by Frank Smith
I laughed at the image and opened the back door of the Outback and traded my jacket and Roman collar for a PaCom sweat shirt and a baseball cap.
"Nice wheels, buddy. Like to trade it for a ten-year- old Civic?"
"The state's a little more generous with its employees than the Archdiocese," I said.
I lifted the rear hatch, sat, and grabbed my sneakers. "Why don't you duck out and come with me?"
"Wish I could. What are you planning?"
"A quick jog along the East River Drive to clear my head before I meet up with Olivia and my mother."
"Kelly Drive," he said correcting me.
"Not in my neck of the woods," I said between grunts tying my laces. "Check out the gigantic overhead road sign up in my neighborhood sometime. Big arrow to the right-Ridge Avenue: big arrow straight ahead- Lincoln Drive: big arrow to the left-East River Drive. Even the streets department prefers the original name. It tells you it's a road running along the east side of the river and similarly the West River Drive runs along the west side."
"Martin Luther King Drive now," Tom said.
"Same sentiment."
I slammed the hatch and walked around the car, settled into my seat, shut the door, turned the key, and lowered the window. Tom supported himself with his hands on the roof as he leaned forward.
"Remember, Frank, bargaining chips, and don't forget the game next Friday night."
"Who are we playing?"
"St. Monica's men club in South Philly. You might remember them from last year. They thought we were sissies for calling fouls when we weren't bleeding."
"I'll wear my football helmet. See you, Tom."
CHAPTER 26-JOGGING WITH VICKI
My parking space in front of mom's building was gone. Saint Anthony deserted me. Veteran saints can get lazy. New saints, however, are always eager to get a few more miracles under their belts to solidify their promotions and an open parking space near the Art Museum on a beautiful Saturdayy might qualify as a miracle. I tried John Paul II and made a right on 27th street-nothing. A left on Swain-still nothing. A left on Pennock-not a thing. Another left back onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Two open spots, and no meters. Definitely a miracle. Thank you JP. I walked a block down to the playground. Olivia and Joey were on the swings shouting, "watch me, watch me." Mom and Vicki were on a bench trying to have a conversation. I snuck up behind the bench and covered Vicki's eyes.
"Guess who?"
"Hmm, y'all wouldn't be that awful Rhett Butler a comin' back to beg mah forgiveness, and tell me y'all really do give a damn?"
When Vicki turns on her Atlanta accent it's like opening a tap and having molasses ooze out instead of water. "Guess again," I said.
"The Brad Pitt look-alike who leaves a single rose on the hood of mah cah ev'y mornin'?"
"Nope."
"I can't imagine-unless you're that handsome Irishman that keeps pestering me."
"That's me."
Both mom and Vicki tuned back towards me.
"We'll I declare, Joan, it is that pesky one. A gal isn't safe anywhere."
I bent down between them and gave mom a peck on the cheek and got one in return from Vicki.
"This is a pleasant surprise," I said, looking at Vicki. "How long have you been here?"
"About an hour. Your mother gave me a call and convinced me that sitting on a park bench was a better choice than vacuuming my apartment on such a beautiful morning. She didn't have to try hard."
"Especially when I mentioned that my handsome and intelligent son would be here later."
Mother fancied herself a match maker.
"I don't know why you two don't just get married," she recently had said. "You're obviously crazy about each other. Two families broken by tragedy joining to form a whole again. I think God arranged for you to meet. If you explain it that way to the proper authorities I'll bet they'd wave their silly rule. Why you're an asset to the Church."
"Don't be giving him a big head," Vicki said.
"Oh. he got the head long ago, Vicki, when he got both a National Merit scholarship and athletic scholarship offers to a half dozen colleges."
I tried to switch the focus. "Vicki went to Villanova on a track scholarship, Mom."
"Partial," said Vicki, "and I can still outrun you any day."
"Like to try? Up to the Fall's Bridge and back? Will you be okay for about a half hour, mom?"
"You kids go ahead. Joey and Olivia are entertaining themselves."
Vicki stood and took a rubber band from her wrist and gathered her hair into a ponytail. She wore running shoes, jogging shorts, and a "Wildcats" sweatshirt faded from deep blue to a bluish gray. I helped her thread her pony tail through the opening in her matching sweat-stained VU baseball cap.
"See what I put up with mom?" I said laughing. "To go for a simple jog in the park I trade my jacket and collar for a pair of sneakers. Vicki prepares for a marathon."
The marathoner was standing on one leg, the ankle of the other resting on the back of the bench, while she grabbed the toe of her shoe and pulled back.
"If I was running a marathon I'd shed the sweatshirt and fanny pack," she said. Twisting her head toward my mother she added with a wink,"he jogs- I run."
And it's a beautiful sight when she does; smooth, graceful, effortless. We started slowly, joining the end of a line of tourists on Segways passing Boat House Row. The guide at the front of the line tossed names of rowing clubs over her shoulder into the gentle breeze. I caught "Vespers, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia Girls" before we passed them. We ran at a leisurely pace side by side along the wide path next to the river for the first mile.
"I'm going to run a little, Frank."
"Just remember the story?of the?tortoise and the hare," I said between breaths.
"This bunny will see you later. I'll stop at that bench by the statue over there on the way back."
There was no visible change of gear, no noticeable effort, only a momentary shift in the motion of her pony tail from rhythmic swinging, to chaotic motion, and then back again to a higher frequency oscillation, and she was moving away from me, her hair waving goodbye. While I chugged steadily along she settled into the easy fast pace of the long distance runner. The path curved and she was gone.
A mile below the bridge she was headed back towards me smiling. She looked as fresh as when she started. I was congratulating myself on my pain. No pain, no gain.
"At the statue, Frank," she said as she passed.
When I got there she was doing her cool down exercises. Mine consisted of putting both hands on the back of a bench and bending over to catch my breath. A little more gain than I really wanted.
"Well that was refreshing," she said. "Why don't you sit while I get us some lunch?"
Vicki took some money from her fanny pack and walked over to a vendor with a blue and white push cart. We sat on the bench eating soft, salt-encrusted pretzels smeared with yellow mustard and squirting water in our mouths from a shared bottle of Aqua Fina. Out on the river tiny white sail boats tried to keep out of the way of the racing shells that were coming and going from the boat houses.
"Wow," she said. "How many days like this does God give us in a lifetime?"
"Not enough," I said.
She took a small notebook out of her fanny pack. Writing juvenile fiction started as a hobby and then expanded to selling them on the internet as publish-on-demand books. She has a writer's habit of jotting down anything she thinks might be useful for a future story: the colors of the sky, grass, flowers, the sounds of birds chirping, children playing , oars thumping, coxswains shouting, the sidewalk bicyclists, skaters, and young moms jogging behind three-wheeled strollers- everything, including road signs and a rough sketch of the area. I told her she'd make a good cop.
"It comes in handy when I'm writing a story. It may be fiction but if I get the traffic on Chestnut Street going the wrong way, or have someone park on a street under a 'no parking this side' sign, or m
aybe put the Art Museum on the wrong side of the river, anyone who knows Philadelphia may be turned off enough to stop reading."
Looking over her shoulder I said, "You didn't put anything down about the light on the water. Look at the oars when they come out of the water; the way the light reflects and refracts."
"Good idea. Wait till I jot this down. Give me a few minutes. I've got an idea."
I watched the traffic on the river while she wrote.
"Okay, I got it. 'Out on the water the coxswain in the St. Joe's heavy eight leaned forward, megaphone strapped to his mouth, urging his crew to reach deep for one last mighty effort. Crossing the finish line the oars tilt up, sunlight dripping from their tips, as the exhausted crew slumps, heads on their knees, and the boat glides silently. It was a few moments before anyone noticed the unnatural position of the coxswain; his left arm over the side of the boat-not sunlight but blood dripping from his finger tips.' How's that?"
"I like it .What are you going to call it?"
"How about Murder at the Dad Vail Regatta? It'll be the opening paragraph. Want to hear some more?"
"Can't wait but we better get back. I told my mother a half hour.."
"Just a few minutes more. It's nice we don't have to worry about any old ladies from the parish snooping around here."
"Or our personal paparazzi," I said.
"Who?"
No time like the present, I thought. I told her about the altered zoo photo, Detective Rossi's concern about the email connection to a possible homicide, and what we found out about the shooting-the whole mess.
"Jeez, Frank, do you think we're in danger?"
"Personally I think someone is trying to scare me. I think if they really wanted to hurt me, or you, they would have done it already. Why warn me?"
"To toy with you? This guy, or gal, sounds like a nut. A psycho maybe. Gets his or her jollies by playing with the victim. Are you scared, Frank?"
"No. Are you?"
"Darn right and you should be too. And all of a sudden I'm cold. Hold me, Frank."
"How's that?"
"Better. It's so peaceful here I hate to leave."
"It's like a nineteenth century painting," I said.
"Yes. Look at that double passing the pilings under the bridge- straight out of a Thomas Eakins painting."
"Not a chance," I said.
She looked up at me smiling. "No? And why not, Mister Doctor of Philosophy? Too high tech? Moving too fast?"
"Nope."
"Fiberglass boat? Aluminum oars instead of wood?"
"Wrong again," I said enjoying the game. "I'll give you one more guess."
She looked at the boat again and raised one finger. "I've got it. The boat is too colorful. It's bright red and white and Eakins' boats were drab."
"Sorry, miss. Your time is up. But you get a kiss anyhow."
"I like this game. Okay, tell me. What is it?"
"Describe the oarsmen."
"Well, they're wearing red Temple sweatshirts, and, you know, it's not quite proper to call them oars-men. They're women."
"And if it's a Thomas Eakins painting where are their long dresses and parasols?" I asked.
"Oh, that's not fair!" I got a punch on the arm. "I'm supposed to be the feminist, not you."
"We'd better get going," I said. "I have to shower and dress and get back to St. Elizabeth's for confessions at four o'clock."
"Maybe I'll come to you for confession. I'm a naughty girl, you know. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."
Then she whispered, "I'm in love with a priest. What would you give me for penance?"
"Hmm. that sounds pretty serious. How about three Hail Mary's and you spring for brunch tomorrow?"
"That doesn't sound too bad. I was afraid you might want to spank me."
"Maybe I would but I don't want to get arrested. Race you back to the Art Museum?"
"No contest," she said. "I'll wait for you at the top of the steps. We'll have a Rocky Balboa moment."
CHAPTER 27-VICKI'S BOSON
"Throw the pebbles into the water, Joey, not at the ducks," she shouted.
I had managed to get through Sunday morning's Mass with no shots fired. Now we were sitting on a bench facing the Wissahickon Creek in front of the Valley Green Inn on Forbidden Drive. We had just finished a late brunch. "Forbidden Drive" was appropriately named as you can not drive to the Inn. You can park some distance away and walk, ride a bike, or arrive on horseback. There was a small stable next to the inn for the convenience of the equestrian crowd. The bike rack was full and three horses waited patiently at hitching posts.
"How were your Belgian Waffles?"
"Great," I said "and they tasted even better knowing it was your treat."
"My penance you mean."
"Remind me to hear more of your confessions. How did you ever find this place? It's hard to believe we're in the city."
"See that narrow path up there," Vicki said pointing to the ridge across the creek. "It's a mountain bike trail. Before Joey was born, Joe and I used to ride the trails. There's over fifty miles of them in the park. Every time we passed this spot he said we should come here to eat sometime. But, he never got that chance."
"I'm sorry. I?"
"It's OK. I can talk about it now. Six months after we were married his National Guard unit was called up. I received a letter from him describing how he was helping to build a school in the village where he was stationed. A week later he was dead. It was an IED. He never even saw Joey. The village was left with a hole in the ground and the foundation for the school. Life goes on and it's a beautiful day and I have something for you."
"A drawing?" I asked, looking at the pad on her lap.
"It's an illustration for a lecture of yours; the one I caught the tail end of when I stopped in to see you two weeks ago."
"Refresh my memory. What was I discussing?"
"The particle that the physicists in Switzerland found, the boson. Unlike many of your students, I was paying attention."
"Hanging on my every word."
"Evaluating your teaching."
"How am I doing?"
"Not bad. You could write bigger on the blackboard, though, and use more visual aids. That's what this is. I'm making one for you," she said while shading in part of her drawing with a pencil.
"What's that-thing?" I said pointing at the drawing.
"It's supposed to be the Higgs Boson."
"It looks like an amoeba with a face."
"That's the way I think of it. How do you picture it? What's your mental image?"
"A particle, a blip, a small dot, a symbol on a piece of paper. Who knows?"
"No imagination. My boson is cuter. Has personality."
"Does he work in McDonald's? He's standing at a counter with a menu behind him."
"I call it McDonnelly's. The menu is a list of the masses of other particles. You said in your lecture that the Higgs boson gives mass to the other particles."
"Not exactly. I said that the Higgs field gives them mass. The Higgs boson is the particle associated with the field. Find the boson and you prove the existence of the field. That's what they are doing with the Large Hadron Collider."
"Whatever. Anyhow, other particles come up to the counter and order a mass from Higgy. The electron asks for one, the proton-you said the proton has a mass 1836 times the mass of an electron, right?-so he asks for 1836, the mu meson for 207. See, I drew the masses like miniature burgers, sliders, lined up on a rack behind Higgy. Over here you can see the particles pick up their orders. The electron-the tiny green worm- gets a tiny bag-only one burger. The muon-she's the one that looks like a purple lady bug-has to drag this giant sack with 207 burgers. The poor proton-the hairy grapefruit with legs- has to load his order into a shopping cart. The alpha particle-the obese four-headed blob-needs a u-haul?"
"OK. I get it. Higgy assigns the proper mass to each particle."
"Yes, and my version of the theory can be
understood by children. You need a PhD to understand your version."
"In reality it's more complicated. The particles have electric charge, and spin, and?."
"Higgy knows all that, Frank. He asks each particle if they'd like to add fries to their order."
"I know what you're up to. If I say you need to specify whether the charges are positive or negative you'll say that Higgy always asks if they want ketchup or mustard. Whatever they need, He has it."
"Right. For the neutron with no electric charge Higgy shouts 'hold the onions!' Don't knock it, Frank. You guys spent billions on super-colliders to find your boson. I already have mine working, albeit at minimum wage, but he'll be in the management program soon."
Vicki scribbled her name at the bottom of the page and tore it off the pad.
"Scan this and put it into a PowerPoint presentation. Now your students will have something to look at the next time you lecture on the Higgs."
"Not a bad idea," I said looking at the drawing. It really wasn't. "Thanks. It might at least hold their interest."
Vicki slid closer on the bench and I put my arm around her shoulder.
"Hope nobody's taking pictures of us," she said.
"Let's smile."
She did and said, "We're a good team, Frank."
"We are. Now if I could only convince the Vatican to put us under contract."
"You'll think of something-or we use plan B."
"Plan B?"
"I become your mistress. I was thinking, it's a better deal than wife anyway. Mistresses don't cook or wash clothes, they get to eat in the best restaurants and get nice presents. Besides, I read where some of those cardinals in Rome have mistresses. What's good for the goose?"
"Uh, huh. I don't think your 'plan B' will fly very well at the Vatican."
Vicki tapped the tip of my nose with her index finger. "That's why they need to get crackin'-avoid another scandal."
"I still prefer plan A. I'd miss the cooking and washing."
I looked at the drawing she gave me. "Any more suggestions for visual aids?"
"I have some ideas for your sermons."
"My sermons?"
"Yes. Oh, wait," she said standing up and shouting. "Joey and Liv, keep away from that dog and get rid of those sticks. Now!"
Vicki sat and pointed at the dog. "Look at the size of that thing. Put a saddle on it and tie it to the hitching post and it could pass for a Shetland pony. Where was I? Oh, yes, sermons. If you don't mind me saying so they could be jazzed up a bit."