Chapter 7

The sacristy was cold and smelled of old hymnals.

Arlene sat in the same stiff wooden chair she'd sat in three weeks earlier, with Walter's tool belt in her lap and the white envelope from the china cabinet in her purse. The bishop sat across from her. Deacon Paul sat at the small desk near the door with a legal pad and a pencil. Sana Farooq stood at the window, watching the parking lot, because she had to be back in St. Paul by seven.

The bishop laid the second plaque on the table between them.

It was the same size as the first one, the same plain wooden frame, the same gold-painted face. But the paint on this one was the original. It was 1998 paint, applied in 1998, and nobody had ever touched it. The face read:

THE ST. CASIMIR'S SCHOOL ANNEX

BUILT IN FAITH, 1999

GIVEN IN TRUST BY:

WALTER J. KASPAREK AND ARLENE M. KASPAREK

MAY IT STAND AS LONG AS THE CHURCH IT SERVES.

Arlene looked at it for a long time without saying anything.

"Walter's name I understand," she said finally. "Where does my name come from?"

"From the letter you found in the drawer," the bishop said. "From the estate. Walter's mother didn't just leave him the money outright. She left it to him and to his spouse jointly, with instructions. When Walter made the two gifts, his mother's estate lawyer—the same lawyer who drew up the bequest—took the position that both names belonged on the dedication because the money was the household's, not his alone. Walter agreed. He asked that the plaque be held in the parish files until the annex was built, and then hung with both names."

"But the annex was never built."

"No."

"And Marlene painted over his name on the kitchen plaque and told the council the school gift had never arrived."

"Yes."

Arlene traced the letters of her own name with her fingertip. ARLENE M. KASPAREK. She had been on a wall for twenty-seven years and had never seen it.

"She took my name off too," she said.

"She did."

"Why didn't Walter tell me?"

"He did tell you," the bishop said. "Not in words. He told you in the letter he left you. He told you the second gift was for the school. He told you to say no. He told you to ask them who signed for it. He didn't tell you the exact amount because he didn't think the amount was the point. He may not have told you the plaque had your name on it because he didn't think the plaque was the point either. Walter Kasparek had a mechanic's approach to generosity. You put the part in the engine and you drive the truck. You don't hang the receipt on the wall."

Arlene sat with that.