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Love's Perfect Surrender

By Chiara Talluto

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Chapeter 1

February, 2000. Near Chicago.

At the rectory of Our Lady Catholic Community Church in Villa Park, Illinois, Antoinette Libero poured coffee into two mugs. She hesitated over the third mug, leaving it empty. Her indecision reflecting her mood. Then putting the coffee pot back on the counter, she slumped into a chair next to Father Robert O’Malley.
“So, what seems to be the problem?”
She nervously brushed a strand of sandy brown hair from her face. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Vito and I are…” Antoinette’s voice squeaked.
“It’s okay,” he patted her hand.
“Father, we aren’t as close as we once were. It’s like we’ve fallen off the wagon, and we can’t get back on. I don’t know what else to do,” she shivered even though she wore a wool sweater.
The priest, portly, in his mid-fifties, nodded his head and stroked his graying beard. “At least he came. That’s a first step, dear,” he whispered.
She and her husband had driven to the church separately after work and had met the pastor at the door. The Father had taken them back to the dining room where they could talk privately. They waited for Vito now. Five minutes earlier, he had excused himself to go to the restroom.
Taking a sip of hot coffee, Antoinette looked toward the bay window of the dining room, wondering how the meeting would go. Three inches of snow blanketed the parking lot of the church grounds, with more still falling. She and Vito had been married for nine years. Her marriage was crumbling before her eyes; the spark was no longer there. They were still childless after years of trying. She thought it had been a good idea to seek counseling with their pastor. Now she was rethinking her decision.
Looking around, she noted the interior of the rectory. Pale shades opened against dark beige walls, made the room dull and uninviting. Two brown leather couches and a small, glass coffee table sat to the right of the window. A kitchenette stood on the other side. She and Father Robert were sitting at large cherry-wood table, and it was smack in the center of the room.
It was already after seven on a Monday evening. She worked as a teacher at Griffen High School, and it was a fifteen minute drive to church. Tonight, it had taken almost an hour to get there with the weather.
She had spent the whole day in a daze, contemplating how to salvage her marriage. Normally, she’d head home to fix dinner but knew Vito wouldn’t be there. So, she stayed late at school grading papers, avoiding a drive to an empty and lonely house. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but food was the last thing on her mind.
Father Robert reassured her with plans of his own of what he was going to discuss with them at this meeting. She was easy to convince, but her husband might not be as open to a marriage intervention, especially if it involved a priest. Vito disliked third parties in his personal affairs. He was very protective about that.
As her husband lumbered back through the dark hallway and into the dining area, she watched as he approached them. The lines around his hazel eyes were more pronounced, his chiseled face, haggard. Even his wavy blondish hair had started to turn gray at his temples. With hunched shoulders, he appeared smaller than his 6’1” frame in khaki corduroys, blue sweater, and brown loafers.
He took a seat across from Antoinette and reached for the mug in front of him.
“What? No coffee for me?”
He shoved the mug, sliding it across the table toward her.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I’ll get it.”
She rose from the table and reached for the pot and quickly poured the liquid into his cup. “I didn’t know if you wanted any coffee.”
Vito twisted his hands together. “It‘s freezing out.” Then he took a sip. “Damn weather. I can’t wait till spring.”
The priest nodded. “You’re right. Last month wasn’t so bad, considering those two big snow storms we had after the New Year. But late tonight into tomorrow morning,” he pointed outside, “they’re predicting another three inches on top of what we currently have.”
Her husband peered at his watch and sighed heavily. “Driving home won’t be an easy ride, either. We haven’t had dinner yet, and I still have to shovel our driveway. So maybe we could get on with this meeting, or whatever this is.”
Father Robert cleared his throat. “Well, first, I’m happy you both came.” He looked from Antoinette to Vito. “Secondly, from what your wife has told me, you both seem to be going through a rough patch. My role is to give you tools to strengthen your marriage.”
“Hmm…That’s private. Why do you need to know our business?” Vito rubbed his hand down his face.
“It’s standard procedure, Mr. Libero. When we work with couples who are having marital issues, we set up counseling sessions to help them uncover what it is that is straining their relationship.”
“I’ll tell you what’s ‘straining’ our relationship.” He pointed to Antoinette. “We can’t have kids. All the money wasted, empty promises from doctors; I’m sick of it.”
“So, that didn’t work. What can you do? Spend your life being angry for what you didn’t have, rather than what you have now,” the priest consoled. “You can’t let it ruin your marriage?”
“Too late for that,” Vito snapped.
Antoinette glanced at the clock above the refrigerator in the kitchenette. They had been there only ten minutes and the conversation had already turned sour. She felt sick to her stomach. Could the pastor save her marriage? When she had spoken to him on the phone to set up the appointment, his concern was genuine. She wasn’t comfortable talking to either Vito’s parents or her own about their problems, or anyone else.
“This is just a bump in your road. I can help you and your wife.”
“Give me a break.” Vito stood up from the chair he was sitting in and jerked his jacket off the back of it. “I’ve heard enough. Get up, Antoinette. Let’s get out of here.”
She took a deep breath, shook her head, and held her folded hands firm on the table. “Vito, could you please settle down? Let’s stay and talk this through. You haven’t given this a chance.” Her unblinking eyes locked onto his. Even with the wide table between them, the air felt thick and stuffy.
Her husband leaned on the back of the chair, “Settle down, huh?” He pointed at her again. “You say I never have any emotion, or express myself. Guess what? I’m feeling it now, baby. Strong as hell.”
Father Robert coughed. “Let’s not use that language around here, okay?”
“Antoinette, come on, already.”
The priest stretched out his hand. “Hold on a few more minutes.”
Vito spun to face Father Robert, his face flushed. “Hold on a minute? You’re a priest, for God’s sake. Don’t you get it; I’m expected to carry on the family name. And now there isn’t any family name to carry on.”
Antoinette shook her head, exasperated. Lord, how come every time I try to do the right thing, it always turns out for the worse? She knew her husband’s temper. His mother, Rosa, often reminded her of that fact. The woman had thought nothing of spoiling her only son. Vito saw things as black and white. He couldn’t deal with emotional issues. He couldn’t control his temper either, and recently started hitting the bottle.
Father Robert held up his hands again, and smiled cordially. “Vito. What about adoption? There are so many wonderful children who are looking for loving homes and…”
“No! I don’t want anyone else’s kid,” he snorted, refusing to sit down.
Antoinette watched him fumble with his jacket as he put it on. Just as she expected, he blamed everything on her.
“I was only trying to help our marriage.”
He threw up his hands. “I see what’s really going on here. You two have some sort of plan. You’re blabbing about our personal problems. Telling him so he feels sorry for you. Stay away from her,” he pointed to the priest. “This is ridiculous. Let’s go. Now!”
“No.” She rose and marched around the table to where he stood. “I want to have our own children as much as you do. You think the only way we are going to be a real family is to have blood children?”
Father Robert stepped in between them. “Maybe this isn’t the best time…”
Vito turned away, and Antoinette continued. “I was the one who pushed us to see an infertility specialist when we couldn’t get pregnant. I was the one who went through all the shots and pain of IVF. I was the one who went through bloating and morning sickness. It was me who was treated for depression when Devon died. Remember him? Your stillborn son, our son.”
“How about coming back this Thursday at seven?”
Antoinette nudged the priest out of the way. She was on the verge of tears now. “Every time I try to talk to you about it, we fight. We fight about everything, including adoption. What else do you want me to do? Can’t you see? Our marriage is suffering from all this.”
“Stop for God’s sake.”
The priest leaned forward. “Can we continue this discussion—?”
Vito barged past him. “This is bullshit, I’m outta—”
“Again with the language.”
Furious and disappointed, Antoinette crossed her arms. She should have known this was the way the meeting was going to end.
Her husband headed for the door, and then stopped and turned toward her. In the dimly lit dining room, his face darkened, “I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was barely audible and heavy with sadness. “This whole infertility thing, the losses, has made things worse between us. I don’t know if I love you anymore, Antoinette. I can’t stay in a relationship without children. I’m sorry. Maybe we’re not meant to be together.”
Her knees buckled, she caught herself by grabbing onto one of the chairs. “You don’t mean that.”
“Please, think about Thursday,” Father Robert said.
With a guilty look on his face, Vito stared at her. “You wanted me to say what’s been eating at me. Now you know. I’ll be outside.”
The priest put his arm around her. “Let him calm down. Give him time to think about the issues. Everything will be fine.”

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