He knew he’d heard something, distinct and direct. Perhaps he was thinking out loud, but the seed was planted. He listened and, as he arose from his perch, stood motionless, until the final urge to glance at his watch one last time pulled him closer to the moment of truth: five minutes. In the clarity of the moment, he knew the voice was right. He hadn’t said goodbye. Not to Elizabeth, not to Rex, not to Lily.
He retraced his steps through the village and advanced to State Street. The oncoming train blared its horn and the safety arms lowered in slow motion as Paul approached the tracks. There were only a few feet between him and the monster machine that would determine his fate. He took a deep breath and took one giant step—backward. The rush of air and the acrid smell of steel and smoke caught him by surprise, and within seconds the decision was no longer his to make. The moment had passed, the train raced southbound to the next station, and an unsuspecting engineer would finish an uneventful journey to the end of the line. Paul struggled to compose himself, unable to comprehend the last hour of his life. As he gathered his thoughts and crossed the tracks in the direction of home, he murmured, “There’s always tomorrow.”
)
It was not the time to call the authorities, but Elizabeth knew she had to do something. Paul could have taken a walk around the block, and although he never left the house without saying goodbye, his recent behavior could account for anything. Calling the police or knocking on neighbor’s doors would embarrass him if all he needed was a little fresh air. She went into the bedroom to get a sweater and sticking out from under the shoe box, not quite out of sight, was a train schedule. Though their cottage was several blocks away, they could hear the trains blaring their horns as they passed through the village. Moving at sixty miles an hour, they were fascinating for the children to watch, but frightening for Elizabeth to consider if something went terribly wrong—a collision with a stalled vehicle, a faulty track that could derail the entire chain of cars, a youthful dare to play chicken with this powerful machine, or a depressed and agitated soul wanting to find a quick and painless end to his suffering.
Elizabeth grabbed her car keys and made sure the children were asleep before she dashed out the door in search of Paul. Even before she made it to the bottom of their hill, she saw a familiar figure, wearily pulling his body up the steep incline. Paul’s head was down, every step was a struggle, and he was unaware Elizabeth had pulled up beside him. She rolled down the window, convinced he could hear, and with a tearful plea yelled, “Paul! Where have you been? I’ve been searching for the last hour. I’ve been so frightened!”
Paul continued to drag himself up the hill. “I forgot to say goodbye, Elizabeth. I’m sorry. I left without saying goodbye . . .”
More unintelligible words spilled from Paul’s mouth. Elizabeth knew she couldn’t let him out of her sight. She made a quick U-turn and they inched closer to the driveway in tandem. Her heart raced, her only thought was to get Paul to safety. A prickly chill coursed through her as his words sank in. She would ask him later what he meant, even though she already knew. Tearful, she silently mouthed toward the heavens, Thank you.
Rushing to open the front door, she helped Paul into the living room and threw her arms around his shaking body. He didn’t return the hug, nor did he pull away. Elizabeth saw a depth of sorrow and despair deep within those beautiful blue eyes that welled with tears. “Paul, Paul, let me help you. Is this how you want your children to remember you?”
In a shaky, barely audible voice, Paul mumbled, “No.”
“Is this how you want to leave us and leave me to pick up the pieces?” Elizabeth pressed on, sad, angry, confused, and terrified. “Tell me right this second, right now, you will get back in the car with me and drive to the hospital. You need help now, not tomorrow morning, not next week, not next month. Please, Paul, please! I don’t want to have to call someone to the house.”
He didn’t look up and she could hardly believe his response. “No. Not tonight. I’m tired. I can’t go tonight.”
“You will go tonight!” They had never really fought, and certainly never raised their voices to one another, but this was a fight for Paul’s life, and with little concern of waking the children, Elizabeth’s voice grew louder. Rex and Lily appeared in the doorway and took in the scene unfolding between their parents.
Lily, sweet Lily, ignored the argument and pressed between them. Paul bent down to give her a hug. Grasping his tear-streaked face with her velvety soft hands, Lily stroked it gently and whispered, “Daddy, I love you.” Her little arms wrapped around his neck and Paul stood up straight, clutched his little girl, and choked back tears.
He gazed in Elizabeth’s direction. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 25
Dr. Albert Worthington pushed his brown swivel chair away from his desk as he positioned himself to greet his new patient. He stood just over six feet tall and had a thick head of snow-white hair. Soft lines creased the corners of his mouth and around his eyes, but his hands were strong and youthful. Paul noticed a solitary picture on his bookshelf. A family photo with an adoring wife, and three small children that all looked to be under the age of ten. He wondered if working with mental patients all day had prematurely aged this man.
“Hello, Paul. Come in.” He extended his hand. Paul, reluctant at first, shook it.
“Sit down. Anywhere you’re comfortable. I’ve just completed reviewing your intake report.”
Paul complied, uncomfortable with what this man may have already discovered about him. He chose a seat close to the window where the light and sun could warm his back, as well as provide him with the ideal location to keep an eye on the door. He wasn’t looking forward to individual sessions, group sessions, or any session where he would be expected to spill his guts and dredge up the awful memories he had fought so hard to suppress.
“So, how are you today? Are they treating you well?”
Paul wasn’t sure how to answer. “Um . . . fine. Fine, I guess.”
Dr. Worthington smiled and continued. “So, anything you’d like to talk about? Do you know why you’re here?”
Paul felt a nervous flutter in his chest. His palms began to sweat. He wiped the beads of perspiration rolling down the sides of his face with the back of his hand and noticed a stubbled growth of prickly hairs creating a five-o’clock shadow. He hadn’t shaved in two days. “Yes, Sir. I know. I don’t think I need to be locked up though. I could have handled this on my own.”
“You’re not locked up, Paul. You can leave any time. All you’ve got to do is ask.”
“Am I supposed to say something?” Paul raised his arm to his forehead and, as he wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, a look of uncertainty swept across his face.
Dr. Worthington clicked his pen, ready to take notes. “What do you say we start with Elizabeth?”
“What about Elizabeth?” Paul felt defensive.
“Do you feel she loves you?”
“You mean after what I just tried to do, or before?”
“Either. It doesn’t matter.”
“I know Elizabeth has always loved me, and she still does. That part’s easy. I’ve never figured out why. There’s not a whole lot to love about me.”
With his head down, pen in hand, Dr. Worthington prodded, “And you thought this would be a good way to leave her and your children? Were you always afraid you might leave like this?”
“I’m a wreck, Doc. Can I call you Doc? I’m not trying to sound disrespectful. That’s what we called all doctors in Nam.”
“That’s fine. Go on.”
Paul’s voice was quiet. He lowered his eyes, fixated on his fingers that had begun to twitch and tremble. “I never wanted anyone to take care of me. I’m a burden.”
“You don’t know that. Did Elizabeth ever tell you that you were a burden?”
“Never. But it’s hard to watch her and the children be so good to me after everything I’ve done in the past. I have blood on my
hands. A lot of blood.”
“Do they know what you did? In Vietnam?” Dr. Worthington continued his slow, methodical questioning as Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He thought it might be a good place to stop, but decided to keep going.
Paul tapped his feet on the sterile, linoleum floor, staring down at the smooth, colorless pattern that covered the entire room. Not quite green, not yellow, not white, not brown. Colorless, antiseptic, without consequence. It was a background to everything, not important by design. He felt like the floor beneath his feet. Why am I still here? There’s no more meaning to my life than this damn floor.
Paul wrestled with the topic of conversation. “Okay. I’ll tell you what you want to hear, if it’s that important to you.”
Dr. Worthington showed no emotion. No, young man, it’s so important to you.
“I never talk about it to anyone. Not even my brother-in-law, Sam. We were wounded in the same battle trying to protect the Niu Loc Son Basin. No one needs to hear. No one needs to know.”
“Did you see a lot of heavy fighting?”
Paul sat up straight. “Is that a watered down way of asking me if I killed a lot of people?”
Dr. Worthington shrugged. “You tell me.”
“Okay. I was given permission, no actually ordered, to kill by my commanding officer, who was under orders from his commanding officer, and he was only doing his job to prepare and replace the broken equipment to get the job done. That would be us. That would be the young men barely out of high school, drafted, and reporting in record numbers to find and kill other men our very same age, who were also someone’s brother, husband, or son. We were nothing more than equipment . . . killing machines.”
“You sound disturbed, Paul.” Dr. Worthington pushed back in his chair and set his pen on the table. He was a good psychiatrist, liked Paul, and wanted to do right by him.
“You’re damn right I’m disturbed!” Paul jumped up from his chair and paced nervously from one corner of the room to the other. “My brain is filled with blood and body parts, explosions and scenes of medics scrambling in between bombs to save as many fallen as humanly possible. And that includes me. I was responsible for part of that carnage!”
Paul struggled to control his breathing, trying not to hyperventilate and holding on by sheer will. He could feel the reverberation from his heart beating inside his chest and he stood motionless, collecting his thoughts, afraid to continue. Dr. Worthington watched with concern, his own awareness heightened by the outpouring of emotions from his patient. “Take a deep breath, Paul.”
“It’s hard to make love to your wife, hug your baby girl, or give your boy a high-five when these pictures consume you. I just wanted it to stop. Everyone would’ve been better off without me.”
“You think so? Did you think about what it might have been like for your children to have a legacy of a father who took his own life? You don’t think they may have carried that burden for their entire lives, knowing they were not important enough to fight for?” Dr. Worthington’s eyes followed Paul, still pacing the room.
“I’ve treated many children of parents who have done what you tried to do, and unfortunately, they succeeded. It doesn’t make any difference if their parents were in the military, drug addicts, alcoholics, or depressed human beings. For their entire lives, these kids feel deserted. It’s not a good way to leave, Paul.”
With silent tears, Paul slumped back into his chair and turned to Dr. Worthington. “I just want it to go away. I want to forget. I want to take care of my family, not the other way around. I want to feel like a man. Killing other human beings does not make you feel tough, rugged, or manly.”
“The only way you might stand a chance of erasing these memories is with electric shock therapy. You turned that option down at your intake interview, so we need to help you find coping mechanisms, regulate anti-depressants, continue individual therapy and group therapy sessions as an inpatient, as well as outpatient. Are you willing to put in the work?”
Paul had no alternative solution, and with a nod of his head, mumbled, “Yes.” Without making eye contact with Dr. Worthington, Paul asked, “Where’s the note? They took my jacket, my jeans, all my clothes.”
Paul’s eyes widened with sudden recollection of his arrival. “Last night—there was a note. I think I crumpled it . . . was in my pocket . . .”
Dr. Worthington patted an innocuous-looking file, a label affixed to the middle tab that said nothing more than “O’Brien, Paul.” “It’s in here. You want it?”
“No. I don’t want it . . . ever.”
“Good.” They stood at the same time and Dr. Worthington extended his hand, impressed with the strength in Paul’s handshake.
Reaching for the door, Paul turned to Dr. Worthington, “You sure Elizabeth won’t know anything we talked about?”
“Not unless you want to tell her.”
Chapter 26
Elizabeth stayed close to the phone, hoping it would ring. It had been two days since Paul’s admission. The nurses at the mental health facility were kind, but strict, and informed her during Paul’s admission that he may not be ready for visitors for a few days, but that he would be allowed to make calls from the public phone on his floor whenever he liked. As long as it didn’t interfere with a therapy session or meals, Paul could call whenever he chose.
“Mom, what’s for dinner?” Lily rushed past her mother who continued to pace back and forth near the only phone in the house, a faded old blue wall model with a five-foot spiral cord that tangled easily and took the skill of a surgeon to untangle. Elizabeth tried substituting it once with a more modern, cordless version, easily transported throughout the house, but the batteries lost their charge too quickly if it wasn’t replaced on the cradle after use. The children treated it more like a toy than the piece of equipment it was meant to be. The old phone worked better than any newer invention, and Paul especially found comfort in the familiarity, the echoes of the past, another constant in his unpredictable world.
Elizabeth hardly noticed the children, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the memory of Paul’s failed attempt to end his life, still fresh and raw in her mind. She shuddered and choked back tears at the thought of how different this evening could have been for all of them if Paul had succeeded and not changed his mind in a sudden moment of clarity and reason.
Focus . . . focus. Rex, Lily, food, dinner. Have to make something for the kids to eat. That will take my mind off the fucking phone. Damn you, Paul! How could you be so selfish?
“Mom, did you hear me? What’s for dinner?”
With her innermost thoughts interrupted once again, Elizabeth backed away from the phone. “What would you like tonight, my darling Lily?” She felt a surge of strength with the distraction. “Let’s see what we have on hand. Come on, help me, we’ll decide together.”
While Lily peered inside the refrigerator and Elizabeth checked the cupboards, a sudden, loud pronouncement by Rex from the other room interrupted their “what’s in the house” scavenger hunt. “McDonald’s. I want to go to McDonald’s.”
Elizabeth was startled. She wasn’t even aware of Rex’s whereabouts at that precise moment, but knew he would either be outside playing with G.I. Joe or in the living room constructing a web of buildings with his Legos. Elizabeth felt guilty for an instant. As drastic and dire as the situation was with Paul, she knew she had two precious hearts depending on her strength and resolve. The calmer she could remain, the better it would be for her babies, for their babies.
“Grand idea, Rex. What do you think, Lily?”
Rex excitedly appeared in the kitchen and waited for an answer. Elizabeth and Lily returned cans of food to the cupboard and placed the leftovers from two nights before back in the fridge. Lily’s eyes widened, “Yay! McDonald’s! I want to go!”
“Of course, we’re all going. Thank your brother for the suggestion.”
Lily rushed toward Rex and alm
ost toppled him as she gave him a big bear hug, simultaneously pushing everyone out the door.
“I’ve got your keys, Mom.” Rex practically threw them at Elizabeth, pleased it had been such a simple negotiation. Locking the door behind her, Elizabeth hoped she wouldn’t miss a call from Paul, and her stomach tightened with the realization he would not be joining the children and her for dinner anytime soon.
After settling into the uncomfortable, rigid seats of Rex and Lily’s idea of restaurant paradise, the tabletop still sticky from previous little hands, Elizabeth sank back and took in the all-too-familiar scene—two Happy Meals, two small soft drinks, one fish sandwich, and a side of fries, packed neatly on the Formica tray, delivered without being asked, by Rex. Missing was the Big Mac, large Coke, and large fries. Placing the meals in front of his mother and sister, Rex muttered, “Where’s Dad? When’s he coming home?”
Lily was composed, serene, and matter of fact as she pried open the Happy Meal box to reveal the toy inside. She quipped, “He’s at the hospital so they can fix his arm when it falls asleep, right Mom?”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath as she struggled to hold back tears. She watched her baby girl, engrossed with the molded plastic Muppet Baby—Miss Piggy, complete with her little pink car—now being pushed between the maze of drinks, fries, and burgers, on a guaranteed collision course with Rex’s skate-board-riding Kermit the Frog. Elizabeth sat up straight and brushed aside a loose wisp of hair that had fallen into her daughter’s eyes. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Lily. Let’s eat.” Rex shrugged.
)
Elizabeth put Rex and Lily to bed before checking the answering machine. She didn’t want either of her children to overhear a conversation with their father, especially Rex. She settled into a chair next to the phone, aware of the blinking light the moment they’d returned home. With a bit of apprehension, as well as excitement, she pressed “play.”
“Hi, Elizabeth. This is Paul.”
Keep Forever Page 14
