The Eyes of the Doe

by Patricia Taylor Wells

  The wide, lower branches of the cedar scraped against the doorframe as we brought it inside. It was a foot taller than we had estimated, almost touching the ceiling.

  “It’s lopsided,” Holly complained as we tried to anchor the trunk in a three-legged metal stand that Holly had found in her garage. “It’s leaning too far toward the wall.”

  We made several attempts to straighten the tree before it stood majestic. I was beginning to see why Holly had chosen it. Once we had strung the lights around its branches, Holly carefully opened the box that held her mother’s glass ornaments.

  “Mother has been collecting these for years,” she explained as we hung them on the tree. “She used to get upset with us if we were careless. Daddy gave this one to her their first Christmas together.” Holly held the indigo and silver star for us to see. “Jake and I always fought over who was going to crown the tree.”

  “Let me have it,” I offered so Holly wouldn’t have to climb up on a chair.

  “No, Eric. No one is putting the star on top but me,” she exclaimed as she carefully placed it back in its tissue paper nest. She then dragged a chair over to the tree.

  “Wait a sec. I’ll help you up while Mike holds onto the chair.” The last thing I wanted was to have the chair slide out from under her.

  “Now hand me the star,” she directed from her perch, “but don’t you dare drop it.”

  Holly balanced her precious ornament amid a tuft of young foliage rising from the apex of the tree. The tree lights shimmered off its points, making it appear as though the star was beaming above us.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, almost breathless. “I can’t wait for Jake to see it.”

  “He’ll like it,” Mike agreed. “Here, let me help you down.”

  “When is Jake coming home for good?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Holly shrugged. “He must be doing better, though, or he wouldn’t be coming home at all.” She stepped back and crossed her arms. “Now, aren’t you glad you helped me chop down this tree?”

  “We would do anything for Jake,” I assured her.

  “I know you would,” she said as she walked us to the door. “Be sure and come by tomorrow. Jake will be so glad to see you.”

  As Mike and I walked toward our homes I wondered if the same thoughts gnawing at me were bothering him, too. It just didn’t seem right for my best buddy to be in a hospital rather than out doing things with me and Mike. I was scared. Not just for Jake, but for myself as well. What if I got what he had? Jake was hardly ever sick. He could run faster than me and when it came to wrestling, neither Mike or I could match him. He was the best friend anyone could have. He had the best ideas, the best comic books, and the best toys. But right now, he sure didn’t have the best life.

  I wanted to think everything would be all right. That was what Scouts were taught to do, to always think positive. But we were also taught to be prepared; I just didn’t know what to prepare for.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  With the same laborious attention that a spider spins a broken web, a perfectionist repeatedly journeys through a labyrinth of weary, self-imposed expectations.

  Holly

  WHEN I WOKE, the early morning sun was sifting through the window sheers like light passing through the wings of butterflies. I felt tired from having tossed and turned most of the night, fretting over the details of Jake’s homecoming. I wanted everything to be perfect.

  I put on a pair of blue jeans and an old shirt then hurried downstairs, thinking how nice it would be to find Mother frying bacon and scrambling eggs. Breakfast was the only thing that made crawling out of bed on a Saturday morning worthwhile. Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table, working the crossword puzzle in the morning paper as he drank a cup of black, strong-smelling coffee. I walked past him and opened the door of the refrigerator. Inside was some wilted lettuce, a jar of mayonnaise, a carton of eggs and a bottle of orange juice. I poured myself a glass of juice and gulped it down.

  “You’re up awfully early,” Daddy said, looking up from his newspaper. “I think there’s some bread in the pantry. Why don’t you fix yourself some toast?”

  “I don’t have time. I have to get everything ready.”

  “Well, suit yourself. Now that you’re up, I think I’ll go ahead and leave.”

  “What time will you be home?” I asked, looking at the round clock that hung above the sink.

  “Not till one or two. Jake has to see his doctor before they’ll release him.”

  “I’ll go ahead and set the dining table,” I said. I had already put a green linen cloth on it.

  “Oh, honey, please. Let’s not make a big fuss. Jake will only be here for one night.”

  “I just thought . . . well, never mind. We can eat in the kitchen.” I tried to hide my disappointment.

  “Where we eat isn’t nearly as important as having Jake at the table with us. I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Just don’t overdo it.”

  After Daddy left, I turned on the Christmas tree lights. The sun, now high above the clouds, streamed through the windows as I searched through a stack of albums for The Nutcracker. I removed it from its cardboard jacket and plopped it on the stereo’s turntable. The room swelled with the high pitch of flutes, the rich timbre of trumpets and trombones, and the haunting melodies of cellos and violins. I moved about the room, wishing I could mimic the graceful performance of ballerinas instead of ending up on the floor after attempting an awkward plié.

  It was noon before I had time to settle in a chair. As I rocked back and forth, hoping the tedious movement would ease my impatience, I realized how erratic our perception of time could be. Weeks, months, and even years could pass so quickly, while minutes and hours could stall like a threatening storm at sea—teasing us with its menace before ever coming ashore. It seemed like forever before the grandfather clock in the hall chimed on the quarter hour, followed by the soft tolling of the mantle clock that had once belonged to Papa Hendricks. Daddy had timed the clocks just so, distancing their chimes to harvest the full sweetness of each.

  It was a full hour before I heard a car in the driveway. I ran to the door, halfway expecting Jake to leap out of the car, ready to celebrate being home after almost three weeks in the hospital.

  My heart sank as I watched Daddy help my brother out of the back seat. Jake moved slowly and from a distance he resembled an old man, stiff from sitting too long on a park bench. Mother held onto Jake’s arm so she could support him as they walked toward the house. Before she could get him inside, Mrs. Edgar and Ira Green appeared at the end of the driveway. Daddy walked over toward them, blocking their path.

  “I’m afraid Jake doesn’t feel well,” Daddy said. “We need to get him inside.”

  “It’s the chemo, isn’t it?” Mrs. Edgar asked. “That’s what happened to my cousin in Tyler, before he up and—”

  “For God’s sake, lower your voice,” Daddy interrupted, clenching his teeth.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I didn’t mean any harm,” Mrs. Edgar said.

  “I don’t give a damn,” Daddy replied in a tense whisper. “I don’t want you saying anything in front of Jake.”

  Mrs. Edgar was speechless.

  “Come.” Ira Green pulled her friend away.

  “I’m sorry, Ross,” Mrs. Edgar said.

  Daddy nodded.

  “Neither one of them have any sense,” Daddy said to me as we watched the ladies turn away.

  “I don’t think Jake heard anything,” I replied, hoping I was right. I held the door open so Daddy could go inside ahead of me.

  Jake had stopped at the kitchen sink where he stood vomiting into the white basin that I had bleached that morning. Mother placed her hands on his shoulders, bracing him as he leaned his head toward the sink. I wedged my way in front of Daddy despite his attempts to hold me back. Jake rested his head in his palms. As he turned toward us, his eyes narrowed.

  “Why did you do it?” he spat angrily.
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br />   “Do what?” I asked.

  “The tree!” Jake screamed back at me.

  “What you’re talking about?” I looked over at Daddy, whose expression told me that he was just as puzzled as I was.

  “The Christmas tree. Why did you do it?”

  “I did it for you, Jake. I wanted you to have a tree.”

  “You know we always do the tree together. You should have waited till I got here.”

  “You were only going to be here one night. I didn’t think you would feel up to it.”

  “I don’t care. You should have waited.”

  “I went to a lot of trouble getting Mike and Eric to help me cut it down,” I said.

  “That’s enough.” Mother glared at me. “What’s done is done. There’s no use arguing about it now.” Jake began to gag. “Are you okay?” she asked as she patted him on the back.

  I ignored Mother’s warning. “You could at least say you like the way it looks.”

  “It’s the ugliest tree I’ve ever seen,” Jake exclaimed.

  “There wouldn’t be a tree at all if it weren’t for me.”

  “I’ve got my own tree at the hospital,” Jake retorted. His body sagged as he lowered his head again over the basin.

  Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I turned and hastened up the stairs to the sanctuary of my room. I slammed the door behind me, making sure everyone in the house knew how I felt. Everything had gone wrong—all the planning, all the work; all the joy I had put into Jake’s homecoming. All of it meant nothing to him. What he said to me was mean, selfish, and hateful. Not only that, he was throwing up in my clean sink. If this was how he was going to act, he could just go back to the hospital!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There are moments in life that come as rudely as a blue norther plowing its way across the Texas Panhandle.

  Ross

  I WAITED FOR the dust to settle before going up the stairs and knocking on Holly’s door. She didn’t answer, so I turned the knob and opened it a crack.

  Holly was perched on top of her bed with her knees bent and her arms wrapped around them. I walked over, sat down, and pulled her close against me. It had been a long time since I had held my daughter like this.

  “I’m sorry Jake hurt your feelings.” I swept the hair out of her eyes.

  “You heard what he said.” She raised her head and looked at me.

  “Jake is having a rough time. He didn’t mean it.”

  “Then why did he say it?” She began to sob. “All I was trying to do was make him happy.”

  “I know, I know,” I murmured, patting her on the back.

  “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Jake wants everything in his life to be normal again. Decorating the tree was something you and he always did together.”

  “So what? We wouldn’t even have a tree if it weren’t for me. He didn’t have to be so mean.”

  “He’s not being mean. He probably feels that you cheated him out of something precious.”

  “I wasn’t trying to do anything like that.”

  “I know you weren’t. But try to see it his way. There won’t be another Christmas for Jake, and I think he knows that. It’s obvious to him that you decorated the tree because you thought he was too sick to help you. Don’t you see what that says to him?”

  “No, I don’t.” Holly seemed to be paying more attention to the posters of rock and roll singers that hung on her walls.

  “When we do everything for Jake and stop including him in things, it makes him feel like an onlooker rather than a member of the family.”

  “Are you blaming me, too? I didn’t know what I did would upset him. I really thought he’d be happy about having a tree when he got home.”

  “No one’s blaming you. You’ve got to think about the effect of what you say or do might have on Jake. He just wants to be home again, doing all the things he’s always done.”

  “That still doesn’t give him a right to be mean.”

  Time was too precious for arguing with my daughter. Why couldn’t she realize what was at stake? It felt like our lives were on a big roller coaster going fast, so fast that one of these days, we would fly off the highest pinnacle instead of going downhill.

  “Brother Howard came by the hospital last night,” I said, staring at my hands as I clenched my fingers. “Jake wants to be baptized on Christmas Eve.”

  “Baptized?”

  “That’s what he said,” I answered.

  “He never thought it was that important when I talked to him about it.”

  “That’s a decision no one can make for you. He just wasn’t ready before now.”

  “You mean until he knew he was going to die?”

  “For God’s sake,” I said. “You’ve always tried to make Jake believe what you believe.”

  “He should have been baptized a long time ago.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. It isn’t fair to judge Jake by your standards. It doesn’t matter if he waited till now. None of us would bother with being saved if we weren’t afraid of dying.”

  Holly’s face clouded as she began to cry again.

  “Look, I’m going back down,” I said as I stood up, not knowing how to comfort her any further. “Mike and Eric are going to drop by in a little while. Why don’t you let them visit with Jake until supper time? We’ll probably eat around six. I’m sure your mother can manage without your help this evening.”

  Holly stayed in her room until Jewell called her down for dinner. Jake, who was lying under a quilt on the sofa with his feet resting on my lap, pretended to be asleep when he heard her coming down the stairs. I prayed that she wouldn’t say anything about my unplugging the lights on her beautiful cedar. It seemed to reproach us from its dark corner like a brooding star forbidden to shine. I sighed. This was not the joyous Christmas celebration that Holly had planned.

  After we ate, Jake surprised us by asking if anyone wanted to play a game of cards. He didn’t look as pale as he had earlier. The visit from Mike and Eric must have cheered him up.

  I moved the coffee table closer to the sofa to make it easier for Jake to lay down his cards without having to reach. Holly sat cross-legged on the floor reviewing the hand Jake had dealt her. They both seemed to be concentrating on the game rather than their squabble over the tree.

  As I watched Jake trump Holly’s flush with his full house, all I could think about were the many evenings like this we had squandered; the precious moments just being together as a family we had taken for granted. These painful thoughts, knowing that we may never be together like this again, hung over me the entire evening, penetrating the air like a sad refrain seeping out the throat of a pipe organ.

  I stayed up a long time after Jewell and I helped Jake to bed, making sure he would be comfortable. On any other night like this, I would have searched through the kitchen cupboards, hoping to find the whiskey Jewell always thought she was clever enough to hide. But I had vowed not to drink as long as Jake was still alive. It wasn’t a promise I had made to God, but one I had made to myself.

  As I smoked one cigarette after another, I began to pray. Without even thinking about it, I just dropped to my knees and suddenly, the words flowed out of my mouth like oil spurting out an East Texas gusher.

  When morning came, I descended the stairs like a man walking to the gallows rather than one about to have breakfast with his family. What the hell were we doing? Holly was right. Jake should be at home with us rather than in the hospital for treatments that weren’t doing him any good.

  After we finished eating, Jewell and I helped Jake in the car for his ride back to the hospital. Holly stood on the front steps waving goodbye as we slowly drove away. I watched her from the rearview mirror. As she headed back inside, she turned around to cast one long, wistful look over her shoulder before we disappeared from her sight. It was a look that haunted me all the way to the hospital. I ha
d seen that look before on the face of a soldier as he comforted a dying buddy. “Don’t worry,” the soldier told his friend. “I have to leave you while I get help. I’ll be back before you know it. I promise you’ll be going home soon.” That was what I was going to tell Jake—that he’d be home soon. It would make him feel better, whether he believed me or not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The mind may forget, but the heart remembers each tiny breath of despair.

  Mrs. Lake

  IT WAS MONDAY afternoon. Ross called and asked me if I could drive Holly to the hospital that evening. I was tired, but there was no way I could refuse his request. Jake was bleeding internally and needed transfusions to boost his blood count. Ross didn’t want me to say anything about it to Holly.

  Around four, I looked out my front window when I heard the school bus stop down the street. Holly was standing next to her mailbox. Her arms were full of books. She shifted them to the crook of her arm so she could check what was inside the box. She walked up the steps and opened the front door. I waited a few minutes before calling her.

  I told Holly I would pick her up at six. That would give her time to do her homework. She was waiting outside when I came to get her. The collar of her corduroy jacket was turned up to keep the cold, damp air from nipping the back of her neck.

  “Did you have any supper, dear?” I asked as she slid into the front seat.

  “No, ma’am,” she said. She seemed embarrassed that I had asked.

  “Then let’s stop off at Burger King. You can eat on your way to the hospital.”

  I pulled in and parked. We went inside and ordered a burger, fries, and a large Coke to go. Holly looked inside the paper bag I handed her, then carefully rolled the top edges twice to seal it shut.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked.

  “No ma’am. I’ll wait ‘til I get there.”

  It was very dark by the time we arrived at the hospital and a few driblets of rain matted against the windshield. I let Holly off under the portico.