by Tom Reilly
“I think you know.” Leslie smiled.
“Cheryl, right?”
“Timmy, do you have those chips?” Mom called.
“On the way, Mom.” He fed her the ice chips.
“Do you know how lucky I am to have children like you and your sister?”
“Yeah, I do. You keep telling us that,” he said.
He laughed loud enough for her to hear. Mom returned the laugh.
“Listen, Mom. I need to get going. I want to go home and take a nap before we go out tonight.”
“Yes, I understand. How’s your friend?” Mom said.
“If you mean Cheryl, she’s fine. She asks about you all the time.”
“Does she? She’s a sweet girl. I think she’s good for you.”
Timothy said nothing. Mom never called Cheryl sweet. This sounded out of character for her he didn’t know what to say. Mom looked at his dumbfounded face and smiled.
“Okay, Mom. See you tomorrow. I work tomorrow night, so I’ll come up earlier in the day.”
“Okay, Timmy. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom,” he said.
Timothy drove slowly home, thinking about this semester and the relief of having it behind him. He wondered if he had the energy for the next semester.
Maybe Penny is right. Packing up and taking off for a while sounds like a tempting offer.
The adolescent Timothy missed that part of life because of the war. Penny’s invitation simply echoed his longstanding thoughts. He experienced the same emotion all young soldiers confronted when they came home—that they skipped several grades in school and never had the opportunity to live that carefree life.
If I take off a semester to regroup, I could work the sixty hours for Dez, quit the hospital, and still save some money. If I did that through the end of summer, I could start back next fall with money in the bank. That two hundred and twenty a month from the VA doesn’t even cover tuition, fees, and books. All right, I’m not going to think about that today. I’m going to celebrate. Besides, I need to check with Scoot when I get home.
He drove slowly the rest of the way, enjoying the pace. Not rushing felt therapeutic. The lack of urgency relaxed him. When he got home, Timothy called Scoot to check on the car. Scoot told him he wasn’t able to talk to the guy yet but would try again later. He told Timothy he picked up the car on Tuesday and had it at the shop. It could sit for a couple of days until Timothy figured out what to do. Scoot didn’t need his truck, so Timothy could drive it until he got his car fixed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TIMOTHY DROVE PAST Cheryl’s house and parked Scoot’s truck down the street.
“Hi, I didn’t see you drive up.”
Timothy poked his head inside the door and looked around for her parents. He whispered, “I didn’t want anyone to see me pull up in my reliable heap.”
“Oh, please. Who cares? My parents wouldn’t think a thing of it. They know what’s going on with you and respect how you’re facing up to all of this. My father likes to contrast you to all the hippies he sees on television. He calls you a real man. No, you wouldn’t embarrass them.”
“Okay, enough serious talk. I’m here to have fun tonight,” Timothy said.
“Long overdue. Let’s go,” Cheryl said.
“Will you drive?”
“What, the truck again?” she said.
“No, I’m thinking about drinking my fair share tonight.”
They walked to Cheryl’s car, and it started right up. Timothy smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, really. It’s kind of silly. Since I’ve been driving Scoot’s truck, every time it starts on the first try, I smile. It’s a different experience from my car. You know, the simple things in life.”
“That’s funny. Well, tonight smile all you want,” she said.
They drove to the restaurant. Mantia’s was special to them. Good food. Romantic. Private. A good place to celebrate special events. An immigrant couple owned Mantia’s. They came from the old country and brought family recipes with them. People could get Italian food in a lot of restaurants in Saint Louis because of the Italian area called The Hill, but there was only one place to get Mama Mantia’s recipes. The hostess sat them in a booth in the back of the dining room. Timothy and Cheryl liked to sit close to each other. They ordered a couple of beers and studied the menu.
“I don’t know why I’m studying this thing. It’s either spaghetti or cannelloni. No one makes cannelloni like Mama Mantia,” Timothy said.
“You’re right. I want both,” Cheryl said.
“How about I order one, and you order the other, and we share?” he said.
“Good call. It’s nice to see you in such a good mood. You’re under so much pressure I worry about you.” Cheryl cupped her hand over his.
The waitress delivered their drinks and said she would return for their dinner order.
“I feel good. It started this morning after exams. At this point, I’ve got a couple of decisions to make, which I will not make until tomorrow. Tonight, it’s all about us.”
He held up his beer and tapped her bottle.
“To another semester under your belt.” Cheryl returned the toast.
They sat there in silence for a few moments until the waitress returned to take their orders. As planned, they ordered one of each, spaghetti and cannelloni.
“What if I decide not to share?” Timothy said.
“Then you would probably need to find a ride home,” Cheryl said.
He laughed.
“How’s your mom today?” she asked.
“To me, she looks about the same, but Leslie thinks she’s worse. I see her every day, so I don’t notice small changes. Leslie does.”
“I know she’s worried. I talked to her yesterday.”
“Is that when you told her about the car?”
“Yes. You don’t need to be that secretive with your family,” Cheryl said.
Timothy stared at the label on his beer bottle before nodding his agreement.
“Mom asked about you before I left,” Timothy said.
“Really? That’s nice.”
“Yeah, I told her you asked about her, and she was pleased to hear it.”
“Well, bless her heart. She’s probably scared to death,” Cheryl said.
“A little, I think,” he said. “She doesn’t say she is, but it’s natural for her to be.”
“Of course,” Cheryl reassured him, something at which she excelled.
The waitress brought their salads and a basket of fresh bread.
“Thanks,” Cheryl said to the waitress. She looked at Timothy and said, “This bread is my downfall. I could eat that whole basket myself.”
Timothy reached for it. “Do you want me to move it?”
“Not unless you want to draw back a stump.” She laughed.
They ate in silence until Timothy broke it between bites of salad.
“I think I’ve made my decision about Dez’s offer. I’m going by tomorrow to talk to him about it.
“Really? What did you decide?” she said.
“I don’t want to say anything tonight. I want to sleep on it one more night and wake up to one less set of things to deal with, but I’m leaning in one direction.”
“Which way?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to Dez. I know this sounds cryptic, but I don’t mean it that way,” he said.
“That’s not fair. You’re teasing me.”
“Absolutely. What happens if I wake up tomorrow with a hangover and change my mind? You’ll think I’m fickle.”
“You are fickle,” she said.
“About some things but not about you.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. They finished their meal and sat for a while enjoying their drinks. They decided to cap off the evening with pistachio-flavored gelato and a cappuccino. Old-country style.
Cheryl drove back to her house to giv
e Timothy time to absorb his alcohol.
Cheryl’s parents were already in bed when they got home, which meant they had the kitchen to themselves. They talked some more over the cocoa. Timothy did most of the talking. She smiled as he shared his feelings. Alcohol loosened his tongue.
“I needed this tonight to clear my head,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I know you did, and you’re welcome.”
“You seem to know what I need more than I do,” he said.
“That’s pretty common in good relationships,” Cheryl smiled. “One partner knows what’s good for the other, even if the other doesn’t agree or see it.”
“Again, you’re right,” Timothy said and leaned forward to kiss Cheryl.
They said good night, which took a while, and he drove home. When he got home and changed for bed, he lay there for a while thinking about the past few days and the conversation he would have with Dez.
What would it feel like to have a few weeks of this? No work. No studies. No one to answer to. No bills. No problems.
Restful thoughts to carry him to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE SUN BROKE through the window—not directly in his eyes but close enough to wake him. Timothy lay in bed for a while. Having nowhere to go and nothing to do fit him nicely. No responsibilities. He discovered morning greeted the rested differently than the weary.
What a great night. A nice way to cap off a tough semester. Shave and a shower and I’m off to see Dez. He had the confidence of someone who’d made an important decision about the future. One less thing to think about. He anticipated things would change today for him. On his way to the bathroom, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You need to get up here fast.”
“What? Where? Leslie, what’s going on?”
“Ike and I are at the hospital, and Mom has taken a turn for the worse. You need to get here fast, but be safe. The priest will be here in a few minutes.”
“Priest? What the hell happened?”
“Just hurry up. Mom’s asking for you,” Leslie said.
Timothy took charge. “I will. Call Frank.”
“Okay.”
Timothy didn’t bother with a bar of soap or a razor. He slipped on his clothes from last night and ran to the truck. Lord, I don’t know what’s happening, but please let me be there when it happens. He repeated this silent prayer twice. It was one part prayer and one part white noise preoccupying his mind.
When he got to the hospital, he parked directly in front of the main entrance. He didn’t care about real parking spots today. He ran through the door as fast as his bad leg could move. He didn’t bother to look around and didn’t hear the director of nursing say good morning to him. He had one thing on his mind, and nothing would slow him down.
He took the stairs two at a time, pushing through the pain to the third floor. He opened the stairwell door and saw the chaplain coming from Mom’s room. As he passed the chaplain, the priest said, “She’s still with us, Tim.”
“Thanks, Father.”
When he reached Mom’s room, Leslie and Ike were at her side. The charge nurse and resident checked her vitals. Ginny, the aide, stood at the foot of the bed, waiting to do whatever the nurse told her to do. When they saw Timothy, they stepped aside and let him get next to Mom’s face.
“What’s going on?” His voice broke.
“Everything’s shutting down, Tim. There’s nothing we can do but make her comfortable,” the resident said.
“She’s been waiting for you,” the nurse said.
Timothy grabbed Mom’s hand and leaned over inches from her ear. “Can you hear me, Mom?” He sensed a slight pressure on his hand. “I’m here, Mom. I’m going to stay here with you.”
Leslie sobbed in Ike’s arms. Ike’s eyes were red and wet. The resident and the nurse moved closer to the door. Ginny sniffled.
“I love you, Mom,” Timothy said. She squeezed his hand slightly and he sat with her for several minutes.
“Did you get hold of Frank?” Timothy asked.
“Yes, I got him on the phone, and he talked to Mom. It made her smile,” Ike said. Mom squeezed Timothy’s hand again. She had all of her children here this morning.
Ginny stroked Leslie’s arm. She’ll make a good nurse.
“Is Frank coming?” Timothy looked at Leslie.
“Yes, he’ll be on the first flight this morning,” Ike said.
“Did you hear that, Mom? Frank’s on his way. You’ll have all three of us pestering you before long.” Timothy used humor to take the edge off things. His father told him it was an Irish thing. His father said, “When you’re Irish, if you can’t laugh, you’ll cry your way through life.” Timothy took that advice to heart.
He felt the faint squeeze from her hand, and a tear ran down her face. Her breathing became shallower now and irregular. Timothy knew what was coming. He’d seen it before. Mom sounded congested and rattled a bit. Timothy looked at the doctor and nurse, and they moved closer to the bed, still giving the family their space.
“How about we say the Lord’s Prayer?” the nurse suggested.
Timothy on one side, Leslie holding Mom’s other hand, Ike holding onto Leslie, and Ginny at the foot of the bed, they began the prayer. As they finished the prayer, the nurse looked at Mom and said, “It’s okay, Dorothy. You can go. It’s all right. You can go home.”
Timothy dropped his head. Oftentimes, people needed permission to let go. He knew the routine, but it was not routine for his family. He looked around. Ike held up a shaking and sobbing Leslie. The doctor folded his hands and held his eyes down out of respect. Ginny wiped her eyes while the nurse remained composed, as did Timothy. He compartmentalized his emotion as he had done many times in the recent years. Letting himself feel nothing became a controlled response or a defense mechanism. It also kept people out of his inner space.
The last bit of strength left Mom’s hands, and her eyes opened slightly. She was looking somewhere beyond this room.
“Doctor, pronounce?” the nurse said.
“Yes.” The resident placed his stethoscope on Mom’s chest and listened in a couple of spots. He shined a small light into her eyes to examine her pupils. He removed his stethoscope slowly, looked at the clock on the wall, nodded, and said, “Mark TOD at 9:56 AM.”
Leslie sobbed loudly. Ike was crying, too. Ginny left the room with the resident, and the nurse stayed behind. Timothy sat next to Mom and looked at her, mirroring her expressionless stare. He was slowly processing this. He appeared to be somewhere else. He felt alone even with others in the room.
“Tim, take as much time as you and your family need. I’ll be at the nurses’ station. Once you’ve said your goodbyes, we’ll move the body. God bless all of you. Your mom’s no longer in pain.” The nurse placed her hand on Timothy’s shoulder, and he accepted the act of compassion. Ginny returned to the room and stood in the background in case the family needed something.
They sat for a while, and when it was time to leave, Leslie and Ike both hugged Timothy, who still had not broken down. He told them there would be paperwork to sign, and he would take care of it. He knew the nurse would be back with it in a few minutes. He wanted Leslie out of there for that formality. There was something too final about paperwork, and he wanted to be here alone for that.
The nurse returned with the papers, and he signed them. She left, reassuring him he could stay. He sat down again next to Mom and grabbed her hand.
“I love you, Mom. I hope I was a good son.” He buried his head in the mattress and sobbed. He felt empty. Hollow. The piece of him that was missing lay in front of him. He sat for a few more minutes gaining his composure. He stood to leave.
“Tim, we’re sorry for your loss. I know this must be difficult for you,” Sister Mary Margaret said. She and Loretta stood inside the doorway. He didn’t hear them enter.
“Yes, Tim. We’re sorry,” Loretta said.
“Thanks.”
&nb
sp; “I know you have a shift tonight, but don’t worry about it. We have it covered. And I know this doesn’t mean much now, but our bereavement policy ensures your salary is not interrupted during the next week. You won’t have to come in next week either, but you will still be paid. I know it’s a small thing, but it’s one way to show we understand and care for our employees.”
This caught Timothy off guard. He didn’t know which surprised him the most—the policy or their compassion.
He went back to Mom’s side and sat and wept, “I’m here, Mom.” He replayed the death scene over in his mind, as if he could change the outcome. He knew it was a fool’s folly to think he could change the past. He’d tried this before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TIMOTHY WENT HOME to an empty house—the emptiest and loneliest it had ever been. He suffered aloneness in a way he never imagined. He searched for familiar living memories. He imagined Mom in the kitchen making her rolls. He envisioned her in her rocking chair in the living room—she called it the front room. He saw her in his mind’s eye sitting at the dining room table reading her Bible. He remembered family dinners. He recalled the day he left for the Army, and she didn’t want to let go of him. He relived the day he returned home from Vietnam, and she met him at the front door. He visited all of these familiar places. He already missed her pitiful expressions, and that made him smile. He sat in the chair and rocked. Death strips time of urgency. Lost in time, Timothy sat and rocked until the phone startled him. He had little desire to answer it or talk to anyone but knew it might be important—something about the funeral arrangements. The responsible Timothy went to the phone.
“When did you get home?” Leslie asked.
“About an hour ago. How are you?”
“Sad. Really sad.”
“I hear ya.”
“Ike went to get the kids from school. We are taking them out early today. They need to know. This is going to be a tough afternoon.”
“It’s already a tough day,” he said.
“Frank changed his flight and will come in on the red eye tomorrow morning. I asked Ike to pick him up when he gets in. Is that okay with you?”
