Man Who Loved God Read Online Free PDF Page B

wine, and performing last-minute cleaning chores on already spotless surfaces. All were liveried, as was the butler who had admitted Tully and his driver to the apartment.
    “What would you like to drink, Father?” Adams’s gesture encompassed the array of wines as well as the credenza bearing a variety of spirits. “We’ve got just about everything.”
    Tully gazed at the display. “Yes, you surely have. Maybe a little white wine.”
    “Excellent.” Adams turned to a waiter who materialized at his elbow, bearing a small tray of filled wineglasses. Father Tully had been unaware of any servants bending an ear in their direction. One must have been assigned to anticipate their desires.
    “Would you care to sit down?”
    “Mind if we stand by the window? I can’t get enough of this view.”
    “Of course. Good idea.” Adams led the way to a jutting corner that accentuated the vista. The rays of the sunset not only made the sky seem incandescent, but lent a magical mystique to the river.
    The priest shifted and looked around the room.
    “Is there something you want, Father?”
    “Uh, not exactly; I was wondering about Mrs. Adams ….”
    The lines on his host’s face sharpened. “There is no Mrs. Adams … at least not for about a year now.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “A divorce. I got an annulment.”
    Tully considered the statement. It wasn’t “She got an annulment,” or “We got an annulment.” Could Tom Adams secure an annulment all on his own? Wouldn’t his wife have to at least cooperate in the process? Wouldn’t some priest—priests—need to do all the considerable paperwork? What might the stated cause be for the div—uh, annulment? Was this part of a key to Adams’s character? He seemed so warm, so open, so congenial. Yet this was a happy occasion: what would the man be like if crossed?
    Both men silently gazed out the window. At length, Tully placed his nearly empty glass on a nearby tray.
    “Another one, Father?”
    “No. Thank you. No more. I’d better stay alert. I’m going to make a presentation, remember: your award.” Tully indicated the slender carefully wrapped package in his left hand.
    “Oh yes, of course. Harry …” Again a servant materialized at Adams’s elbow. “Take this package for Father Tully and bring it back just after all the guests arrive … at eight o’clock.” He turned to Tully. “I think it would be good to have the presentation before dinner and before the liquor has had its, effect.”
    Tully handed the packet over.
    Adams smiled wryly. “Mickey would not enjoy seeing me get this award.” Noting the priest’s puzzled expression, he added, “Mickey’s the ex. My works of charity were one of our principal bones of contention. Well,” he said with finality, “she made fun of them one too many times.
    “But”—he broke into a genuine smile—“she’s not here. She’ll never again be a part of my life in any way whatever.
    “Now, enough of that.”
    Father Tully was impressed. When this guy cuts you, you’re dead.
    They were silent again. The sunset was highlighting the city’s architecture.
    “I was wondering,” the priest said finally, “it must be some kind of thrill to have a bank named after you.”
    “That’s up for grabs,” Adams said. “Sort of, which came first, the chicken or the egg? In this case, which came first, the family name or a street sign?”
    “Please?”
    A waiter offered wine from a tray. Adams exchanged his empty glass for a filled one. Father Tully declined the offer.
    Adams sipped. “You see, my father started this bank. Its first headquarters had an address on Adams Street in downtown Detroit. Dad probably would have named the bank after himself anyway. Adams Street was the clincher.” He shook his head. “Dad’s been gone these many years now.” Abruptly, he shrugged and lightened. “I’ve never seen any reason to change the name. Besides, having the bank ostensibly named after my family sort of