Following his talk to the Odd Fellows, Jason hurried back to his room to see if Cari had replied. She hadn’t. He was due at the prison in an hour to teach his first of four classes for the day, after which he would individually tutor two inmates. He didn’t look forward to any of it. The thought of Cari left little room for anything else. What did she look like? What were her circumstances? Why had she made the effort to find him? The last question hammer locked his imagination.

That night he paced his one-room apartment, ventured out at nine o’clock into a drizzle to pick up a copy of Time, which he didn’t read, and finally climbed into bed in a profound funk when Cari failed to reply by midnight. Had she been in an accident? Called away on an emergency? His message wasn’t important to her? Why was it so important to him? Hadn’t he tried all these years to expunge her from his thoughts?

They had surrendered their virginity to each other on a summer day, the only island in that awful sea of blood so long ago. The day, her nakedness, and the sensation of being inside her clung to him like a forbidden, cherished scent.

He tossed and turned until three in the morning.

There was still no email in the morning. Jason had a full day, but at noon he drove to an electronics store to buy an inexpensive prepaid smart phone. Cari’s emails for some reason had weakened his resistance to technology. He would learn to use a device he had deliberately resisted owning, not from any prejudice against its particular technology—he resisted all things electronic—but rather from a desire not to be shackled to an instrument of any kind every waking minute. He had seen too many people unable to put them aside, even when in the company of others. There were times he wanted neither to reach out nor be reached.

Did his defiance of technology complement his loner mentality, a trait that had taken root and grown in the past five years, or did it reach back further? He recalled his dismay when St. Victor College had replaced the ancient pipe organ in Christ the King Chapel with an electronic one, a proposal and decision he had fought to the point of embarrassing his mentor, Monsignor Korth. Even now, he bristled at the notion of an electronic organ sharing space and sound with the ancient intonations of a Gregorian chant.

He owned an old flip phone with limited functionality that he used strictly for phone calls, having never taken time to learn its other capabilities. Now he felt nudged to advance to something better because Cari probably was proficient with such things. How else could she have found him? An email from Cari finally showed up in his message box that evening around eight.

From: Cari Lang carefreecari@gmail.com

Tue., June 19, 2012, 7:54 p.m.

Subject: You

Dear Jason,

Mea culpa, mea culpa for not getting back to you! Long story short, I hitched a ride with a girlfriend yesterday, my phone somehow found its way beneath her front seat, and I just got it back. My computer, which I don’t use that much anymore for emailing, is laid up with a slipped whatever, and oh well, here I am.

Was afraid you weren’t going to reply to my message but so glad you did. Thought I’d never find you. Long story how I did. Will share it with you someday over a drink or coffee. Main thing is I succeeded. Would love to see you again. Lunch sounds great!

I need to correct my last email. Should have used the past tense regarding the symphony, which Rhonda and I are leaving because we’ve been hired by St. Catherine University, a Catholic women’s school, beginning in the fall. I’m so happy to be at St. Kate. I feel part of a community. Have made some good friends before even teaching a class. Seems I’ve spent my whole life searching for this kind of place. Where else should a good(?) Methodist girl be but surrounded by Catholics? (The mea culpas should tell you how the place is rubbing off on me.)

BTW, where are you? I have your email address connection, but for all I know you could be on the moon. You haven’t run away with a scarlet woman, have you? Or a nun? Just kidding. My snail mail address is 2048 Toland Street, St. Paul 55118. What’s yours? Anywhere near the Twin Cities? Hope so. Would like to catch up with your life and share mine. Reply soon. I promise to do the same. Love always,

Cari

Energized, Jason took a long walk in the drizzly remains of a dismal day, not really caring if the sun ever shone again. Few pedestrians shared the wet concrete with him, but the air carried the freshness and purity that follow rain. His lifelong inexperience with women and his sequestered monastic life for the past five years left him ill-equipped to define or understand his own emotions. Cari’s words excited him on a deeper level than he cared to admit. Was there a major turn in his life ahead? The unsettling thought spurred his excitement as he stroked the scar on his forehead.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four