“Get outta here, priest!” Vicky angrily lashed out at him.
“Just think about it,” Father Mudd said completely unfazed as he stood up to leave.
“Don’t you have a date with a little altar boy somewhere?”
This was the first time Vicky noticed a little chink in the armor of his cool façade. He spun back around on his heels. “I have spoken respectfully to you. You owe me the same courtesy.”
“Ooh, I must’ve hit a nerve. What’s wrong? A little too close to the truth?”
“I’ve done some pretty despicable things in my day but I’m not a pedophile.”
“How do you know, rev? You’re a drunk right? We drunks don’t remember what we do when we’re on a bender. What’s wrong, rev? I thought you wanted to see a little fight in me again.”
“I’m leaving now, but I want you to know you haven’t succeeded in driving me away completely like I suspect you have most everyone else,” he said regaining his composure. “I’m not giving up on you.”
“Not giving up on me? What can you do for me? Besides baptize me!”
“I can forgive you for the verbal abuse and I can pray for you.”
“You do that, reverend!” Vicky hollered out as he exited the room. “Holier-than-thou sack of shit!” she muttered as she rolled over to face the wall. She felt terrible and she didn’t know what to do but cry and go back to sleep.
*****
“Vicky,” she heard the voice call her name just barely above a whisper. It was a man’s voice. He said it again, this time a bit louder and clearer. It wasn’t Father Mudd. She felt certain it wasn’t him. She opened her eyes but saw no one; yet she knew someone was there standing behind the curtain which draped around her hospital bed. Certainly it wasn’t a doctor or nurse or lab technician come to draw her blood. They would have yanked that curtain back without a moment’s hesitation and commenced to poking and prodding as readily as a bullfrog takes to hopping. Perhaps it was a social worker who had come to talk about what they should do with her next. But no, any hospital personnel wouldn’t have waited behind the curtain like this, so tentative and uncertain, so afraid of poking their head around the corner of the curtain lest they disturb her rest. Maybe it was some church volunteer here to do an act of charity for the poor alcoholic patient with no family, friends and no other visitors. Vicky exhaled a huff of contempt out through her nostrils for whoever it was disturbing her sleep and her only chance to escape this wretched reality. “Who is it?”
“It’s Frank Hamilton, Vicky. Do you remember me?” the voice called tentatively from behind the curtain.
“Francis?”
“Yes. Francis. You don’t have to see me if you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know I heard you were here and if there’s anything I can do to help…”
Before he could get the words out, Vicky reached over and pulled the curtain back. “Francis!” was all she could say as a new set of tears brimmed in her eyes. Yes, he was older but still so handsome and even more dignified with his salt and pepper hair. A rush of startled surprise raced through Vicky as strange old feelings resurfaced. Just the very sight of him was enough for that bitter-sweet pang of love to knot her stomach the same way it did over twenty years ago. Vicky was stunned, not only by the fact that he was there but by the unexpected reaction it stirred in her. She was still human, still alive, and could still feel something besides sick and depressed.
She was so caught off guard by Frank’s presence that she almost forgot herself, almost reacted like the old impulsive Vicky who never held anything back, almost hopped out of bed and threw her arms around him. But then she remembered who she was, who he was, where she was, and the time, distance, and difference between them. She quickly covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, God, Francis! Don’t look at me. I’m so ashamed. I’m so ugly.”
“Would you rather I leave?” he said, ever the gentleman, wanting to be considerate, wanting to do the proper and gracious thing.
Vicky removed her hands from her face and made herself look at him. “What do you want to do, Francis?” She wanted to see his reaction. If he tried too hard to be polite then she’d know that he was uncomfortable and she’d throw him out herself.
“I want to stay,” he said. He shook his head and tears came to his eyes. He pulled out a white linen handkerchief from his pocket, and as he unfolded it Vicky saw the finely stitched navy thread bearing his monogram.
“I see you still use those things. I think I still have one somewhere,” she said trying to make light.
“Francis, for God’s sake, don’t pity me. I got enough of that around here; priests, nurses, social workers, candy stripers, the fucking cleaning lady; hell, I even pity myself. And you know what? It makes me sick. I hate all this pity. I guess I’ve gotten used to being a charity case, but oh, God, not from you! I don’t want to be your charity case! I’m disgusted enough with myself but when you come in here with that look on your face, and pull out your hankie, and ask if you can do anything to help me; I just can’t handle it.”
“I don’t pity you, Vicky. I’m angry at you,” he said raising his voice. “I’m pissed off! How could you do this to yourself?”
She lowered her eyes from his gaze which was now searing into her. She had no reply for him other than to change the subject. “So how did you know I was here?”
“Allison and my son were in the accident.”
“What accident?”
“The one you caused when you dove into traffic.”
“Oh, God, tell me they’re all right. Tell me they’re not hurt bad.”
“They’re going to be fine. Allison broke a rib and, Alex, that’s our fifteen year-old son, he broke his nose. After the swelling goes down he’ll have to have surgery to move the cartilage back into place, but he’s going to be fine. Of course, he’s pretty shook up. He was the one driving. He just got his permit.”
“Were they the one’s that hit me?” Vicky said startled and aghast.
“No, they were three cars back. You caused a five car pile-up, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“What the hell did you think would happen, Vicky?”
“I was trying to kill myself, not no one else, I mean not anyone else,” she said remembering herself, remembering her grammar, covering her mouth, remembering her toothless mouth and ugly face.
“And why? Why like that? So that some poor sucker would have to live the rest of his life with the hell of knowing he killed someone? You of all people, Vicky! You of all people. Why?”
“Okay, so it was stupid!” Vicky yelled. “It was stupid, and reckless, and thoughtless, and selfish just like everything else I’ve ever done. And I’d take it all back and make it up to everyone if I could. And I can see that now because I’m sober. I’m sober,” she said, her hysterical tears dying down to a whimper. “I just can’t seem to stay that way. I just can’t get used to being sober. It’s miserable. Of course, getting drunk and high ain’t no fun anymore either, so I thought I’d try death. Stupid, ain’t it? Just plain stupid!”
“Look, I didn’t come here to make you feel worse. I just…” Frank blotted his eyes with the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket. “I just had to see you; had to offer help, somehow, some way, though I don’t exactly know what I could do or how I could help. And it’s not because I think of you as a charity case. It’s just when you find out an old friend is in trouble, you feel like you need to do something.”
“And how does Allison feel about you helping me?”
“I don’t know. We split up.”
“What?”
“We separated about ten months ago. It’s not final yet but we’re in the process of a divorce.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Vicky said. She could see the pain in those blue eyes that were still so expressive and she really was sorry. She didn’t know she could still feel for someone else but she did and in a strange way it
felt good, this connection. She could see in his face that this was a pain as deep and profound as her own addiction and the dregs to where it had brought her.
“I’m sorry about what I did at your wedding. Can you ever forgive me for that?”
“It’s all water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned,” Frank said with a shrug.
“Do you think Allison’s forgiven me?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it in years. We haven’t talked about much of anything in years.”
“Pull up a chair, Francis,” Vicky said, “if you can spare just a few more minutes, that is.”
“Sure,” Francis said in a soft low voice, and then he smiled at her as he pulled the chair up to her bedside. It was that same slight, subtle, tranquil smile that seldom showed any teeth; a smile both pleasing and sad at the same time. It completely disarmed her. Any bitterness she felt for him seemed to dissipate into the air like a vapor at the sight of his smile.
“Shit, I just can’t stay mad at you,” Vicky said laughing and crying at the same time.
“Why would you be mad at me, Vicky?”
“Because you broke my heart.”
“I broke your heart? You’re the one who left me. I didn’t leave you.”
“Yeah, but it was only a matter of time. I only did it first so you wouldn’t have to. Figured it was easier on both of us that way. I mean, look at us Francis. Look at you! Look how handsome you still are. Look at that expensive suit you got on. And I see your shoes are still polished and your fingernails still perfectly trimmed. You’re rich. You’re successful. A businessman well respected, on this board and that committee–yeah, I read about you from time to time in the paper, either the business section or the social page. You’re the kinda guy who raises money to help people like me.
“Now look at me. I’m a hopeless alcoholic. I got no home, no friends, no family, nothing. I pissed everything away. I don’t even got my looks no more. I look twenty years older than you. Tell me how we would’ve ever made it together. Ain’t no way. I spared us both a lot of heartache and you know it.”
“Things didn’t have to turn out this way for you Vicky.”
“You think if I’d stayed with you this wouldn’t have happened. I’m a drunk. I would’ve been a drunk no matter what. Booze is the one thing I loved more than you. But hell, even if I never touched another drop again we still wouldn’t have made it. You’re a blue blood, Francis, and I’m nothing but white trash.”
“Maybe so. But there was something there. Something brought us together.”
“Don’t look at me like that Francis.” Vicky turned her head and wept. He took her hand but only for a moment, and after giving it a reassuring pat, released it. She turned back around to face him.
He was holding back tears too. And yes, she could see it was for her, but it was for more than just that. It was for all the losses, disappointments, and heartbreaks along the way.
“Well, we still got one thing in common,” Vicky said.
“What’s that?”
“We’re both miserable.” And with that they laughed through their tears.
“Tell me about your kids,” Vicky asked. “You got any pictures?”
Frank pulled out his wallet and let her look at his pictures, pointing out each of his children along the way and telling her about each one of them; their ages, where they were in school, their interests, and their personality quirks. Vicky could see that this made him happy. For a moment he forgot himself and his troubles and so did she. She noticed the coloring, facial features, and expressions of each one. She saw how much Matthew, their oldest, looked like Allison; how much their daughter looked like Frank, and how much Alex, their middle son seemed to be a combination of the two, though something in his expression was decidedly Frank’s. These were the progeny of two people she loved so much, this was the future they would leave behind and she wondered as she looked at their smiling faces, just how broken they must be.
“You send that boy to me,” Vicky said pointing to a picture of Alex. “I’ll straighten his ass out. I’ll tell him he better start minding you and his mama and stay in school or he’ll end up like me.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’d work. We’ve tried everything else,” Frank said with a chuckle.
“I see you still got a few pictures of Allison in here.”
“Yeah, well, she is the mother of my children.”
“She’s still as pretty as ever. Even prettier, I think. You still love her don’t you?”
“I suppose so.”
“Ain’t no supposing about it. You still love her. I can see it on your face. Why’d you split up?”
“It’s long and complicated. We’ve had problems for a long time.”
“Oh,” was all Vicky could say, seeing the pain and fatigue in his countenance, a fatigue so enervating that he didn’t seem to have the strength to say anymore on the topic. Vicky could certainly understand that kind of fatigue
Their visit seemed to be coming to a close, with little or no real resolution and nothing much more to be said. But Vicky noticed the presence of two desires in her heart. She hadn’t desired anything but alcohol in so long and now that that was gone she desired nothing; nothing that is, except maybe death which she was still too afraid of to want wholeheartedly.
Yet here it was two things to hope for: she wanted to see Allison and ask her forgiveness, and she wanted Frank to see something in her that he could still love. She knew the latter was impossible and she quickly dismissed the thought as soon as it entered her head. He had done the nice thing by coming to the hospital to see her, but it was all out of obligation and charity. But then she realized that that was all right. It didn’t really matter if he had ever loved her or not. What mattered was that the desire to love and be loved were still there at some tiny molecular level within her being. It was just a spark, but it was there and it was igniting something like hope. She smiled in spite of herself, in spite of her self-consciousness.
“Thanks for coming, Francis. It was real nice of you. I just got one thing to ask before you leave.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Allison I want to see her. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here and I have no idea where I’m going once I get out, but I want to see her. Will you tell her that?”
“Sure.” Frank reached inside his suit pocket, pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper and began writing on it. “In case they discharge you before I get a chance to talk to her, I’m going to give you her number and mine as well.” He scribbled down the numbers and ripped the small piece of paper out of the note pad.
“I’ll call you later this evening and see how you’re doing,” Frank said handing her the note.
“That ain’t necessary.”
“I know,” he said putting his pen and the small pad of paper back inside his suit coat pocket. Then he did something surprising. He squatted down on his haunches by her bedside until he was eye level with her. “Goodbye, Vicky,” he said looking her in the eye. He stroked her hair and he kissed her on her scarred cheek, his lips lingering there for sometime before completing the kiss.
Vicky was incredulous over this act. He had risked contamination by touching and even kissing the leprous creature. When he stood up his eyes glistened with emotion.
“Thank you, Francis,” was all she could mutter.
He turned and was gone.
Chapter 35
Allison
She had an image of Adam being formed by the dust of the earth like in the book of Genesis. God’s hands scooped up bits of dry dirt, moistening it with his own saliva, molding and sculpting it until it began to take form. Then he breathed on the creation and the clay figure turned to flesh, as animation filled its once lifeless form. Then she saw God’s large hand over the man, putting him in a deep sleep, opening up his side, the first surgery you might say; only there was no violence. In fact, it was so tender no blood was even shed. He simply waved his hand and a flap
of skin obediently opened up and folded back of its own accord. Then gently and carefully the large hand reached in and removed a rib. She watched with the unquestioning nonchalance of a dreamer as the skillful hands of God took that rib and formed Eve.
And then she felt pain which began to draw her out of the dream and into the semi-conscious world of the not quite awake, yet no longer asleep. She reached an arm across the bed hoping to awaken Frank, and then she slowly became conscious and realized Frank was gone. He’d been gone for nearly ten months but she still sometimes woke up thinking he was there beside her.
Another surge of pain. At first Allison thought she was having a heart attack, but then she realized the pain was on her right side. She was told to lie on this side, the side with the broken rib, so that the lung on the uninjured side could do more of the work getting air in and out; but the pressure on that wounded site was enough to cause pain that would awaken her. Some nights she would roll onto the uninjured side to relieve the pressure, but then it hurt every time she breathed. She was sure to wake herself up every hour to take a deep breath and cough, something prescribed by her physician to ensure that she would not suffer pneumonia or a partial collapse of the lungs. Sometimes she woke up frightened, struggling for air, certain that she could feel her lungs collapsing. She could visualize them deflating in her mind like two big beach balls that somebody let the air out of, slowly sinking until they were a flat wrinkled mass of plastic. She tried to go without the pain medication, and during the day she could, but not at night. Ultimately it was Tylenol with codeine that granted her a brief merciful reprieve from the pain, anxiety and lack of sleep.
She looked at the clock–2:57 AM, her usual middle of the night awakening time. Only this morning she couldn’t afford to take any Tylenol with codeine because it would knock her out and it would be too difficult to get up again in just a few hours. It was Monday morning and she had to get the kids off to school. They were back with her this week. Frank took them last week to help her out after the accident. But now she had to get back to her life and back to her job. She couldn’t afford to take any more sick days, especially not now, not while she was still new and still on this learning curve with the job. There was only one way she could forget about the pain and the unbidden thoughts of air being squished out of old rubber, maroon basketballs that caused her to clutch her chest and obsess about breathing. She had to get up and move around. There was something else she had to do today, she had to go visit Vicky in the hospital.
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