bathroom here.”
“Better than a nightclub .” She looked at her watch. “It’s one thirty in the morning!”
“I said I’m sorry. I’ve kept what’s left of the last pack in my camera bag since I quit. Never touched it in all those months . ”
She sat next to him. “You really didn’t notice lighting up?”
“I swear.” He took her hand. “ Why would I do it here, knowing how you hate it ? I’m not suicidal. ”
“Good point.” She looked at the iPhone in his hand. “ Still reading? What’s going on?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Tell me.”
“Tomorrow. G o to sleep.” He grabbed the Marlboro pack from the coffee table and tossed it in the garbage . “ There . It’s over. Promise.”
They held each other.
Keera slipped her hands under his shirt.
He pulled them out and led her to the stairs. “ Don’t you have to be in the hospital at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning? ”
She purred, making him laugh.
Chapter 22
Z.H. Journal Entry # 9 :
On Thursday , the evening before Veterans Day , I drove to Bishop Morgan ’s home and gave him a floppy disk containing the two lists . O ne list had over a thousand names , but the second list was much short er, containing the names of the heroes who had won more than one Medal of Honor. He asked if the two list s in total included all the names of Medal of Honor recipients since 1917 , and I nodded. He held my hand between his hands and recited a lengthy blessing for my good healt h and joy in my growing family , as well as success in my government job, my service to the church, and my relationship with God .
I went home feeling terrible despite the B ishop’s blessings, which I had earned through deceit , born of my need to cover up my even worse sin— failing to do what he had told me to do, which was like disobeying God.
Our youngest , Maxine, was colicky , the other s were suffering a winter cold, and Palmyra was too tired and irate to hear about my agonizing turmoil over the sin s of lying and disobedience I had knowingly committed.
That night, s leep came only after I took an extra pill . B ut sometime during the night , I awoke to find Palmyra shaking my shoulder. She said that I had been yelling incoherently. Paul and Gilead appeared in our bedroom door in their pajamas , their eyes wid e . I apologized, explaining that I must have been dreaming about the war. We calmed them down , gave them each a dose of bubblegum Motrin, and put them back to sleep.
Having drenched myself with sweat, I too k a shower and returned to bed.
Palmyra was nursing Maxine in the rocking chair . She asked me what was wrong.
I told her that I had disobeyed the bishop’s instructions and had lied to him about it.
She was as loving and as understanding as any good Mormon wife would be, but also clear in her desire that I c onfess to Bishop Morgan , repent , and obtain absolution .
In the morning, as I was eating br eakfast with the children, Palmy ra asked when I would be calling Bishop Morgan. My response, that I wasn’t going to confess, shocked her. She pulled me away from the kitchen table and whispered urgently , “ You must talk to Bishop Morgan! Disobedience is a terrible sin! ” I explained that it would be a bigger sin to betray the Marine c aptain who had saved my life not once, but twice. Whatever level of afterlife his soul was occupying , I knew he surely would not accept the Mormon Gospel , and th erefore his posthumous baptism w ould be a needless insult to his memory and his soul . I didn’t think God wanted me to do it.
Palmyra wasn’t convin ced. “God wants you to obey Bishop Morgan ! ” S he wip ed away tears. “That’s the truth!”
A couple of hour s later, while I was already at the Department of Veterans Affairs, busy on a crossword puzzle at my desk, a hand-delivered envelop e arrived from Nibberworth Investment Bank. Inside was the floppy disk I had given to Bishop Morgan the previous night .
“Better than a nightclub .” She looked at her watch. “It’s one thirty in the morning!”
“I said I’m sorry. I’ve kept what’s left of the last pack in my camera bag since I quit. Never touched it in all those months . ”
She sat next to him. “You really didn’t notice lighting up?”
“I swear.” He took her hand. “ Why would I do it here, knowing how you hate it ? I’m not suicidal. ”
“Good point.” She looked at the iPhone in his hand. “ Still reading? What’s going on?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Tell me.”
“Tomorrow. G o to sleep.” He grabbed the Marlboro pack from the coffee table and tossed it in the garbage . “ There . It’s over. Promise.”
They held each other.
Keera slipped her hands under his shirt.
He pulled them out and led her to the stairs. “ Don’t you have to be in the hospital at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning? ”
She purred, making him laugh.
Chapter 22
Z.H. Journal Entry # 9 :
On Thursday , the evening before Veterans Day , I drove to Bishop Morgan ’s home and gave him a floppy disk containing the two lists . O ne list had over a thousand names , but the second list was much short er, containing the names of the heroes who had won more than one Medal of Honor. He asked if the two list s in total included all the names of Medal of Honor recipients since 1917 , and I nodded. He held my hand between his hands and recited a lengthy blessing for my good healt h and joy in my growing family , as well as success in my government job, my service to the church, and my relationship with God .
I went home feeling terrible despite the B ishop’s blessings, which I had earned through deceit , born of my need to cover up my even worse sin— failing to do what he had told me to do, which was like disobeying God.
Our youngest , Maxine, was colicky , the other s were suffering a winter cold, and Palmyra was too tired and irate to hear about my agonizing turmoil over the sin s of lying and disobedience I had knowingly committed.
That night, s leep came only after I took an extra pill . B ut sometime during the night , I awoke to find Palmyra shaking my shoulder. She said that I had been yelling incoherently. Paul and Gilead appeared in our bedroom door in their pajamas , their eyes wid e . I apologized, explaining that I must have been dreaming about the war. We calmed them down , gave them each a dose of bubblegum Motrin, and put them back to sleep.
Having drenched myself with sweat, I too k a shower and returned to bed.
Palmyra was nursing Maxine in the rocking chair . She asked me what was wrong.
I told her that I had disobeyed the bishop’s instructions and had lied to him about it.
She was as loving and as understanding as any good Mormon wife would be, but also clear in her desire that I c onfess to Bishop Morgan , repent , and obtain absolution .
In the morning, as I was eating br eakfast with the children, Palmy ra asked when I would be calling Bishop Morgan. My response, that I wasn’t going to confess, shocked her. She pulled me away from the kitchen table and whispered urgently , “ You must talk to Bishop Morgan! Disobedience is a terrible sin! ” I explained that it would be a bigger sin to betray the Marine c aptain who had saved my life not once, but twice. Whatever level of afterlife his soul was occupying , I knew he surely would not accept the Mormon Gospel , and th erefore his posthumous baptism w ould be a needless insult to his memory and his soul . I didn’t think God wanted me to do it.
Palmyra wasn’t convin ced. “God wants you to obey Bishop Morgan ! ” S he wip ed away tears. “That’s the truth!”
A couple of hour s later, while I was already at the Department of Veterans Affairs, busy on a crossword puzzle at my desk, a hand-delivered envelop e arrived from Nibberworth Investment Bank. Inside was the floppy disk I had given to Bishop Morgan the previous night .
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