduled for surgery in a week. Could she visit him?
She got excused from her classes, packed a suitcase of clothes and books and went home.
"You really didn't have to come for the whole week," said mother.
"It's okay. I can keep up with my work, and, besides, I needed to get away."
Mother peered at her intently. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, just the pre-spring blahs. You know I get them every year."
"Yes, you get impatient for the sun. Well, Daddy will be happy to see you."
It was Daddy's first time in a hospital, and he was a cantankerous patient.
"Why is it that you can't get a damn aspirin here? I might as well have stayed home," he grumbled.
Joanne had never before heard him complain without a joke to soften it. "He's sick, and scared, I guess," she excused him. She smiled, realizing that it was his example she followed, making excuses for others. He was so like her, always wanting to please and afraid of offending. Had he made the same mistakes she had, hurting people by trying too hard not to? Was that why mother criticized his meekness?
Suddenly she realized that as she had grown up, he had grown older. He had never been sick before. She could not imagine him aged and weak, someday even gone. The thought that he was vulnerable frightened her. Daddy could never leave her; she wanted to die before he did. Nobody must die before her; that was her law. She would never be left alone.
Daddy did not die. She was relieved to hear him, loud and strong, demanding to go home two days after surgery. "If they want me to rest, this sure as hell isn�t the place."
His swearing soothed her like a lullaby. "God's in his heaven," it sang. "All's right with the world."
Reassured by the stability of life, she returned to school. She and Karl had different theology classes now; they greeted each other uneasily on the rare occasions they passed.
Mac joined her in the Student Union, picking up threads of a conversation they had had months ago. She told him of her plan to enter the convent.
"I figured it was something like that," he winked. "You're not cloistered yet, are you?"
"No."
"Then how about meeting me at the club tonight?"
Knowing that Mac knew her intentions and wanted only friendship from her, Joanne enjoyed his company. When the lake thawed, they substituted movies and bowling for ice-skating. Cautiously, she watched for signs of romance. There were none.
The sun burst through in March, tantalizing them with a day left over from last June. They swam in the lake while the snow still hugged the hillside.
After studying all Saturday morning for the next week's midterms, Joanne took a break and went down to the post office. A letter from Mother was waiting. Daddy had to have another operation, for a hernia.
"It was his own foolishness," wrote Mother. "He was down at the shop, lifting things before he was supposed to. You don't need to come home. I know you have tests. Just send him a card."
The surgery would be Wednesday. Joanne had her physics exam then, the hardest one. She planned to go home on Friday.
A phone call came right after the physics test. Mother's voice was frantic. "Something's wrong; I don't know what. They won't tell me anything. Something happened in the operating room. I'm waiting for the doctor. They won't let me into his room."
Joanne's voice sounded calm to her own ears, as though it belonged to someone else. "I'll get a bus. I'll be there as soon as I can. Are the boys with you? Good. I�m coming."
Without looking she threw some clothes in a suitcase. No books. She raced to find Mac.
"Can you drive me to the station? It's my dad."
Daddy was alive, but unconscious. He stayed that way for three days. Then it was over.
"He had a coronary on the operating table," the doctor said. "His heart stopped. We revived him, but he'd been without oxygen for too long. He undoubtedly suffered brain damage. Had he lived, he would have remained in a coma, possibly for years, and then died."
It may have been more merciful this way, but even asleep, lying there with tubes in him, just breathing, he might have heard. All the words Joanne had never said to him, hadn't known she needed to say, hung silent in the air.
"I love you Daddy. And I forgive you."
Suddenly she needed to forgive the red glint in his eyes when he believed Rick and not her. She needed to say it, and it was too late. She would say it to Mother and Rick before it was too late for them. "I forgive you."
But no words would come, and neither would tears. At first there wasn't time. She had to help Mother, the arrangements, the obituary, the thank you notes. The service was simple, no Mass, no church, just some words in the funeral parlor, then the sound of earth, hard and dry, smothering. Flowers to cover it, flowers from her roommates, from Mac, from Karl. Then Mother and Rick and Tim, hugging each other and crying, and Joanne watching the flowers wilt. Still no words. Still no tears.
When she found her voice, it was only to say, "I don't want to go back, Mother. I'll help you. I'll get a job."
"Your job is to finish school. It's what Daddy would want. He was always so proud of you, Joanne."
"But the money. Even with the scholarship�"
"Everything's paid up for this year. After that, we�ll see."
It rained on the way back to school. The windshield wipers on the bus whispered. "I forgive you," chanted Joanne to the rhythm. "I forgive you."
Mac met her at the bus stop. His sympathy embarrassed her; she didn't know what to say.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He stopped at the dorm but she did not want to go inside. "I have to go for a walk," she said.
He put her suitcase in the hall. "Want me to come?"
"Thank you, but no."
Rain splashed on her cheeks, a wetness not warm enough, not salty enough for tears. Across the campus she saw a tan trench coat. Collar up, no hat, no umbrella, the face indistinguishable, the wearer approached, a pair of cushioned shoulders hunching toward the dorm.
"Jo!�"
"Hello, Karl."
"I was coming to tell you. I'm so sorry."
"No, Karl. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I did love someone. I loved my Dad. And I never told him."
"He knew."
"I�m sorry I hurt you, Karl. Please say you forgive me."
"It's okay. There's nothing to..."
"No, say it, please. I need for you to say it, for my sake and for yours."
She buried her face in his soggy shoulder.
"I forgive you, Jo."
With his words came the tears.