by Tom Reilly
“That’s really nice, Tim. Are you sure you want to do that? We can take out a second mortgage on our home—”
“No, you’re not going to take out a second mortgage on your house to resolve this, and yeah, I am fine selling that collection. It means no more to me than a savings account. Kind of a rainy day fund.”
“All right, I’ll call Frank and set this up for tomorrow. How about four?”
“Sure. I’ll be there. Bye.”
“Bye,” she said.
Timothy hung up the phone and collected his thoughts. This feels good. It’s like I’m in control again.
He cleaned up his mess in the living room and attempted to repair the hole in the floor from the shot he fired. After that, he cleaned up to meet Cheryl. He had a lot of cleaning up to do in his life.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
WAKING UP WEDNESDAY morning felt different to Timothy. No pounding at the door. No fogginess. No guilt.
Today, he had to drop off Scoot’s truck and pick up something else to drive. Scoot was a great friend. Always there. Whatever Scoot had for Timothy to drive would be fine with him. And he needed transportation to meet with Father Schmitt. After that, he was to meet Leslie and Frank to work out the details for the house. Timothy was discovering the difference between having problems with solutions versus problems by themselves.
As he pulled into the lot at the shop, Scoot came out to meet him. He motioned Timothy to park on the side of the building.
“Hey, dude. You look better today.”
“Feeling better, too. Listen, man, I appreciate you letting me use your truck. If it puts you in a bind to let me borrow something else, I can figure out something else,” Timothy said.
“No problem at all. I’ve got something else for you. It’s around back. Let’s go get it.”
As they walked around the corner of the building, Timothy saw a jade green Ford Fairlane shining like new money.
“Looks good, don’t she?” Scoot said.
“What happened? What is this?” Timothy asked.
“This is your old heap with a few changes. A buddy of mine owns a body and detail shop. He owes me big time, so I asked him to do a rush job fixing it up. Did a nice job, too. I got a deal on the tires. Our tire guy is a Nam vet, and when I told him about your situation, he sent these over. My guys did the engine work. Wasn’t as bad as the guy at the station said; it was worse, but it’s all good now. She runs like new,” Scoot said.
“Scoot . . . I don’t know what to say.” Timothy’s eyes leaked, and he bit his lower lip.
“Just say you’ll take care of it,” Scoot said.
“I will. Hell yeah, I will. This is amazing. I’ve never seen this car look this good. I don’t know how you got all of this done in a couple of weeks.”
“All we did was adapt to the situation, bro. You remember that, don’t you?” Scoot said.
“Yes, I do. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”
“You already did. Remember, you saved my ass. I’m the one still payin’.”
Timothy opened the car and sat inside. His smile filled the car. “It even smells new,” Timothy said.
“This should last you for a while, buddy,” Scoot said.
“Scoot, thanks.” He got out of the car and gave Scoot a bear hug. Scoot nodded. “I have to go see Father Schmitt. How about we get together later and have a beer? On me,” Timothy said.
“You know me, I never turn down a cold one. Now, go see the priest.”
“Thanks again, man.”
“Always,” Scoot said.
Timothy turned the key and the engine roared to life, answering his call. Timothy no longer requested it to start, he commanded it. He drove away like a sixteen-year-old who just got his license. He punched the accelerator, and the Fairlane lunged like a youngster. He couldn’t wait to share his good news with Cheryl. He thought she needed it as much as he did. He drove to school and parked away from the building, ensuring no one would park near his reborn Fairlane. He looked back at it several times as he walked to the administration building that housed the College of Arts and Sciences and Father Schmitt’s office.
Father Schmitt walked through the office door a little winded. “Tim, good to see you. C’mon in.” They sat across from each other in Father Schmitt’s office.
“So how goes it? Missing your mom?” Father Schmitt asked.
“Yes, Father, I am. I’ll make it. What option do I have?”
“Good thinking. No other option. You feel it. Let it work its way into your life, and keep going. You never want to forget, but you never want it to hold you back, either.”
“Thanks, Father. Makes sense. Why did you want me to swing by?” Timothy asked.
“It’s about Professor Leibert. He came to see me.”
Ah, shit. Just when I thought things were getting better for me.
“Why?”
“He told me about your grade and how you missed the final, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, just the opposite. He was singing your praises.”
“You gotta be shitting me. . . . Sorry, Father.”
Father Schmitt smiled.
“That guy hates me.”
“Not so much, as it turns out. It seems a paper you wrote impressed him more than he let on. He told me he disagreed with nearly everything you said, but loved the way you argued your point. He said he recognized great talent when he saw it.”
“He kinda said the same thing to me; it’s why he gave me a passing grade. Guess it wasn’t good enough to let me take the exam, Father. I really needed a B in that class.”
“He took the liberty to show it to a couple of folks in the English department. It seems one of the professors in that department was so impressed with your style that he wants you to TA for him next semester. That’s a position they reserve for grad students, but, in your case, they made an exception. How about them apples?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Timothy said.
“Say yes, son.”
“Yes.”
“Good, because he told me if you have a good semester with them, they will be able to help with tuition next year. In fact, he said that tuition bills should not get in the way of a talented student getting an education,” Father Schmitt said.
“Father, I’m stunned.”
“Tim, I know plenty of good psychologists. We have them in our department, but we don’t have many talented writers in this school. Have you ever considered that path?”
“Uh, maybe at one time,” Timothy said.
“Maybe it’s time to dust off those thoughts. You never know—we may have a budding Hemingway here.”
“I don’t know about that, but I sure want the TA position. Who do I need to see?” Timothy asked.
“You will get a formal offer letter in the mail next week. It will have all the information you need to get the ball rolling on this.”
“Thank you, Father. Why didn’t you tell me this the other night?”
“Tim, there’s a time for sorrow and a time for joy. You needed to grieve. Now, you need to celebrate.”
“I have the perfect person to celebrate with,” Timothy said.
“I thought you might. And since part of your tuition will be taken care of with the TA position, enroll next semester, and we’ll figure out the payment schedule.”
Timothy jumped up and shook the priest’s hand vigorously. “Father, I don’t know how to thank you.”
Father Schmitt looked straight into Timothy’s eyes and said, “Yes, you do, Tim. Write good stuff.”
“I will. I promise I will.”
Leaving the office, Timothy was awestruck by the sudden changes in his life. Two days ago, he lived in cold darkness. He had few options. Today, hope and warmth illuminated his path. He drove his new car to Leslie’s house. When he got there, Frank’s rental car was gone.
“Hi, little brother,” Leslie said as she greeted him at the door. “What’s that you’re driving? It almost looks like—”
“He’s a special friend, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” Timothy said. He then told her about his conversation with Father Schmitt. Leslie smiled as widely as her lips would allow.
“Good Lord, you’re having a great day,” Leslie said.
“Yes. Where’s Frank?”
“Well, this may top your day off. I called Frank to meet with us. I told him your idea of paying for the insurance and taxes with the sale of your baseball cards. He was ecstatic. He said waiting a year to sell, provided he didn’t have to pay anything, might make more sense anyway. Something about his business troubles. I don’t know, but it seemed to make sense to him.”
“That’s Frank,” Timothy said.
“Yes, he said there was no reason to meet. Pay the bills, and we’ll sell the house next year. He was thrilled he could catch an earlier flight and make it home today,” Leslie said.
“Old Frank, huh?”
“Yes, brother Frank,” Leslie said. “Do we need to go over anything else at this point?”
“None I can think of. I think I’m going to take off. I have someone I need to share some good news with,” Timothy said.
“She deserves that, Tim.”
“I know she does, thanks.” He leaned over and gave his big sister a hug before leaving.
Timothy drove home and rushed into the house—his house—to immediately call Cheryl.
“Hey, I’ve got something to tell you,” he said.
He shared his good news with her. Car. Father Schmitt. Frank.
Next, he owed Scoot a couple of beers, and they met at Junior’s. Good sense prevailed, and they called it a night after two beers.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
TIMOTHY’S FIRST STOP for the day was the hospital. He needed to take of his mom’s bills. He needed closure; loose ends haunted him. He went directly to the billing department.
“I would like to talk with someone about unpaid bills for my mother’s hospital stay,” Timothy said to the receptionist.
“Yes sir, that will be Miss Haynes. I will tell her you’re here. What’s the patient’s name?” the receptionist asked. Within a couple of minutes, Miss Haynes came into the waiting area to meet him.
“Mr. O’Rourke, please come with me,” Miss Haynes said. They walked to her cubicle. “Please have a seat. I understand you’re here to discuss your mother’s unpaid hospital bills.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Okay, I have the file here based on the information you gave our receptionist. Your mother was in here for a breathing problem and again last week for a stroke. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.” Timothy was impressed but saddened by how transactional and routine this sounded. This feels like a government tax office. Maybe it is, since hospital bills are a tax on the living. He smiled at his observation.
“I see your mother passed away last week. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’re an employee here?”
“Yes, part time. Right now, I work on Med-Surg,” Timothy said.
“Okay, can you wait here a minute please?”
“Sure.”
Miss Haynes left and returned a few minutes later. “I talked with our controller to get some clarity on our policy.”
“Policy? What policy is that?”
“We have a debt-relief program here for employees, and I wanted to make sure it applies to part-time workers, too,” Miss Haynes said.
“I don’t understand. What is this program?”
“It’s part of our bereavement policy. When an employee’s next of kin expires in the hospital, we forgive that debt. To bill you for your loved one’s death would be an extra burden, so we call it bereavement debt relief. Since you are unmarried and lived with your mother, you are considered next of kin, which means the debt is forgiven for both hospitalizations.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Timothy said as he shook his head in disbelief.
“Just say yes, Mr. O’Rourke. It’s our way of expressing our sympathy in your time of sorrow,” said Miss Haynes.
“Thank you. I’m stunned.”
“You’ve got a lot going on, I’m sure. We often hear that from other employees at this difficult time. We had to verify your employment with nursing, and they requested you stop by there before leaving,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Sure. Again, thank you. This was going to be so hard—”
“We understand. Good luck, Timothy,” she said.
He nodded and left the billing department. He went directly to the chapel to sit and think. Things happened so quickly his mind had difficulty keeping up. The car. The TA job. Temporary tuition deferment. Frank’s decision not to battle him. And now, debt relief from the hospital that had been at the center of his stress universe. Once he collected his thoughts, he went to Nursing Service.
“Hello, Timothy. Please have a seat. Monica will be right with you,” said the department secretary.
He sat for a few minutes considering his words for the director of nursing.
“Timothy, nice to see you. Come in, please.” He noticed the change of tone from previous encounters.
“Again, we are sorry about your mother. I know loss is difficult. I lost my mother last year. It takes time.”
“Thank you, Monica. I know it will be a while,” Timothy said.
“I asked you to come by so I could explain our bereavement policy and see if you had any questions, and talk to you about your schedule.”
“Sure. Miss Haynes explained it clearly to me. She said I owe nothing because it’s the hospital’s way of helping employees deal with loss.”
“Yes, that’s correct. We are in the healthcare business, and employee health, physical or psychological, is as important to us as our patients’ health,” Monica said as if reading from an employee handbook.
“Great. Thank you again. And what about my hours?” Timothy asked.
“I know we have you at two shifts a week now. How does that work for you?”
“It’s okay. I’m making it.”
“Would an extra shift make a difference?”
“Sure, it would help a lot. Could I do it on the Med-Surg unit and remain there?”
“Why yes, if that’s what you want.” Monica looked surprised.
“It is. That’s where Mom passed, and I saw firsthand the importance of patient care. Sort of my way of giving back.”
“That’s a lovely thought. When you’re ready to come back to work in a week or two, see the head nurse on the floor, and she will schedule however you want to work. We’ll be flexible on evenings and nights or weekends.”
“This is incredibly nice. I really appreciate it.”
“When you run a business, which we do, people often mistake our focus on the business side as cold. We don’t mean it that way. We’re on your side, you know?” Monica said.
“Thank you again. This makes things a little easier.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing you return to work.”
“Me too.”
Timothy left Monica’s office trying to process everything he had experienced the past couple of days. Since he skipped breakfast, he decided to swing by the snack bar for a quick lunch before heading to Dez’s place.
“Hi, Tim.”
“Hey, Penny,” Timothy said.
“Are you back at work already?” she asked.
“No, taking care of some family business here.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry about your mom. I know you were close. That was a nice service on Monday.”
“Yes, it was.”
“What can I get you?”
“How about a burger and fries.”
“And a chocolate malt?”
“Sure, why not. For Mom,” he smiled.
“For Mom,” Penny said.
She returned in a few minutes with the malt. “The burger an
d fries will be right up. The malt’s on the house,” Penny said.
“Thanks, Penny. That was nice of you and Ginny to come to the funeral.”
“Ginny was fond of your mom when she took care of her, and you know me—I’m fond of you.”
Timothy smiled but had no interest or energy today for the banter. He held the malt up in a faux toast. Penny walked back to the kitchen to get the burger and fries.
“Here ya go,” she said as she placed them in front of Timothy.
“Thanks, Penny. I appreciate it.”
“Sure, and if I was inappropriate earlier, I’m sorry. You’re a friend, and I don’t like to see friends hurting.”
“That’s the way I took it.” He smiled to let her off the hook.
Timothy finished his lunch, paid for the burger and fries, and left a generous tip. He said goodbye to Penny and thought about the next stop on his agenda for the day—Schoen’s.
He dreaded this conversation but knew he must have it. On the one hand, Timothy wanted this over. On the other hand, he procrastinated because he wanted to hold out for the last minute in case he needed to change his mind. It was past time to face up to Dez and refuse his offer. Timothy strung him along for a while, which made this tougher than it should have been. He knew what he must do. He recalled what Hoffen said: “There’s never a bad time to make a good decision.” This felt like the right decision, regardless of the time.
Timothy pulled into Schoen’s lot and parked his new old car toward the back. He didn’t want to have to explain that transformation. Not that he was embarrassed, but he wanted to stay focused on his reason for being here. He walked around the side of the building.
“Hey, soldier boy. Where you been?”
“Hi, Kenny. Taking a few days off after the funeral,” Timothy said.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Dez is inside. Think he’s been waitin’ for you. Come back out here before you leave,” Kenny said.
