The Last Hour

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  To say I was a little devastated at what happened after my dissertation defense was a huge understatement. And that was something I needed to deal with and put behind me.

  When I knocked on his office door, he looked up from the paper he was studying and saw me. A flash of something passed across his face—guilt maybe? It was hard to interpret, but he stood up and said, “Carrie, come in.”

  I stepped into the office. It looked like it always had: cluttered, paper everywhere, stacks of books.

  “Hey,” I said, hating the awkwardness. I was never awkward with Bill. “I just wanted to stop in. I’m flying out to San Francisco tonight, and I won’t be back ... I start at NIH right after New Year’s.”

  “I’m glad you came by,” he said.

  An uncomfortable silence fell. Then I said, “I…” just as he said, “Carrie….”

  We both stopped. Then he said, “I was hoping to talk with you before you left. I owe you an apology.”

  I raised an eyebrow and listened.

  “Look ... you probably know my marriage has been on the rocks for a couple of years. It was ... impulsive. Stupid. I’ve always been attracted to you, how could I not be? But I should never have said anything ... not then. I didn’t even realize, until you said something, what a difficult position I put you in.”

  He was starting to ramble.

  “Carrie, you’re brilliant and beautiful, and as you were finished defending your dissertation, I guess I suddenly felt like ... if I was ever going to have a chance, it was then. But that wasn’t exactly fair to you. I’m hoping you can forgive me.”

  I closed my eyes. Relief flooded through me, unexpectedly. Relief because I wanted to forgive him, and because I’d suddenly gotten a glimpse of his inner life for the first time, and I only now realized just how lonely a man he was.

  “I forgive you,” I said. “Of course I do.”

  He sagged in his seat, the tension draining out of him. “You have no idea how relieved I am.”

  “Bill ... we’ve been friends for far too long to let this destroy it. Just ... if you ever find yourself in that position again ... don’t do it. Okay?’

  He nodded. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Good,” I replied.

  “So you’re all set to move?”

  “I shipped all my stuff out earlier this week, it’ll be waiting for me in Bethesda.”

  “You need any help finding a place there? I have friends at NIH, I can put out the word if you’re looking for a roommate…”

  I shook my head. “My parents own a condo in Bethesda, I’m going to move in there.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Well, that will make things easier. By the way ... I thought you should know ... this doesn’t happen often, but Nikki didn’t pass her defense.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Why not?”

  Nikki Reynolds was no friend. But I was still somewhat shocked. Rarely in my life had I met anyone so ill equipped for a scientific career. It wasn’t that she was lazy or had bad intentions … it was that she just wasn’t careful or meticulous, and when her research turned out wrong, she blamed other people. Mostly me. More than once she’d slyly suggested that my success at Rice had less to do with my scientific ability and more to do with my looks.

  I’d tried more than once to defuse her. I’d helped her out. I sent her Christmas and birthday cards. I did everything I could, but for two years I’d felt I was being stalked by someone who couldn’t recognize her own weaknesses. The last straw had been when I briefly dated Jose Boras, another graduate student, a little over a year before I met Ray. I hadn’t realized that Nikki had her sights set on Jose, but the Monday morning after our date, I’d come in to the office and found the printed draft of my dissertation, along with several thumb drives, missing. Of course, there was nothing I could take to anyone and complain, no proof that Nikki had done it, and luckily I kept the original on my laptop. But after that, I’d become much more careful about leaving anything in the office.

  He sighed. “She just wasn’t ready. One thing I’ve seen over and over again in life: people consistently overrate their own competence. That’s one of the reasons she’s always disliked you. You’re brilliant, and you’re headed for a brilliant career as a scientist. She doesn’t understand why she always falls short, and instead of looking at herself, she blames other people. Me. You. I tried to warn her that her dissertation needed a lot more work. Several times, in fact.”

  “She must be devastated.”

  “I’m surprised you’re so concerned,” he said. “The two of you have never gotten along.”

  I shrugged. “Nikki’s a spiteful bitch and always has been. But I don’t wish bad for anyone.”

  He sighed. “You’re a good person, Carrie, you know that. Some day you’ll make some man very happy.”

  “I’m hoping it’s going to be Ray.”

  “Your soldier?”

  I nodded, a half smile on my face.

  “You love him?”

  “Yes.” My smile grew bigger, and I said, “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m glad,” he replied. “Grab what happiness you can, while you can.”

  “I hope you and your wife are able to patch things up,” I said.

  “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should catch a flight to London to see her. And see if we can settle some things.”

  “You should give it a try,” I said. “Not everybody gets a second chance.”

  He smiled, and I stood and said, “I should get going. I still have a few more things to do before I head to the airport.”

  He stood as well, and walked me to the door.

  “You take care of yourself, Bill. I’ll always be grateful for what an incredible mentor you’ve been.”

  “You too,” he said quietly.

  We stood awkwardly in the door for a second, unsure whether to shake hands or wave or what. Finally I reached out my hands and pulled him into a long, close hug. “Thank you again,” I whispered.

  He squeezed me tighter for just a second and kissed me on the cheek, then let go. And I turned and walked away.

  Halfway down the hall, I passed Nikki. She was rummaging in her purse, and gave me a look like murder. I just smiled at her, and kept going, putting it out of my mind.

  Would it have made any difference if I’d stopped her then? Said something? Taken her phone and smashed it, smashed the picture of Bill kissing me goodbye? Small moment, missed opportunities, things we don’t see or pay attention to at the time sometimes have a far bigger impact on our lives than we would have ever guessed in advance.

  She’s Deep (Carrie)

  Four days later, I woke up in my parents’ townhouse in San Francisco to the sound of a door slamming closed with a loud crash, followed by the thump-thump-thump of combat boots moving up the stairs to the fourth floor.

  I let out a small groan and rolled over, my eyes opening. It was Christmas morning, and I had hoped for a reprieve from the twins’ fighting. But it sounded like things were going to be business as usual. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I thought maybe I’d talk to them, early, and see if they might call a truce. Things were tense enough around here.

  For just a second my mind wandered back to the strange, disturbing note I’d found on my Facebook page the night before. Nikki, who I’d befriended in an odd moment of charity, posted, “I know what you did to earn your doctorate. Don’t think it won’t catch up with you.” Underneath the text was a photo of Bill and me in an embrace, his lips on my cheek.

  I recoiled when I saw the message on my phone, and as soon as I got to my computer, I deleted it and blocked her. For two years I’d put up with her childish and sometimes outlandish accusations. I was done dealing with Nikki.

  It was going to be an unusually quiet Christmas in the Thompson home. Julia and her husband had been on a grueling South Asian tour, with the last show scheduled Christmas Eve in Melbourne. They’d elected to take several days off before flying to New York. That,
in and of itself, wasn’t very unusual because they’d alternated Christmases for the last decade between San Francisco and Boston. What was unusual was that neither Alexandra nor Andrea was coming home. Alexandra was getting married to Dylan in a few months and had never met his mother, so they both flew to Atlanta to spend Christmas there, a decision that likely sent my mother into an anxiety-driven fit. And Andrea? Well, she hadn’t been home in a couple of years. Which was heartbreaking, because I loved her, and because I had no idea why she left. Alexandra or the twins might know—they were much closer with her. But if so, no one was talking.

  As a result, this year, instead of a house packed with people, it was going to be very quiet. My parents, the twins, and me.

  On second thought, with the twins at war, it might not be quiet at all.

  My phone chirped on the bed beside me. I smiled and reached for it. Had to be Ray ... I couldn’t think of anyone else who would call me this early on Christmas morning.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” I replied.

  He let out a low chuckle. “How was your Christmas Eve?” he asked.

  “Tense,” I replied. “We went to midnight mass, which wasn’t bad, but before that, Jessica and Sarah were fighting all night.” I didn’t mention Nikki’s posting on my Facebook page. It had been so disturbing; I don’t think I’d processed it yet.

  “Again? That’s gotta be tiring.”

  “You have no idea.” I paused for a few seconds. “I wish I was with you.”

  “God, babe, I do too. Only a couple more days.”

  “So what have you been up to?”

  He made a disgusted sound. “Mostly dodging questions from my dad about why the FBI and Army have been questioning me.”

  I closed my eyes. “Has it been bad?”

  He sighed. “I can’t say it’s been great. They’ve shown up several times. It’s ... it’s like reliving it all. I want to chew my arm off, to be honest. And my mom and dad are hurt that I won’t talk about it, but ... for God’s sake, you can only say so much, and to so many people.”

  We were silent for a few quiet moments. Then I asked, “Ray, what do you think’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, babe. I suspect they’ll file charges. And I’ll have to testify. It’s going to be ugly, whatever happens. I just wish ... I just wish it was all over. I want to be with you.”

  “Well, you can. Have you heard from Georgetown yet? Or American University?”

  “Nah, I think it’s going to be a while.”

  “Come to Washington anyway.”

  He chuckled. “I just might. Until I’m back in school, I feel kind of shiftless. I’m not suited for lounging around all day.”

  “I’m serious, Ray. I know we haven’t known each other that long. But ... I know what I want.”

  His voice dropped about an octave, and he whispered, “Can you spell it out for me?”

  “How about I do that in person when I get to New York?”

  “Deal.”

  I stretched and sighed. “I should probably go face the morning now. I’m afraid of what kind of disaster I’m going to find when I leave my room. Sarah and Jessica woke me up slamming doors and stomping up stairs.”

  He chuckled. “I always thought twins were like, totally in sync. Telepathic.”

  “I don’t know any other twins, but these two are definitely not in sync.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I love you.”

  “Love you, Doctor Babe.”

  We hung up with a laugh, and I started getting myself sorted out and ready for the morning. Somehow I had the feeling that it was going to be a long, stressful day.

  Showered and mostly recovered from a night of restless sleep, I made my way down the stairs. In the living room, quiet Christmas music was playing. The tree was lit, but no one was in sight. It was only seven o’clock, and given the behavior of the twins of late, we wouldn’t be seeing them for a little while. I could smell coffee brewing, so I made my way through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  Mother was at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her face was downcast, and unusual for my mother, her hair was in disarray.

  “Good morning,” I said as I walked straight to the coffee pot. “Merry Christmas.”

  Mother looked up at me as I was pouring my coffee, and I was horrified to see that her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been sitting here crying?

  “Merry Christmas,” she said. Her voice was rough.

  I finished making my coffee, then slipped into the seat across from her. “What’s wrong?”

  She burst out, “Was I that terrible a mother to you girls? I only wanted you to have a good life.”

  I took a breath. I really didn’t know how to answer that. Yes, she loved us. Yes, she did everything she could to give us a decent life. But she’d also been ... spiteful. Angry. Driven by anxiety and fears that had nothing to with us, but colored our childhood in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe.

  I looked at the table and said, “You’ve mellowed out a lot over the years.” Which wasn’t the answer she was looking for, and just seemed to distress her a lot more.

  “Then why won’t Julia come home for Christmas? Or Alexandra?”

  “Mother, you know Crank had a concert last night. And ... Alexandra’s getting married in a few months. Sometimes ... we do get older.”

  Why, I wondered, did she only mention Julia and Alexandra? Andrea wasn’t here either, but no mention of that. What had I missed? I stared at her and thought about it, but I wasn’t coming up with any answers. Finally, I just asked, “Mother, why don’t you ask about Andrea?”

  She closed her eyes and answered with a final tone that was chilling. “Andrea doesn’t want to come home.”

  “Why not?” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “Don’t pry into this, Carrie. I know you’ve always watched out for your sisters, you’ve always tried to fix things for them. And I’m grateful for that ... especially ... during those times when I couldn’t be a good mother. You were a mother to them.”

  She leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “I mean it, Carrie. Don’t think I’m not grateful that my daughters had someone to look out for them. But you don’t want to get into this.”

  I sat there, and I could feel my face flush with heat. I knew that she’d gone through something. The anxiety meds, the anti-depressants ... all of them made it clear that my mother was dealing with some heavy emotional issues. But I had no idea what they were. And I certainly didn’t know that she’d recognized the role I’d somehow taken in our family, as protector to my sisters. It made me feel ... embarrassed. Like I’d been caught out in a lie, sneaking behind her back. Which of course, I had. I’d covered for my sisters to the point where it became second nature. I’d taken their punishments as my own. I’d been their confidante and sounding board and helper, even after I left home.

  Now she just looked tired. Red-rimmed eyes, and somehow, in the ten years since I’d left home, deep bags had formed under them, along with deepening wrinkles on either side of her mouth. Mother was a severe woman. Unhappy. But I’d never thought of her as old.

  “I don’t see how I can leave that alone,” I said.

  “Your sister will be happier if you do. There’s nothing but grief there.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. “Fine,” I said. “For now, anyway. But don’t think I’ll leave it alone forever.”

  She released my hands. “I suppose I have to accept that. For now, anyway.”

  It felt like she was mocking me.

  I took a long drink from my coffee and said, “Where’s Dad?”

  “He fled to his office when the twins started fighting.”

  I closed my eyes. Typical, I suppose. It’s not that my father was a coward, but avoiding confrontation? That was his style. “Why don’t I see if I can drag the girls downstairs peacefully, and you work on Dad? It is Christma
s morning.”

  “Yes. I agree,” she said, as I stood up. I wasn’t actually ready to go yet. I wanted two or three more cups of coffee before even considering dealing with my sisters. But the conversation with Mother had made me so uncomfortable that I needed to get out of there.

  “Carrie?” she said, as I started to back away from the table.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Even though I’ve never been very good at showing it, especially with you older girls ... you do know I love you?”

  I felt my mouth twitch to the side, and I didn’t know what to say. I should lie, and say, ‘Of course I know.’ I should tell her that her episodes when I was a teen didn’t matter. I should tell her that the hideous way she’d treated Julia didn’t matter. I should try to build a bridge. I wasn’t sure I knew how. I was getting close to thirty years old, and I couldn’t even talk with my mother without lying.

  “Of course I know,” I said, with a sinking feeling, the lie stark, sitting in my chest like a wound that would never heal.

  I turned away before she could sense the lie and started up the stairs. As I climbed the four flights of stairs to the top floor and Julia’s old room, now Sarah’s, I wondered for the thousandth time how Julia had reconciled herself, even made peace with our mother. Was it like it was with me—just a pretense to keep the peace? We still had two sisters at home ... three, if you counted Andrea, though it seemed unlikely she’d ever live in this house again. Sending our mother into another tailspin of depression wouldn’t do them any good at all.

  Finally on the fourth floor, I rapped on Sarah’s door. The door had a hand-lettered sign on it reading “Keep out.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Why don’t we start with common courtesy?” I replied.

  For a second, I thought she was going to ignore me. But after a few moments, I heard what sounded like a wooden board slide back, and the door opened. “Come in,” she said.

  My mouth dropped open when I walked into the room. For one thing, Sarah had roughly nailed a sliding bar to the doorframe so she could bar the door from inside, which I couldn’t ever imagine was necessary in our house. My mother might freak out occasionally, but I don’t think my father had ever raised his voice in his life. He was such a stereotypically uptight WASP I don’t think he’d yell if the zombie apocalypse were taking place in his living room.