Lee Fitts

by Rich Garon

  “That was a wonderful thing your father said to you, Lee. If it came late, I’m sure he is very sorry. I know how these years have been rough for you. I’ve prayed for you every day since the accident. I asked God to let us understand His way and to bring you and your father back together in a manner that was even more loving and caring than you had known. You and your family have been in the prayers of many people.”

  The Fitts family remained in the waiting room. Warren Taylor would be back at his office, he said, if they needed him.

  Rev. Taylor’s younger brother weighed more than four-hundred pounds. He would be ashamed if his parishioners ever saw him screaming at his brother; his big, fat brother who did nothing about his weight. Diabetes, skin disorders, swollen joints, an overtaxed heart were aliments that required many pills and doctors’ visits which his brother couldn’t afford. Rev. Taylor’s savings were draining quickly; he had never planned for a brother who required such care. Rev. Taylor knew that someone had to yell at his brother; how else was he going to learn that if he didn’t do something about his bad health he was going to die? He was also going to drain dry the meager savings of a frugal, already sacrificing member of the clergy.

  Realizing he left his cell phone in the car parked at home, the distraught clergyman headed for the pay phone off the hospital lobby. Dialing, he hoped his secretary had arrived in the office. She’d have to drive over and pick him up; he found he had only a dollar in his wallet.

  The phone rang and a long description of the church as a place of good fellowship and worship preceded the hours of worship and announcements concerning important upcoming activities. He left a message that he was still at the hospital and would try back later. He went outside, thought about walking, but it was just too far and he didn’t want to have to answer questions about why he was walking along the highway. He stood on the sidewalk staring into the parking lot as if he were trying to make out a ship far offshore in the fog.

  “Rev. Taylor?” He turned. “Rev. Taylor, I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Christie Veit, I’m Lee’s friend.”

  “Oh yes, I remember,” but he couldn’t remember from where. “It’s good to see you again. Yes, very good to see you. I’ve just come from being with Lee, and his sister; and her husband’s upstairs as well.”

  “I thought he’d be here. I tried getting in touch with him all last night and this morning and figured he must be at the hospital.”

  “Yes, yes, Lee’s upstairs. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you, can always use a good friend at a time like this.” He continued to stare into the cars as if one would recognize who he was, that he needed a ride, and would drive up to the curb so he could get in.

  “Rev. Taylor, are you waiting for someone?”

  “Well, not really, I mean, well, I couldn’t get my car started this morning, so I took a cab to the hospital and I tried to get through to our secretary at the church, but she’s not in yet. So, I’ll wait a bit and try her again.”

  “Let me give you a ride. The church is only a few miles away. I can drop you off and be back in no time. It’s not as if Lee were expecting me at a particular time.”

  “No, I couldn’t impose, Christie, but that’s very nice of you to offer.”

  “Please, I insist. I know Lee certainly would want me to take you if he knew you didn’t have a ride.”

  Rev. Taylor, rescued from the cold, harsh desolation of the street that was the traveling buddy of those with no money and no one to turn to, said “Maybe I will take you up on your kind offer.”

  The growing warmth of the heater in Christie’s car chased the chill from both his body and his thoughts. They were out of the parking lot and he would soon be within the protective walls of his office.

  “Have you known Lee long?”

  “Yes, we’ve known each other since middle school.” She quickly added,” but recently Lee and I have become good friends, I guess closer.”

  Warren Taylor hesitated then realized it was an important piece of information. “So, did you know Lee before the accident?”

  “Yes, I did and Lee knew my brother Sam Veit.”

  The name sounded very familiar to him, he was sure he had seen it in one of the newspaper stories. “Pardon me for asking, but was he one of the ones that was . . .”

  “Yes, Sam was killed in the crash. I could never bring myself to call it an accident because the bus driver knew exactly what he was doing; there’s no doubt in my mind. But, and I’m sure this comes as no surprise to you, eventually everyone gets what they deserve. A while ago, at the homeless shelter we have, I mean that our church, St. Luke’s has, I saw an old man at the shelter. He was in sorry shape and had a makeshift crutch for his bad leg, but I recognized him. It was Speakes, the bus driver, but he got out and got away. For days, I thought about how badly I felt that he got away; I’m not sure what I would have done to him, but I wanted to hurt him. I think I’m over it, I mean I’ll never get my brother back, and you can see what’s happened to Lee, but Speakes got what was due him. He’s a crippled old homeless man and judging by what I saw he’s pretty sick. There was terror in his eyes when I started yelling at him.” Christie took a deep breath and scrunched her lips as she put on the turn blinker. “Still doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.”

  Rev. Taylor shook his head. What a coincidence, he thought, but then what does that word mean to the Lord. “Christie, it’s all coming together now. The crash was so long ago, and I had forgotten the bus driver’s name, but when you said Speakes and homeless and the man’s physical condition, well, I remembered. I’d say maybe a year ago, it was a cold afternoon, late in the day, I was getting ready to go home. I was going to lock the sanctuary door, then it opened and three men walked in. They were shivering, poorly dressed, and one had a crutch similar to the one you described. He asked if they could stay in the church for just a while to warm up. There was no room at the shelter, he said. I told them of course and went to get some food from the pantry. When I came back, that man was in the front pew, kneeling in prayer. One of the men, pointed to the pew and asked me to pray for the man with the crutch; he called him Speakes. Said he was a really good man. He would always be on the lookout for those homeless having a particularly rough time. He spends just about all of his monthly disability check on others. But Speakes’s health was getting worse especially with the freezing cold. I did pray for Speakes and after an hour or so, they left.”

  Christie lowered her head into her hands, then looked to the sky. She had her answer about Speakes and thanked the Lord.

  Warren Taylor placed his hand on hers and looked at the empty church parking lot. He scanned his memory for a Bible verse or some pithy commentary that could respond appropriately to Christie’s story but nothing came to him. “Well, I’m sure Margaret our secretary will be here soon. But you were a real lifesaver Christie, I should say. You go to St. Luke’s, we just had someone transfer to our church from St. Luke’s. His name’s Clement Ezzer. Do you know him?”

  “The name doesn’t sound familiar right off, maybe if I saw him I’d recognize him.”

  “Sure, I’m sure that might be.” Warren Taylor thanked her again and got out of the car. He watched as she drove to the end of the driveway and turned into the traffic heading toward the hospital.

  Christie was back in the hospital parking lot in less than fifteen minutes. Much more crowded now, the only vacant spot was the one she had pulled out of when she drove Rev. Taylor to church. It had been a short trip according to the odometer, but had covered much ground in terms of what she had discussed with Warren Taylor. Her brother, Speakes the bus driver, Lee; that had been a lot to unload on the reverend but he was very understanding. She was glad that someone like Rev. Taylor didn’t seem to have any problems of his own; must be because of his deep belief in God.

  Lee stood in the gift shop, his back was toward her and she said nothing as she walked over. He was staring at a tabloid on the rack. “EXTRATERRESTIAL FOUND LIVING
IN WHITE HOUSE -- Has Secretly Recorded Private Presidential Conversations of the Past Fifty Years,” screamed the headline. Below was a photo of the back of what looked like a person in a reptile suit with a pointy head. In handcuffs, the creature was being led away from the White House by policemen.

  “Lee,” Christie said.

  “I did not see you there Christie. I am glad you are here. I have been with Ellie and D.H. upstairs visiting my father. Ellie said I should come downstairs and get something to eat and I was just reading the newspaper. I did not hear about the problem in the White House and the television has been on the whole time we have been in the waiting room. Maybe this story came on when we were in my dad’s room.”

  “Lee,” Christie said in a voice she might one day use to tell her children there was no Santa Claus. “This newspaper just makes up stories. There is no truth to them. The readers laugh at them. They’re supposed to be funny.”

  “But Christie, that story is in the newspaper and there is a photo of the White House and if you look at the smaller photo, there’s the tape recorder that the alien used to listen in on the presidents’ private conversations.”

  “Lee, why don’t we get a sandwich and go outside. I saw a couple of picnic tables near the parking lot and the sun’s come out; looks like it’ll be a nice day after all. Don’t worry about the newspaper; I’m sure the White House can handle whatever comes up.”

  Christie listened carefully as Lee told her about his father. He knew his father would get better. She told him how happy she was that his father had such kind words about Lee. Yes, my dad and I are going to be fine now. Once he gets better, we will be able to do a lot of things together. I am going to take very good care of him. I know Ellie will help too.

  “Lee, I saw Rev. Taylor earlier when he was standing in the parking lot. I gave him a ride back to his office. We started talking about Speakes, and Rev. Taylor said he saw him about a year ago with some other homeless men who said Speakes was a very caring man who went out of his way to help the homeless. They asked Rev. Taylor to pray for him, because he was doing such kind things and his health was bad. Lee, I don’t think I can hate him any longer. I need to move on, and be thankful that God is using Speakes in this way.”

  “I cannot hate the bus driver. I cannot hate. I saw what hate did to my father.”

  Lee’s wisdom cleared a path for her. She looked up at the buds bursting into a green fizz of shoots that by late spring would form a canopy of leaves shielding the weathered picnic table from the summer sun. She smiled at him, knowing that he too had moved on.

  “That looks like a good sandwich Lee, they gave you a lot of turkey.”

  “Yes, they did give me a lot of turkey. She gave me more turkey than the man in front of me. Maybe that was because I smiled at her.”

  “Lee, you weren’t flirting, were you?” Christie said. She sometimes forgot and didn’t calibrate her humor for Lee.

  “No, I was not flirting, Christie. There is no one I would ever want to flirt with except you. I mean, you know what I mean, I really like you.”

  She was about to apologize for the joke; she had not meant to embarrass him, but she saw an unexpected opening, and something deep within her took over. “Lee, do you really like me, or do you love me?”

  He looked at her and stopped chewing. He put down his sandwich.

  “Will you still be my friend if I say I love you?” he was finally able to ask.

  Her response was quick. “Yes, Lee I will still be your friend, but I hope you will see me as more than a friend because I love you.”

  “I do love you Christie.” His look was as trusting as when he had been reading the story about the interloper in the White House.

  “There, we both love each other,” she said through a smile as the sun skipped from behind a stray cloud.

  “What does this mean Christie?”

  “I guess it can mean whatever you want it to,” she said in an unexpected coquettish flair. Even with Lee she thought her declaration of feeling for him didn’t need a dictionary.

  “I hope it means we will spend a lot of time together, does this mean also that we will get married?”

  “It might, Lee. People who love each other often get married. Do you know me well enough to marry me?”

  “I love you, Christie.”

  “But do you think you know me well enough to marry me.”

  “I know I love you and would like to marry you.”

  She wondered how they could ever get married. She wanted to go to school. He didn’t have a job. He was now going to be caring for his father. Yet, she was so drawn to him; he was something left of her brother. And she loved Lee. The seedling of her feelings as a teenager, much like the budding flowers around her, took its command from the spring. She had never felt that way about anyone else. She may have thought she had, but each time she had been with Lee, since the first time those months ago when she saw him at Audrey Plennington’s spa, he was defined by the strongest of feelings; what so many refer to dismissively as puppy love. She thought at that moment that there was nothing at any age more romantic than puppy love.

  “Let’s just be in love for now,” she said. She held his hand and after glancing behind lifted it up and kissed it. “You need to get back to your dad and I’ve got to get ready for work. I’ll call you later tonight.”

  “Good bye Christie.” Lee walked toward the hospital wondering what he was supposed to do now that he had told Christie he loved her.

  Jim Fitts had asked the nurse to close the blinds. At least as he looked through half-open eyes at the late-morning sun he thought he had. He’d asked her to turn off the light across from his bed; or was he going to ask her? The first face he saw in the recovery room said the burn on the back of his throat was normal, from the tube the anesthesiologist uses, only lasts a short time. He asked for a lozenge, or had he asked the nurse who came to him after he took the medicine? Percocet, he remembered the name because of how the nurse placed so much stress on the first part of the word. This nurse had an orchestra conductor’s baton in her hand that waved in a smooth rhythm to choruses of Percocet, Percocet. His once-throbbing surgically-repaired areas were soothed by the calm buffeting of the sea against his inflatable life raft. From his count, he had been afloat for three days. Ellie, Lee, and D.H. sometimes pulled beside him in a twenty-four-footer. They’d talk for a while. Jim enjoyed their company; then they said they had to go and the boat throttled away leaving Jim to float again by himself. He remembered telling Lee that everything was fine; they’d be all right now and he hoped his son would forgive him. Lee yelled back from the departing boat that he would. Then the throbbing started again.

  Jim Fitts’ thoughts turned to what were his first minutes of off and on consciousness in the hospital. “Shit,” he remembered hearing the surgeon say. Then it was just a blather of incomplete sentences. “Mr. Fitts, we’re going to stop the bleeding first, then we’re going to close . . . and the artery should . . .. We’re also going to have to fix this vascular mass by . . .” He shivered as they daubed at the blood that caked the lower part of his body. The shivering got worse. He never felt anything warmer than the blanket with which someone covered him.

  Jim Fitts opened his eyes as she called to him; it had become routine since his surgery. He told the nurse that yes, his name was Jim Fitts. Having heard the password, she began her work in the sleepy light of night time in a hospital room. She took his blood pressure, pulse, and drew yet more blood. He wondered against the clang of her tools, why each nurse asked him his name. He knew his name and they must know his name. She handed him a tiny paper cup containing two small white pills that his entire body waited impatiently for him to swallow. “Anything I can get you Mr. Fitts?”

  “A lozenge; a lozenge for my throat.”

  “I’ll see if I can find one. I might have to call down to the pharmacy. I’ll have to see if anyone’s down there.”

  The small white pills bypassed the usual controls i
n the cockpit. Jim felt his legs and arms, then his head and back rise from the mattress. Even with the pills, his leg still throbbed. He’d have to ask for more pills. He started again to float in that small raft; the warming sun and the small lapping waves embraced him. Lee was in his own boat this time, and father and son spoke against the idling engine. Their words were loving and clear. It would be different this time, Jim Fitts said. All he wanted was to have his son there to talk to. Lee called for someone. Jim saw Marian Fitts standing next to Lee. She was as beautiful as the day he fell in love with her. Lee helped his mother into the raft with his father. The waves soaked through the bottom of her sun dress. Jim and Marian Fitts looked into each other’s eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have left,” she said.

  “No, it was my fault; it will be better now.” His head shot up from the bed. Marian Fitts, his wife. Had anyone told his wife what had happened to him? As his thoughts clanked unsteadily back to his first days in the hospital, he seemed to remember asking someone if they had called his wife. Maybe he had told them not to call his wife. He would have to ask someone in the morning. He wondered if she would come if she knew. He closed his eyes, laid his head back down, and traveled again to the open waters.

  The ocean below basked in the morning’s first light as the 757 turned up the coast. They’d be landing soon and the peace she knew during her string of cat naps was pierced by the cabin lights. The pilot’s voice, split by static, announced landing information and Marian Fitts sat up as she readied herself for a day filled with painful uncertainty.

  She looked into her purse to find the rental car information and she looked at the envelope she had for Lee. It was addressed and stamped a day earlier; before she had decided to go to her husband and her children. She could still mail it to Rev. Taylor as she had done with the others. Maybe she would hand it to Lee. Maybe he would need more than the usual forty dollars, but as she looked into her wallet, she saw there wasn’t a whole lot more to give.