On that same day in New York, Laurie spent most of his morning tied up in meetings, both with sculptors and gallery staff. That afternoon he shared a rather boozy lunch with one of his favorite clients, and when he stepped out of the taxi in front of his building, he had to pay attention to his footing. He was drunk, yet he didn’t care. He’d only been home a day and a half and already the strain of lying to Stanford was a burden.
Getting into the elevator, Laurie closed his eyes. As it stopped at his floor, he gripped the hand rail, then slowly walked out, heading along the corridor focusing on the dark carpet. Then he looked up; his door was next, yet he wasn’t sure if he could face Agatha. He was lying to her as well, for Stan hadn’t been able to keep Eric’s whereabouts a secret. Laurie had bitten his tongue when Stanford revealed that, and of course now Stan wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Gripping the door handle, Laurie wished the apartment was empty. Agatha would see he’d had too many gin and tonics, and while she wouldn’t question him, her awareness would be enough of reprimand.
He entered the apartment, leaving his coat on the rack next to the door. The weather was chilly, which had surprised him. All those months in Florida had woven into him the notion that summer lasted forever, or perhaps it was those few days in the West where temperatures had also been mild. Laurie missed Lynne and Jane, he ached for honesty. As he wandered into the living room, then approached the dining room, the ache became more fierce. Yet, it wasn’t solely connected to those women; it was the magnitude of deception growing day by day.
Standing near the kitchen door, Laurie shivered. Could he tell Agatha, would she think him crazy? She’d be more understanding than Stan would, or at least she’d put up less of an argument. Laurie smiled at himself, how brazen to even consider such nonsense. This had to remain for him alone to shoulder, not that Eric residing in an institution was much better. Which was worse, he wondered. Then he laughed, for he was still tipsy; actually, he wasn’t at all sober. More troubling was his desire for another drink. Perhaps if he was totally smashed, he could tell both Stan and Agatha, and neither would believe a word he said.
At least it would be off his chest. He laughed again, then swung the door wide open, finding Agatha staring at him, hands on her hips. “What in the world’s gotten into you?” she said, a southern inflection in her tone.
“Hello there!” Laurie matched her voice with a flourish of his own. “Just had one helluva lunch date, you know me.” He swaggered into the kitchen, leaning against the counter near the refrigerator. He needed to keep this light, he couldn’t dwell on reality. Reality was too close to fantasy, which again made him cackle. “So what’s happening around here?”
Agatha’s hands remained on her hips, her mouth turned to a scowl. “You’re drunk,” she said sharply.
“Indeed I am. Thank God I don’t drive.” He smiled broadly, but his head ached and if he didn’t sit down, he might fall on his butt. He gripped the counter, holding his grin by force. “Don’t tell Stan, it’ll piss him off to no end.”
“Don’t worry, he’s got enough to consider already.” She shook her head, then turned toward the stove. She tapped her foot as if every step was a dagger directed straight at Laurie. He kept smiling, but could feel her anger, and he wished she would actually throw something sharp his way. He deserved it, at least for how drunk he was. But the rest wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t tell them, either of them. To do that would be….
Agatha turned to face him. “Why’d you get so….” She nearly growled. “My goodness Laurie, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t, can’t you tell?” He sighed, feeling guilty for her concern, and that she was right. The last thing Stan needed was to come home to Laurie so incapacitated. “Any coffee left?”
“No. Do I need to make some?”
“What do you think?”
Now Agatha stepped his way, her anger lessened. She stroked his face, and he wanted to cry, for her touch was like Lynne’s, soothing and kind and…. “I know it’s hard, oh honey, I know. You’ve been gone for ages and while yes, it’s so good to be home….”
“He’s not and won’t be for a while still.”
Agatha nodded, then kissed Laurie’s cheek. “Neither one of them will and it breaks my heart for Lynne to be alone right now. But you going off the deep end isn’t gonna help anyone.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, then headed for the percolator. Laurie blinked away tears, then he stumbled to the table, grasping the edge. Agatha turned to see him, and she nearly stepped his way. Laurie motioned that he was all right, then he pulled out a chair, slowly seating himself.
Within minutes he could smell the coffee, and the scent alone sobered him some. Yet Agatha’s anguish reverberated in his head; why had Stan told her? But Laurie knew why, because Stan had needed someone to talk to and this woman was his only sounding board. Or she was the only one able to listen to this kind of news. Stan wouldn’t breathe a word of this to his father, not that Michael wouldn’t care, but Stan wouldn’t wish to burden his dad with such unpleasantness. Plus, Agatha was close to Eric and Lynne; Agatha would pray for that family, and while Stan might not have considered that a plus, perhaps subconsciously he knew it was necessary. Laurie permitted a small grin; a little part of Stan’s soul was showing.
It certainly wasn’t hanging from his sleeve, but Laurie could see Agatha’s heart in the way she kept turning back to check on him, in how the coffee was brewing, and in the silence, during which he imagined she was offering prayers on the Snyders’ behalf. Yet those petitions weren’t honest, or they weren’t correct. Agatha’s meaning was certainly sincere, but Eric wasn’t being treated for depression. He was a catalyst for Seth’s possible healing.
Then Laurie trembled; if not for Eric, Seth would be comatose in Miami, maybe for the rest of his life. And Laurie couldn’t even give Eric the proper appreciation; to do so would open a can of worms that no one here could fathom. Not even Agatha, Laurie sighed, as she brought him a cup of coffee. “Drink this slowly or you’ll burn your tongue,” she said softly. Then she leaned over, kissing the top of his head. Laurie smiled; it was like he had two mothers, one Jewish, one Negro. My God, he thought to himself, how do I even tie my own shoes?
He chuckled, which made Agatha look his way. “What?” she asked.
“Just that I’m a lucky man.”
“And why’s that?”
He sipped the coffee, then leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Why do you think? Here you are, getting my drunk ass sober, keeping watch on both me and Stan. Thank the lord we have you Agatha, or we’d go right to hell.”
“You watch that language Lawrence.” But her tone was light. Then she wagged her finger at him. Taking a deep breath, she sighed loudly, joining him with her own cup of coffee. “How was Lynne and don’t you lie to me.”
Laurie had been taking a sip and he nearly spat it out. “Oh Christ,” he blurted, then coughed. Agatha patted his back, but more to bother Laurie was how he’d burned his tongue. And now another lie would be concocted. For assuming that Eric was locked away somewhere, Lynne should be quite beside herself. Yet, she had been relatively strong, if not weepy, but that was due to the baby. “She’s….” He hesitated, then stared at the woman across. Which person was harder to lie to, he then wondered, for once the falsehood had been introduced, Stan didn’t need additional layers. But Agatha wanted details and as Laurie hedged, her eyes grew wide, then she gripped his hand.
“Just tell me Laurie. I won’t write to her, but….” Agatha released Laurie’s hand, then wiped her eyes. “I’m so worried about her, about all of them.”
Laurie grasped Agatha’s hands. “Don’t worry, she’s okay. The Aherns and her pastor are looking out for her and….” And what I would give to be there, he didn’t say. “And the baby’s fine. That’s her biggest concern right now, I mean, there’s nothing she can do for Eric, so she’s just thinking about Jane and the baby.”
Agatha nodded. “Well, she’s one o
f the strongest women I’ve ever met, so I guess God’s got his hand on her, on them all. And on Seth too.” Agatha wore a small smile. “They’ll all be home in his good time soon enough.”
“Yeah, soon enough.” Laurie smiled, but it made him shiver. He released Agatha’s hands, then took a sip of coffee, which removed that chilliness. He put the cup on the table, but still gripped it, the warmth permeating his fingers. “It’s cold here, I didn’t expect it to be cold already.”
“Gonna be a long winter, or maybe it’ll just seem that way until everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.” Agatha drank her coffee, then sighed. “Laurie, do you think I should write to her?”
He shrugged, then nodded. “Probably won’t hurt.” He would have to tell Lynne to expect such a letter, maybe he would call her that evening if Stan gave him a few minutes of privacy. But Stan hadn’t let Laurie out of his sight once Agatha went home. Laurie patted Agatha’s hand, then smiled. “It’s such a strange time, I mean….” He took a long drink, the coffee still hot, making his chest ache as the liquid went down his throat. “Agatha, do you believe in miracles?”
She stared at him, then a slow smile emerged. “I do. Why?”
“I’ve been thinking about miracles lately, Seth’s recovery could be called miraculous, assuming things keep going well. And sometimes other things happen, things that might seem very, well, impossible, but they turn out all right. Like,” Laurie smiled, “me and Stan.”
Now Agatha chuckled. “Well yes, I suppose you could describe the two of you like that. Although,” she added, “you didn’t break the mold.”
“Well, no.” Laurie laughed out loud. “But here I am, sitting in my kitchen, waiting for him to come home. That’s pretty miraculous.”
She nodded. “But then it is 1963. We got a Catholic in the White House, you know.”
“Exactly, talk about miracles.” Laurie smiled. “But what about other kinds of miracles, the type that people don’t talk about, well, Stan and I are that kind, but I mean really odd events.”
“A Catholic president is pretty darn strange Laurie.”
“It is, you’re right, but then eventually we’ll have a Negro president.”
Laurie kept his voice flat and didn’t meet Agatha’s gaze. Yet, he knew she was looking at him, her silence piercing. Then she hummed. Now Laurie met her eyes, a sly smile on her face. “I mean,” he added, “one of these days it’ll happen, not sure if it’ll be a woman president or a Negro first, but white men aren’t always gonna rule the roost.”
She chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Well if we’re talking miracles, maybe a man like yourself one day will sit in the White House.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You mean a nice Jewish boy or….”
“Either one,” she said.
“That would be a miracle.” Then he laughed. “All I’m gonna say is that after nearly four months of living in Florida, I’ve come to believe in the unexpected. A Catholic president today, who knows what tomorrow?”
He drank his coffee, but knew she was staring at him again. Why had he brought that up, was he laying groundwork for later? Maybe if she ever mentioned this conversation, he’d say he was still drunk. But Agatha’s coffee was a marvel in itself, and with each sip, Laurie felt a little better. Or the truth didn’t seem as heavy. Maybe when Stan came home, Laurie wouldn’t be inebriated, and while he’d have to call Lynne, Agatha might be less concerned.
He turned her way, then he inwardly trembled. Her eyes held so much wisdom, understanding, compassion. Not that she was a saint, but she carried no prejudices, or none that Laurie ever felt. He wasn’t so naive to presume she’d never experienced bias, of course she did, probably every day. Yet she wasn’t bitter, although she didn’t suffer fools. But was she open-minded enough to embrace….
“How is he, really?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. Laurie knew she didn’t mean his cousin and his throat grew tight. Averting his eyes, he nodded.
Agatha hummed again, then she inhaled deeply. She exhaled, then tapped her foot. “Do I not need to write to Lynne?”
“Not about Eric.” Laurie ached to spill his guts. Then he faced Agatha. In her astute eyes, he knew he didn’t have to offer the actual truth. But he also didn’t need to continue the charade Stan believed. “Write to her about….” Then Laurie smiled. “The Aherns are gonna adopt a child. I know she’d love to share that happiness.” He wasn’t sure which child, maybe those Hamilton orphans. He swallowed hard, then finished his coffee. As that last drink hit his stomach, all traces of drunkenness disappeared. His mind was clear, his reflexes were sharp, and his heart no longer seemed so pained. Laurie took a deep breath, which felt healing. Then he smiled. “She’s okay, they’re all good, really. But….”
“I won’t say anything to Stanford. But Laurie, if you can, be honest. Eventually he’s gonna find out the truth.”
Laurie flinched. Whatever Agatha thought couldn’t be anywhere close to what was factual, nor could Laurie insinuate such a revelation to a man whose world was white and black. And a little bit Jewish, then Laurie chuckled inwardly. Yet there was no room within Stanford’s temperament to brook such outlandish notions. Not that Agatha would permit what was happening in Florida as reality but…. She had faith, and from her faith came possibilities, like miracles. Or maybe her faith alone was miraculous. Laurie wouldn’t ponder that, he was just now feeling sober. “Is there another cup in the pot?” he asked.
“There is.”
As she went to stand, Laurie got to his feet first. He retrieved the percolator, filling both of their cups. She smiled as he retook his seat, then they quietly drank their coffee. Then Agatha began humming, her melodious tune calming Laurie’s heart. He hoped that song remained in Eric’s memories, easing the difficult times that lay ahead.
Chapter 144
The Hawk: Part Eight Page 8
