They were seated around a table on the patio of Felipe’s Restaurant, drinking their after-dinner coffee. “The last time we sat here was right after Edie’s memorial service,” Karen said. “Up to this day we’ve never wanted to go back. Now, for the first time, I feel all right. You remember, Josh, don’t you?”

His eyes were moist, but there was a smile on his face. “Yes, I do. We were all crying together and leaning on each other.”

“Edie would be so proud. Especially of your part in bringing us to this.”

Father Conley turned to Alan. “How did you get those people with their special interests to agree to open conferences? Doesn’t that go against everything the doctors hold dear?”

Alan laughed. “Sometimes I can’t figure it out myself.”

“Of course,” Father Conley offered, a twinkle in his eye, “I’m a man of the cloth. I can explain everything very easily. But you might have a different explanation.”

Alan did have a hypothesis. “I think it was a matter of benefits outweighing risks. The insurance company figured there was nothing to lose. Maybe there’ll be fewer lawsuits; maybe there’ll be more amicable settlements, and lower legal fees. Maybe nothing’ll change. They certainly don’t expect it to cost more. So they save money or they don’t. Not much risk.”

“Were you going to represent yourself, Mrs. Avery?” Father Conley asked.

“No, my firm was. My friend Bobbie Buehl was handling our case. She told me a funny story. Bruce MacAdoo ― the attorney for Healers Protective ― called Frank Frazier, one of our senior partners. I think it was Wednesday, the fourth of January. He didn’t say Calvin had just left his office; that came out later. Frank referred him to Bobbie, which did nothing to improve his mood. He wanted the boss and he got a woman. He said the hospital had decided to offer a settlement so they could get on with their mission of helping patients . . . ”

Calvin was laughing. “Do you want to know how patients suddenly became important?”

“Do tell us,” Father Conley said.

“MacAdoo was trying to coach me. This was my second meeting with him, and I don’t think he liked the first. He was giving me all this stuff about having to act fast in an emergency. Then I was supposed to forget what happened with not asking about allergies, and I couldn’t be forced to remember things that weren’t recorded. And he was telling me how to answer questions so that it would look as if I’d done nothing wrong. And I wasn’t giving him an inch. I insisted on telling the truth. After a while he threw up his hands, and he said, ‘Doctor, with an attitude like that you’re going to have trouble taking out your own insurance when your time comes.’ That was the end of the session. He was not in a good mood, I can vouch for that.”

Karen said: “He may have been right about your insurance. I hope it won’t be hard for you. But he was embarrassed to tell Bobbie the real reason for settling ― that his client was uncooperative. So Bobbie agreed to meet him Friday ― in her office, of course; she wasn’t above using turf psychology. Now, Wednesday evening, can’t have been long after the meeting with MacAdoo, Calvin came to our house with Josh and we talked. Thursday I met with Bobbie, told her what we planned. Well, she needed the whole evening to get over that. Friday morning she called MacAdoo, said they should meet for lunch instead ― at a restaurant. See? Neutral turf. No more posturing for power; they were friends in a common endeavor now.”

“Fascinating!” Father Conley said. “But still, MacAdoo had already offered to settle. So why would he go along with your idea? He must have wondered about setting a precedent.”

“We weren’t about to accept a settlement, any settlement. We were going to insist on a jury trial, and we were going to win more than he could ever offer. It was a gamble, but our stubbornness forced him to think, and in the end he realized that our idea was the cheapest of all the alternatives. So he consulted with the insurer and they went along.”

Alan added, “How dangerous a precedent could it be? Like I said before, they’re more likely to save money than lose it.”

Father Conley leaned back in his chair, almost falling over, and looked at the ceiling.

“Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating. . . .”  He came back down. “OK, now that leaves the hospital and the doctors. I’d think the doctors would be the toughest of all. Just look at what they’ve committed themselves to. It’s frightening! For them, I mean.”

“The hospital wasn’t all that hard,” Alan replied. “True, they’re at risk in most of the cases, because their staff can’t constantly deny wrongdoing while the attending doctors admit theirs. But there’s a huge public relations payoff. Imagine, if this thing works, their name’ll be gold. If it doesn’t, they’ll still get credit for trying a wonderful idea, whose time maybe hasn’t come. And they’re not concerned with financial risk; that’s the insurance company’s worry.”

“What about confidentiality from the legal standpoint?”

“There’s no problem for the patients. Sitting in on conferences raises no confidentiality issue for them. Besides, the proceedings of these conferences are protected by law; they can’t be subpoenaed. And don’t forget, this is voluntary disclosure.”

“And the doctors? How were you able to bring them in?”

“Ah!” Alan said, “that really was a cliffhanger. Winning them over almost has me believing in divine intervention. The medical staff president last year was Gordon Keller, who happens to be my senior practice partner. He’s also one hell of a lobbyist. He was able to line up sixty-nine votes out of a hundred thirty. Don’t ask me how.”

Father Conley shook his head in disbelief and looked heavenward. Then he frowned.

“But weren’t the dissenters outraged, having to go along with something they never agreed to? Are they forced to? Don’t the by-laws protect them against changes in the rules?”

“Some of the dissenting voices were loud and nasty. And you’re right, they can’t be made to go along. But once patients get wind of what we’re doing, they’ll ask if their doctors are part of the program. Imagine telling your patient, ‘No, I’m not. I don’t believe in admitting my mistakes.’ Eleven doctors resigned. Future staff will have to agree as a condition of appointment.”

“Nothing short of a miracle.” Father Conley turned to Calvin. “Did you know this, son?”

“Yes, Father, Doctor Avery told me.”

“So what more does it take?”

Calvin looked down, blushing. He knew exactly what Father Conley was asking even if the others did not. “I’m a very lucky man.”

“I guess this experience has changed us all,” Karen said. “Maybe not you, Father Conley. I’m sure, as a priest you deal all the time with loss, stress, people hurting, death, . . .”

“I do, yet every one shows me one more example of strength in adversity. I believe in the essential goodness of people, especially when they make bad mistakes. What Calvin did was face up to himself. I don’t know if it was courage or a conscience that wouldn’t quit. He’ll tell you it’s the latter. Maybe. But most people who’ve hurt someone react like that at first. Where they differ is in dealing with that reaction. Many try to squash it, as if denying wrongdoing could assure them there wasn’t any. But deep down they never convince themselves.”

“You know, Father Conley,” Josh said, “my sister Debbie ― she’s Eden’s age, was her best friend ― once said that, inside, we never get away with anything. That’s what you just said. And by the way, she admires the ritual of confession. ‘Sort of neat,’ she called it.”

“What a shame she’s not here,” Father Conley said. “I’d enjoy meeting her.”

“But going back to us all being changed,” Josh continued. “It’s not only our bereavement but everything that’s happened between us since. Is there a way to put all that together?”

The others looked at each other, each hoping someone else would tackle that question. In the end, Father Conley felt the responsibility was his. “I’d say it’s the coming together, the ability to transcend your own loss and empathize with each other. You could have demanded retribution: on the one side, money to make up for a child’s life; on the other, self-immolation for a terrible mistake. Both society and the church subscribe to that way of righting a wrong. It’s easy to understand and easy to do, but everybody loses. I dare say, Doctor and Mrs. Avery, that no amount of money would have lessened your anger toward Calvin; and no amount of self-imposed exile would have made you, Calvin, any less angry with yourself. True forgiveness means liberation from anger, and punishment is a very imperfect way to achieve it. You’ve all shown us the healing and the energizing power of forgiveness.”

That is what Father Conley, who was expected to see the big picture, said. But his view of the big picture was far from complete. He knew Calvin’s story, but he did not know Karen’s or Alan’s. Had he been privy to their New Year’s retreat, he might have ducked the job of putting it all together, for he could not have told the whole truth as he saw it, namely, that Calvin, Karen, and Alan, all three, each in their own way, had killed Eden. That her death bound them to each other doubly, through their shared loss and through their shared guilt. That Eden alone could open their eyes to what they had in common, join their hands, and lead them together to freedom. That God placed Joshua in the position of being Eden’s voice on earth.

Joshua would not have credited God with enlisting him in Eden’s mission but, recalling Calvin’s first attempt to reach him, would have mused, How wonderful is a mother’s intuition!

For better or worse, these thoughts were never articulated.

“I could never have done my part without your help, Father,” Calvin said.

“And we couldn’t have done ours without you, Josh,” Karen said. “—and my dear friend Bobbie.”

“And whose did you have, Josh?” Father Conley asked.

For a while, Josh sat with eyes lowered, biting his lower lip. He looked at Father Conley with a faint smile. “I had a dream.” He described it.

“My word,” Father Conley said. “The men in white versus the men in black. Hockey sticks instead of stethoscopes and briefcases. What a vivid picture of the ills of the professions! And they were so busy fighting that nobody paid attention to the puck. That’s your patient!”

“But you know,” Karen said thoughtfully, “it isn’t really the doctors against the lawyers, is it? It’s the doctors against the patients. Both sides use lawyers as weapons.”

“That’s right,” Calvin said. “What do you think, Josh?”

Josh shrugged helplessly, then laughed. “OK. But who cares? It served its purpose.”

Alan slapped the table. “Do you know what I think?” Nobody did.

“I’ve become a bit of a dream expert, never mind how. Talk about propaganda! This is how the public has been trained to think. That it’s doctor versus lawyer. The campaign’s so effective, it’s embedded in your unconscious mind. So it shows up in your dreams that way.”

“Sad, isn’t it?” Father Conley mused. “But, as you said, Josh, the dream served its purpose. And it wasn’t either the whites or the blacks that showed you the way, was it? There was another figure in your dream.”

Josh didn’t need to answer. Karen laid her head on Alan’s shoulder and cried. Suddenly, she sat upright, sniffled, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “We can do better by Edie than sit here and cry.” Smiling through her tears, she reached out to her neighbors. Alan took her right hand and Calvin her left. Then they completed the circle.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to say, Father. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I feel better now than any time since last summer. How can I feel good?  Eden hasn’t come back to life. And I’m just as responsible as I ever was. Have I lost my conscience?”

Father Conley rose from his chair, strode to the window, and looked with pleasure at the same view that had backlit his sorrow a year earlier. He turned round and sat on the sill.

“My friend, if you had the kind of faith that allowed you to believe such things, I’d say to you that Eden has indeed come back to life, that you’ve resurrected her. Now I also know if you were a man of true faith, you’d be shocked at the idea of anyone but God resurrecting anybody. But, of course, it’s only a figure of speech.

“Don’t be ashamed of your feelings. After the torture you’ve been through, just being at peace has to feel good. A year ago I told you your work would be done only when you felt what the Averys were feeling. You objected, quite rightly, that you could never feel their loss. But then, you were so overwhelmed by the catastrophe that loss was all you could think of. In time, you would see that even extreme suffering doesn’t preclude creating something of value from the ruins. Once you were ready for that, your persistence and, indeed, faith ― in human nature if not in God ― led you to find common ground with the Averys. Go back six months, and recall how Eden’s Garden came into being. Read the inscriptions on that column, which you yourself helped write. Stand back and think what they mean. You’ve done so much more than welcome the judgment of those who’ve suffered because of your mistake. You’ve forged a bond with them far stronger, far more lasting, than you ever could have done by saving a life. . . . Yes, strange as it may seem, Eden’s death has made you one with them.”

For a few seconds there was absolute silence. Father Conley lowered his eyes, sighed, then looked up with the faintest smile. “Don’t think for a moment that I foresaw this when I told you what you had to do. I had no more idea than you how you should go about it, only that somehow you had to.” He got up and began to pace, hands behind his back. “The Averys had to shut you out of their grief; they could only see you as perpetrator. But time was on their side too. Time and caring friends. In the end, they came to see you as fellow-sufferer and opened their door to you. With that decision, the torture ended for them and for you, and a new day began. You became partners in redemption.”

Father Conley came round his desk and placed his hands on Calvin’s shoulders from behind. He thought of the ritual pronouncement that would properly bring Calvin’s penance to a close: Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omnibus peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Nowadays one said it in the vernacular. He wished Latin had not been replaced as the church’s liturgical language. Speaking it, he would have felt more like the channel he was and less like one man talking to another. Who was he, after all ― a mere priest, a former football player losing the fight against fat ― to absolve a fellow human of his sins? For the first time in his ministry, he felt unequal to the authority vested in him. So he said nothing.

Calvin did not press Father Conley for words of absolution. A voice not heard since the magic days of his childhood spoke to him, bearing the forgiveness he yearned for. God was smiling and He would not suffer Calvin to wait for the awestruck priest to find his tongue.