Chapter 10: The Fitting

The tribunal met on the fourth floor of an office building downtown, over a sandwich shop.

I'd expected stained glass.

It was drop ceilings and a water cooler.

The room had a long table with three priests behind it and a woman with a laptop at the end, typing everything.

There was a crucifix on the wall and a Bible on the table, and two chairs facing them with a little space between.

I wore my navy dress.

My hands were cold, so I sat on them.

They took me alone first.

The priest in the middle was younger than ours and had a soft voice.

He asked how long we'd been married.

He asked where I slept.

He asked if my husband had ever come to my room, ever, for any reason.

"Once," I said. "When I had the flu in our second year. He left soup outside the door and knocked."

"Did he come in?"

"No. He said through the door to call his doctor if it got worse."

The woman at the end typed it.

My face burned.

I kept going.

Every question had an answer, and every answer was the same.

No.

Never.

Not once.

Then they brought him in.

Mauro came in a charcoal suit, no tie, the way he dressed for funerals.

He didn't look at me.

He sat in the other chair and put his right hand on the Bible when they asked, the hand with the silver ring.

"Mr. Sabatino," the young priest said. "You understand you're under oath before God."

"I understand."

"In six years of marriage, did you ever have marital relations with your wife?"

The room was quiet enough to hear the cooler gurgle.

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