by Gail Dayton
"Hey, Fitz." Eli made a fist and touched it to the curled fingers of his old friend. "What happened to you?"
"What happened to you, comin' in here all bunged up?" His cigarette rasp was a wisp of its old self, words slurred as if his mouth had trouble forming them.
Eli laughed. "I told you already. What do the doctors say?"
"Doctors." Fitz tried to spit but his lips didn't seem to want to work right. "What do they know?"
"Plenty, I guess, since you're still causing trouble," Eli retorted.
Fitz's laugh was a wheeze of sound fading into a cough. "I guess you're right. Though why they'd bother savin' a useless old man like me--"
"Not useless." Eli gripped his friend's hand. "Never useless. So, what happened?"
"Had a damn stroke, is what. Not a bad one, according to the doc."
"So how bad is it, your stroke?"
"Can't talk right. Right leg won't hold me. Scared the kid half to death when I fell down. He okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine." Eli paused. "I told him."
"How'd he take it?"
"Okay. Not great at first but--" He made a face. "Honestly, I don't have a clue. We're taking him back to Pittsburgh."
"Like that, is it?" Fitz waggled one eyebrow. He'd never been able to move just one before, but the right one now lay slack.
Eli frowned. "I guess."
"Listen, boy, if you find a good woman, you grab on with both hands and don't ever let go. My Sunshine and me, we had a lot of good years. I always hoped you'd find the same thing."
Eli shook his head. That wasn't in his future. A few good weeks, maybe even months--he'd have to be satisfied with that much. "Listen, Fitz, do we need to stick around? You don't need to be alone here."
"Won't be. My daughter's coming." Fitz grinned at Eli's surprise. "Didn't know I had any kids, did you?" The old man's breath turned to a quick pant and his color paled, machines whooshing and burbling around them.
It made Eli nervous. "Take it easy, old man. Don't get yourself all excited."
Fitz nodded, concentrating on breathing for a while. "Brain's fucked. Heart's not so hot either," he whispered. His eyes drifted shut, drugs and machines taking over.
"You're wrong there, old man," Eli whispered back. "You got the best heart ever was."
He gripped Fitz's hand tight, watching him sleep. "I'd be dead now if not for you," Eli said, softer than a whisper. "Thanks." He gave the hand in his a squeeze and was startled when Fitz squeezed back.
"Welcome," the old man said without opening his eyes.
Eli got to stand there a few moments longer, before the nurse came in to shoo him out.
In the waiting room, Pete was chattering away. Marilyn's eyes had glazed over, listening to him. Eli paused in the entrance to look more closely. Was that look because of Pete's noise, or was it due to something else? Something was wrong here. But what?
Hospitals maybe? Her husband had died in a hospital. But she'd spent all those hours with him in the ER and hadn't blinked an eye. He couldn't figure it out.
"Eli, hey, Eli--" Pete called out when he spotted him, then paused. "I mean, hey, Dad, how's Fitz?"
"He had a stroke, but he's going to be okay." Eli rubbed at the burning feeling in his chest, the one that started up when Pete made his correction.
Marilyn stood up, smiled. "I'm glad."
She was like some computer animation, following a program but nobody home inside. Eli kissed her cheek, but didn't expect that to change things. He was no Prince Charming and his kisses were just kisses, not magic.
"You okay to drive?" he asked, when they reached the car.
Marilyn blinked at him. She was doing that a lot. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I--You seem--" He couldn't explain it, not with her looking at him like he was the one who'd lost his mind. "No reason. Never mind."
He directed her to Fitz's place and used his old key to go in and gather Pete's things. Pete helped, with more enthusiasm than actual assistance. Marilyn...mostly watched.
Like she didn't want to touch anything. Now and again, she'd pick something up--a T-shirt that had missed the suitcase when tossed, or a battered ice skate--but she put them down again almost as soon as she picked them up. As if it hurt her to touch them, like they burned or something.
Eventually they got all Pete's stuff cleared out. Eli locked up and crutched his way out to the car. "Ready?"
Pete fell asleep before they hit the outskirts of Erie, sprawled out in the back seat like he didn't have a care in the world. Maybe, for once, he didn't.
Marilyn didn't talk. Not one single word for the whole two and a half hours it took them to drive from Erie back to Pittsburgh. It wasn't like her. Eli had been on a couple of road trips with her now, and though she often fell silent for long stretches of time, she was never, ever this quiet.
He tried several times to start a conversation, talking, asking questions, making jokes, whatever he could think of. Half the time, she acted like she didn't hear him, and the other half, she'd give him this vague smile then stare back at the road. Finally, he gave up.
The car probably wasn't the place to talk things out, anyway. Not with Pete in the back seat. Whatever was bothering Marilyn, Eli was pretty sure it had to do with Pete, because that's when it started. She'd been fine all the way to Erie. She was fine till they got in the hospital and connected up with Pete. Then she...went blank on him.
What the hell was going on?
It was after midnight before they finally got back to Pittsburgh. Marilyn drove straight to her house, almost like she was on autopilot. The house was in the same eastern suburb as her mom's but in a different neighborhood, at the top of a hill where the land flattened out briefly before plunging down the other side. It was on a corner, mostly hidden behind a screen of evergreens lining the street.
Eli woke Pete up, made sure he had his hat and gloves on and his coat zipped while Marilyn went into the house to make sure everything was ready. He half-carried the boy up the shallow slope to the front steps and managed to shove him in the house before his crutch slipped on the refrozen ice.
The bedrooms were all upstairs, and fortunately Marilyn came to take over the job of propelling a sleepy boy up the stairs and into a pink-and-purple, way-too-girly bedroom. Eli was right behind them, which turned out to be a good thing, because as soon as she got Pete into the bedroom, Marilyn disappeared. Eli helped his more-than-half-asleep son strip off his coat, jeans, and shoes, and tumbled him into the double bed, tucking the chilly sheets and blankets close around his chin.
"Sleep tight, squirt," Eli said, his chest doing that burning thing again. He'd tucked Pete in before. But somehow, tonight was different. Pete knew.
"Night, Eli," Pete mumbled. "I mean, Dad."
Eli had to stand there a minute rubbing his chest before he could make himself leave the room.
Marilyn wasn't anywhere upstairs. Eli looked in all the rooms--two more bedrooms and two bathrooms. She wasn't in any of them. Eli sighed and headed back to tackle the stairs yet again. Thank God he was out of the wheelchair.
He found her standing in the middle of the kitchen, folding a dish towel. While he watched, she set it down, then picked it back up and folded it again, hands shaking. Then she did it all over again. Something was seriously off.
"Marilyn?"
She jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, all wild-eyed and skittish, then stared at him.
Eli eased into the kitchen, afraid of scaring her away. "What's wrong, babe?"
"Nothing. What makes you think anything is wrong?" She picked up the towel and folded it yet again.
"For one thing, that's the third or fourth time you've folded that same towel, and I'd be willing to bet it didn't need folding in the first place." He edged a little closer to her.
"Oh." She turned and set the towel on the cabinet, straightening it before forcing herself to let it go. She kept her head down, her back to him. "I'm just nervous, I guess."
/> "You've been nervous ever since we got to the hospital in Erie. What is it? Me? Pete? Tell me, so I can fix it."
"You can't fix it. Nobody can." She reached for the kitchen towel, stopping herself just before she picked it up again.
"How do you know it can't be fixed," Eli persisted, heart in his throat, "if you don't try?"
"I just know, okay?" she snapped. She whirled to face him. "Don't you think I haven't tried? I tried and tried and tried and nothing helped. Nothing and nobody!"
She whirled away, pacing to the far end of the kitchen, heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. "I don't think this is going to work, Eli."
Oh God, this was it. The kiss-off. He had promised her he would leave when she asked him to, but he couldn't leave her like this. Not coming apart this way, folding towels.
"I thought I could do it, have him here, but I can't. I just can't." Once more she spun around. Her eyelashes sparkled in the light of the old-fashioned kitchen chandelier, tears turned to crystal. "He's too old, Eli. Why didn't you tell me he was so old?"
What the hell was going on here? "Who? Pete? He's barely nine. How old did you think he was?"
"Five, maybe. Or six. A little boy. One who would need us."
"He's still a little boy. He still needs us." Eli edged closer to her, worried about the panicked look in her eyes. "What's this all about, Marilyn?"
"And he's got freckles. Did you see?" She brushed her hand across her cheeks, not appearing to notice the tears coating them. "Here. They're all faded because of winter, but they're there. You didn't say anything about freckles."
She seemed a little calmer. Eli took the opportunity to move in close, boxing her into the end of the narrow room.
"Yeah." He tried to sound soothing. "Tell me about the freckles."
Marilyn's chin crumpled. "Kevin had freckles. Almost as many as Pete."
Kevin? Who the hell was Kevin? "Tell me." Eli put his arms around her, drew her carefully in. "Tell me about Kevin."
"I can't." She sobbed, clutching at his shirt.
"Sure you can. You told me about Bill, didn't you?"
She just cried. Eli started moving her toward the living room. He'd seen a long sofa in there. The room was dark. Maybe it would feel a little like the foldaway bed where they'd shared so many secrets in the dark.
After an endless trek across vast stretches of linoleum and carpet, Eli reached the sofa and sat, bringing Marilyn down with him. He tipped her head onto his shoulder and pulled her legs up over his lap so he could hold more of her. When the crying slowed down a little, he tried again. "Tell me about Kevin. Who is he?"
She shook her head, gulping air. Just when he was ready to ask again, she spoke, choking on her sobs and the words. "My son."
Her... Marilyn had a son? Eli stroked her hair as he scrambled to order his thoughts. She'd never said a word about the boy. Didn't have any pictures. Nothing. He'd never met Kevin. The boy wasn't around. Which meant...something bad.
"Tell me," he said gently. "I want to know about your son."
She shook her head, wildly this time, trying to pull away. Eli held on tight.
"I can't," she cried. "I don't--I never--"
"Talk about him? I know that. But I want to know. Tell me the good stuff. The happy stuff."
Marilyn's hand twisted in his T-shirt making a fist that she pounded feebly against him. "Even--even that..." She gasped for air. "I remember what a happy baby he was. When he was just walking, he loved hats. And visors. And those deely-bobber antenna things. Anything he could wear on his head. He'd toddle around for hours wearing a colander." Her laugh changed to a sob. "He was nine when he-- When he--" The sobs took over.
"When he what, Marilyn?" Eli's chest hurt so bad he wished he could cry with her. "When he died? What happened to him?"
"Cancer. Leukemia." She forced the words out between hiccups. "The cancer didn't-- He got pneumonia. Chemotherapy. Weak immune system. Couldn't--couldn't beat it."
"God, Marilyn, I'm so sorry." He held her tight enough he knew he had to be crushing her, but she didn't complain. He couldn't imagine losing Pete. Just the thought--didn't bear thinking. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Bill fell apart. His only son--pride and joy, all that rot. Kevin was my son, too!"
"Sure he was." Eli was rocking his body back and forth, rocking Marilyn in his arms. He kept on. It seemed to help. "Of course he was."
"And Julie--she was only thirteen, and all of a sudden it was like she didn't exist for Bill. She'd always been Daddy's girl and now she was invisible. She loved Kevin too. She needed both of us." The words poured out of her now in a raging flood. Or maybe a flood of rage. Eli couldn't tell which.
"But nobody else mattered. Nobody else loved Kevin as much as Bill did--never mind that he missed every parent-teacher meeting since Kevin started school. Never mind he couldn't be bothered to get out of bed for Saturday morning basketball games. Kevin was his boy. God, he made me so mad!" Marilyn shook in Eli's embrace.
"If I didn't cry every minute, I was cold and heartless. If I did cry, I was a hypocrite because I didn't love him like Bill did, even though I was the one who fed him and washed him and took him to school and cleaned up after him when he was sick and kissed his scrapes when he fell and--and--everything.
"And then, one month after the funeral, Bill cleaned out Kevin's bedroom. Stripped it down to the walls. Gave everything away without asking me if I wanted to keep any of it. All his clothes. All his toys. The third place trophy he got for T-ball the year they only had three teams in his league. He even threw out all our pictures of him. I had to go get them out of the trash. Nobody could talk about Kevin. We couldn't mention his name. It was as if he wanted to wipe out his memory.
"But it didn't work. We couldn't forget. None of us could. We just pretended.
"And then that son-of-a-bitch went and drove his truck into a tractor-trailer because he couldn't stand it anymore."
Marilyn froze. She pulled away to stare at Eli, her face a picture of horrified realization. "Oh, God, I didn't say that, did I?"
"It's okay, babe."
"It's not okay." She tried to move her feet, to stand up, but Eli held on. "It's not true. Bill didn't do that. It was an accident. The truck driver was short on rest. And it was better not to talk about him. It didn't hurt as much that way."
"Maybe." Eli held her hand, tracing his thumb over it. "But didn't you say something about good hurt? Feeling more alive after? Maybe not talking about him made you...numb."
She swiped at her eyes, red and swollen from crying. "Maybe. Who knows? God, I don't believe I said that about Bill."
"Just because he's dead doesn't make him a saint."
Marilyn laughed--it sounded almost like real laughter--and finally let Eli draw her back into his arms. "I feel so guilty for thinking it. I got so mad at him, back when Kevin was sick and after he died. But if I tried to--we never fought much, Bill and I. And back then, when I wanted to, when maybe I needed to, he made me feel guilty for even thinking about being angry. How could I be mad at him when our son was gone? I don't know...maybe it was easier being mad than sad."
Eli wished he knew what to say. He heard people talk about therapy, had even done it once, back the only time he went through rehab, when he was sixteen, but he didn't think talking about "why you use" would help here. Still, talking might help.
"How long was Kevin sick?"
"Not long. Six, seven months. He'd just made it through his second course of chemo when he got the pneumonia. Two weeks later, he was gone." Marilyn sniffled, but didn't fall into tears again.
"Is Pete that much like him?"
"Not that much. The freckles, of course. Kevin's hair was darker, and curly. He was taller, I think. And quieter. I mean he was noisy like all boys are noisy, but he was never as comfortable talking to adults as Pete. He wasn't a talker."
"Pete doesn't know a stranger," Eli said ruefully. He wished the kid were a touch more discriminating. Still, he'd known enough t
o call Eli about the "scary dudes."
Marilyn snuggled in closer, laying her hand flat on Eli's chest. Was the storm over? God, he hoped so.
"Do I need to be finding someplace else to stay?" he said.
She shook her head.
"Do you want to go back to your apartment? I can pay you rent for this place."
She shook her head again.
"Be sure, Marilyn." Eli kissed her forehead. "I want to be with you, but it's not good for either you or Pete if you're going to come apart every time you're around him."
"You know what wasn't good for me? Pretending I didn't have a son. Avoiding children his age because I wasn't that good at pretending. I just--" She broke off as tears threatened again. "Maybe I can't do it. But I want to try. I'm sick of being a coward. I'm tired of being so weak I have to hide from the truth. Yes, I loved Bill, but I was mad as hell at him when he died. And I had a son. I had a son and I loved him very much and--and I don't think I ever got to mourn him."
She sniffled. "Do you think it would scare Pete too much if I cried a little, every now and then?"
"I don't know. Maybe if you explained why you were crying... We can give it a try if you want to." Eli wanted it so much, it would probably never work.
"I want to." Marilyn leaned back against his good arm and stretched. "God, what a day. I feel wrung out, strung out, and just plain pooped." She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the last of the tears. "And I really hate to cry."
"Me too. I mean, I hate it when you do." He dared to hope this episode was over.
She chuckled and patted his shoulder, swinging her feet to the floor. "Poor Eli. I bet you've never been cried on so much in your life as you have since you've been with me." She stood.
"You'd lose that bet. Big time. Starting with my mom when my dad died. That's why I don't do tears." He took her hand and her help in pulling himself to his feet.
"How old were you when Pete was born? Sixteen?"
He draped his good arm over her shoulders and walked with her to the stairs. "Barely. Sixteen and a couple months. I was pretty much living with Tee then. She was nineteen." He grinned. "I guess I always had a thing about older women."
