by Tom Reilly
“Is your clock broken, O’Rourke?”
“Sorry, Dez, I had to wait for the furnace guy to come by and give me an estimate.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Ed told me. What’s that gonna cost you?”
“About twelve hundred.”
“Man, those guys are thieves. They stick it to you when you need them the most. I should have gone into that business. You know, if you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all.”
“Yeah, thanks, Dez. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Just statin’ the obvious,” Dez taunted.
Hoffen showed up. “Hey, Tim, how’s your mother?”
“Hi, Hoffen. She’s going to be okay. She’ll have to stay in the hospital for a few days. The doctor said it was a lung inflammation from the furnace fumes. He called it respiratory failure. My brother-in-law got there in the nick of time and took her to the emergency room.”
“It’s good news she’ll recover. What about your furnace? Can it be fixed?” Hoffen asked.
“Didn’t you hear, old man? They’re trying to stick it to him for twelve hundred bucks. That’s the way those vultures operate. They go after the people who are desperate. It’s a real racket, but what are ya gonna do? You need heat. It’s a license to steal, I’m telling you.”
“You know, Dez, you’re not helping. The guy said he’d knock off one hundred if I paid cash.”
“They do that so they don’t have to report the income. Smart.”
“I don’t think so, Dez. The guy seemed like a pretty straight shooter,” Timothy said.
“That’s their shtick. They fake sincerity when you need them and then stick it to you. I’ll tell you, O’Rourke, I don’t plan on standing next to you in the next lightning storm.”
“Come on, Dez. You’re making the young man feel worse,” Hoffen said.
“Just saying—”
Hoffen cut him off. “Tim didn’t cause any of this. It happens. Mechanical stuff breaks down. It’s just life.”
“Yeah, like his car.” Dez looked at Timothy. “I’m telling you, soldier boy, you need to get yourself a full-time job to get some scratch together so you can straighten out your life.” Dez walked away.
“Man, talk about piling on.”
“Oh, don’t pay attention to any of that. Guys like Dez only see the cracks in the plaster.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was in Paris, I visited the Louvre. I stood in front of the Mona Lisa, admiring da Vinci’s masterpiece. The man standing next to me said, ‘Look at the wall around that painting. You’d think they would repair those cracks.’ He was so obsessed with the cracks in the plaster surrounding the painting he couldn’t see the beauty of the art. That’s the kind of guy Dez is. He only sees the cracks and misses the beautiful things in life. Some people are like that.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Hoffen, but what if he’s right? I reached out to my uncle and my brother to ask for help and they both turned me down. Tough times, they said.”
“Okay, so?”
“So maybe I should listen to Dez and take some time off from school. I could get a full-time job, and once I straighten out my finances I can go back to school.”
“You want to give up on your education?” Hoffen said.
“Not give up, just delay,” Timothy said.
“Do you know how many people walk away from their dreams when things get a little tough, thinking they’ll return to the dream when the timing is better? Too many. And the time never gets any better for them. Then, when it’s almost too late, they discover that they have walked away from the one thing that gives them hope—their dreams.”
Timothy looked confused. “I don’t know, Hoffen.”
“Look, Tim, the only question you should be asking yourself at this point is how you can make all of this work. You’ve been in a lot tougher spots than this, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then concentrate on what you can do right now to make this work. Never lose sight of your options. Don’t listen to Dez. He’s a distraction, even if he thinks he’s doing you a favor. If you give up on your dreams, will that make your life better or worse?”
“Worse, I suppose.”
“See, you’re already beginning to think clearer. Stay with it. Keep moving forward. You can’t move past something unless you keep moving.”
Where have I heard that before?
“Come on ladies, let’s get back to work,” Dez yelled as he returned. “I ain’t payin’ you to stand around and jaw. Sell some pine.”
Customers tended to take trees out of the racks and looked at them without putting them back where they got them. Straightening out the trees was cheap therapy for Timothy. Arranging the trees in some type of order relaxed him, and he reflected on his options. How can I make my finances work? I have the early shift tomorrow at the hospital. I’ll talk to the folks in the accounting department to see if there is a payment plan for Mom’s hospital bills. That would take care of one of my problems. It’s a start.
“Sorry to hear about your mom, Tim. Furnace, too. Dez was in the shop tellin’ Ed, and I heard ’em. I feel bad for ya. Tell ya what, I won’t spit no tobacco on you for a few days. Ain’t no fun teasin’ ya when you’re down,” Kenny said.
“Thanks, Kenny, that’s a relief. One less thing to worry about.” Timothy grinned.
“Don’t get used to it. Spittin’ at ya and getting ya upset is one of the best parts of working here,” Kenny said and flashed his pencil-lead teeth at Timothy.
Timothy finished his shift at the lot and drove home with a pocketful of tip money, which would come in handy for his date with Cheryl that night. They planned to go to Rossino’s for some St. Louis–style pizza, but first he had to go home for a change of clothes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AFTER WORK, A shower, and a change of clothes, Timothy picked up Cheryl. At Rossino’s Timothy asked for a table where he could sit with his back to the wall.
“Man, I love this place,” Timothy said.
“Me too. You remember our first date here?” Cheryl said.
“I do. The place was really crowded. I was awkward, nervous, and made lots of small talk.”
“I thought it was cute. I had this vision of you as this war hero who faced danger, and you were struggling to hold eye contact with a girl,” she said.
“I didn’t feel like a hero—more like an awkward kid. It was high school all over again.”
“See? Cute.” Cheryl smiled.
Rossino’s sat six short blocks from the university. The location and ambience appealed to the students. This basement of a large, 1930s apartment building had low ceilings, exposed pipes, too many tables, and a hodgepodge of chairs that did not match. Customers sat so close to other tables that they could hear each other’s conversations. Most of the lighting came from candles on the tables. A few bare bulbs hung overhead. The smell of good food filled the air. People joked that they gained weight in there by taking a deep breath. This family-run Italian restaurant had the best pizza—thin crust and loaded with meat and vegetables. With five-star service, the owners treated guests more like family than customers. The prices attracted the poor college students, which made Timothy feel like he belonged.
“The usual?” Timothy asked Cheryl.
“Of course.”
The waitress brought menus to their table. “Welcome to Rossino’s. What can I get you guys?”
“Two Buds and a large Rossino’s special without anchovies, and how about a couple of house salads to get us started?” Timothy said.
“I guess you don’t need these.” The waitress picked up the menus she’d laid on the table. “You got it, hon.”
They talked about nothing in particular. With the crowd at this time of the evening, the noise bounced off the stone walls and wooden ceilings. Timothy found it difficult to hear Cheryl’s voice. It was one of the few crowded places he could tolerate withou
t feeling anxious.
The waitress returned with the beers. Cheryl fidgeted with her bottle, drawing sweat tracks on the table and picking at the label. Timothy sensed she wanted an opening for a conversation he didn’t want to have. He didn’t need any special training to recognize her signals. The time he spent with her took care of that.
He became more tight-lipped. Better to keep it to myself, he thought.
“To a crazy year.” Timothy held up his beer for a toast, and Cheryl clinked his bottle.
She toasted with her left hand, and Timothy focused on the naked ring finger. It made him more self-conscious of his situation. Why would she stay with a guy like me?
“Timothy, I can see your mind is somewhere else tonight. What’s bothering you?”
“You playing therapist?”
“No, I’m a concerned girlfriend. I can see the worry in your face. You’re not that good at hiding your feelings, though I know you try.”
He laughed and it took some steam out of his response.
“Hiding, huh? I’m trying to, but apparently I’m no good at it,” he said.
“Timothy, when people get overwhelmed, it shows. It’s tough to mask.”
“Overwhelmed. That word makes me uncomfortable. It sounds like I’m out of control.” He took a long pull on the beer, trying to wash the words out of his mouth.
“And that doesn’t suit you?”
“No. Guys like me aren’t supposed to get overwhelmed.”
“Right, and doctors aren’t supposed to get sick,” she said. “It’s okay to feel those things. You’ve got a lot going on right now. If you talked about them, you would feel better.”
“What do you want to hear? That I feel guilty my mom went to the hospital because I didn’t do more to fix the furnace?”
“That’s a start,” she said.
“Do you want to hear about next semester’s tuition, or that I have to empty my savings to pay for the furnace? Do you want to hear I haven’t figured out what to do about the real estate taxes and home insurance this year or Mom’s hospital bills?”
“That’s a lot to carry around with you,” Cheryl said.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got big shoulders.” Timothy said dismissively.
“They’re not that big, and they don’t have to be.”
“I called my Uncle Bill and Frank, and they can’t help. I’ll figure it out.” He drained the bottle on this draw and scanned the room for the waitress.
“Tim, I have some money put aside. I would be thrilled to help,” Cheryl said.
Her words pierced his armor like a lightning bolt. His girlfriend, for whom he could not afford to buy a ring, wanted to help him financially. He teetered between hurt and insulted.
“I don’t think so,” he said sharply and then tried to be more gracious. “Thank you, no. I’ll figure something out.”
The salads arrived, and they ate in silence. After a few minutes, Cheryl broke the silence. “Those bills are not your fault. You may feel responsible to pay them, but you’re not responsible for your mother’s hospital bills, the furnace, or the taxes and insurance. Those things happen. You didn’t cause any of it,” she said.
“Yeah, well, they happened at a lousy time.”
“There’s never a good time to replace a furnace or to get sick,” she said.
“Leslie and Ike can’t help. They have too much going on with their kids. It’s up to me.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you. You want to make things right. A lot of people would run from that responsibility.” She had tears in her eyes.
“I guess.” His tone softened with her words and tears. “I’ve been thinking about how I could make this work. Just because I want to go to school doesn’t make it the right decision at this moment. Dez said he could keep me busy full time for a while. I could set aside enough to pay off what we owe and start back to school in the fall.”
“Do you really want to walk away from your dream?” she asked.
He saw the disappointment in her eyes. “No.”
The pizza arrived on a thin aluminum platter that had served thousands of pizzas before this and bore the scars to prove it. The waitress set it on the wire rack on the table. It hovered there, waiting to land on the empty plates in front of them.
“Another beer, hon?” she said to Cheryl.
“Sure, that would be great,” Cheryl said.
“Me too,” Timothy said.
“Got it. Buon appetite.”
Timothy looked at Cheryl and held up his bottle. “You know me; if one is good, two is better.”
“And three’s not enough,” Cheryl added.
They ate in awkward silence for the next few minutes.
Timothy wiped his mouth and washed down the pizza with a swallow of beer. “There is another option. I’ve been giving this some thought. The hospital has a tuition program that if an employee works thirty-two hours a week and keeps his grades up, the hospital reimburses the tuition.”
“That’s a lot of hours with your school schedule,” Cheryl said.
“Here’s what I figure I can do. I will work Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Most of my classes are on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If I have a lab or something on Tuesday or Thursday, I can work the evening shift if needed.”
“That’s a heavy load, Timothy. It doesn’t leave much wiggle room.”
“I don’t have to start until the Christmas season is over. Also, when I go in to work tomorrow at the hospital, I’m going to ask the folks in accounting if they can work out a payment plan for me so I can pay a little each pay period for Mom’s bills.”
Cheryl listened patiently to his plan. “That would be nice if they’ll work with you.”
“Yeah, I think so. That gets tuition and the hospital bills off the table. I can still take care of the furnace with my savings. The GI Bill and VA disability will be enough for Mom and me to live on. It’s tight, but this could work. Mom gets a little Social Security, which could take care of some incidentals.”
“It’s good to see you focused on a solution. You have given this some thought. That’s good. What about Dez’s offer?”
“I’ll talk to him and explain I don’t want to do that yet.”
“Good. You’re staying in school and making it work,” she said.
“Yep.”
They sat for a while, Timothy loosening up. Cheryl smiled. He thought about how much she meant to him, but he still had some unfinished business to take care of. Tonight, he stepped forward on a new path. They sat for another round and left for Cheryl’s house where he planned to stay in her brother’s room for a few more days.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TIMOTHY LEFT CHERYL’S house on Sunday morning before anyone else had woken. He stopped on the way to work for a doughnut and coffee and arrived at Saint Elizabeth’s for the 7:00 to 3:30 day shift. The psychiatry department at the hospital had two units. Timothy worked on an open unit next to the medical-surgical unit, Med-Surg for short. The other was locked and housed severely disturbed patients. Timothy preferred his shifts with the patients who had less severe problems. They came and went as they pleased throughout the hospital.
Sunday mornings had no scheduled procedures and this meant lighter duty. A few of the patients went to the chapel for Mass in the morning, and Timothy took those patients who needed help. That way he went to Mass, too. Timothy liked his coworkers. He saw them as hardworking and dedicated. He especially liked Walter, a Korean War veteran. Walter worked two jobs—one at Saint Elizabeth’s and the other at the VA hospital. Though it was tough to raise a family on an orderly’s pay, Walter and his wife made it work. Timothy respected that.
Timothy walked into the patient dayroom. “Hey, Walter. How’s it going?”
“Oh, it’s going, Tim,” Walter said.
“How’s Mr. Marconi?”
“He’s stable, but the meds ain’t doing much for his depression. Doctor Faro plans to start ECT tomorrow morning,” Walter sai
d.
During electro-convulsive therapy, the doctor sedated the patient and sent an electrical charge through the patient’s brain to interrupt faulty thinking. Sometimes it worked. Other times, it didn’t. Timothy had seen both outcomes. Either way, the brain was altered, and that bothered Timothy.
“Um, that’s tough. Boy, Faro is pretty quick to use the button, isn’t he?” Timothy said.
Walter looked around, leaned forward, and said, “Yeah, but don’t say that too loud. He’s got plenty of juice around here.”
“I know. It’s a bummer the drugs aren’t helping Mr. Marconi. He’s a nice guy. I hate to see him lose part of his memory.”
“Well, that’s what they do sometimes to make ’em better. Some stuff is better forgotten,” Walter said.
“Maybe.” I’ve got a few things I would like to forget.
“Timothy, Sister Mary Margaret would like to see you,” said Katie, the charge nurse. Katie recently graduated from the nursing school at Timothy’s university. They often talked about school topics. She was a cute and enthusiastic young nurse, and he enjoyed working with her. He even took some ribbing from Walter about Katie. Walter kidded him that Katie lit up when Timothy worked. This unwanted attention embarrassed him.
“It sounds mysterious,” Timothy joked. He looked at Walter and winked. Walter grinned.
“I don’t know. They called and asked for you to come down to Sister’s office right now,” Katie said.
“Okay, I’ll go down there and be back in a few minutes,” Timothy said.
He left the patients’ dayroom and took the stairs down to the main floor. He preferred the stairs to the elevator and climbed them multiple times every day he worked. The stairs and his work at Schoen’s made up his entire fitness program these days. His leg disliked the climbing, but it cooperated.
While walking to Sister’s office, he thought, This might be serendipity. He told Cheryl last night he wanted to work out a payment schedule and pursue the hospital’s tuition reimbursement option. Not knowing what Sister wanted, he thought he might have a chance to discuss this with her and gain her support.
