by A. Gorman
For the first time in a while, I think I might actually stay at home and sleep in my bed. There’s a calmness over me I haven’t felt in years. Maybe the kids wore me out with tossing the football around and playing a few games of hoops. I told the boys I let Emily win, but she smoked me, twice. I guess I’m a little rusty. Mmm. The way our bodies touched, the smell of her perfume; I won’t soon forget Emily Janes.
Pulling onto the road that runs in front of the center, I head toward the interstate. As the familiar scenes of the city fade away, I know I’ll be home in under twenty minutes. I can’t wait to get these shoes off, they aren’t meant to play basketball in.
After the hour drive to Mom’s last night, I crashed after dinner. The celebration was superb, and I’m excited that we had such a huge turnout. However, it made for a very busy and long day. Mom and I have an appointment at the spa this morning. We’ve only visited the spa a few times and she said this was something we needed to do; we need to take care of ourselves.
We arrive early, and the receptionist asks us to take a seat until they are ready for us. There’s a side table full of magazines and I pick one from the stack, not paying attention to which one I grab.
Flipping through the pages of the magazine, none of the stories grab my attention, and I’m about to shut the magazine when a picture of a familiar face catches my attention. I open the magazine to view the full article about CU Gold Company’s New CFO Patrick H. Matheson.
I read the article, and I see he’s single to my surprise, he’s a graduate of the University of Nevada Reno and interned at CUGC—so that’s how he got into the company? Skimming through the fluffiness of the piece, the mention of losing his mom has me backing up to reread word for word the rest of the article.
Wow, his mom passed away from a heart attack when he was seventeen. Sounds like he lost his main supporter, but found comfort from the Carlino’s, the owners of the store where he worked as a teen. He credits them for him being where he is today. Reading the last couple of paragraphs, he wants to put CUGC on the map for their effort to help end childhood hunger and poverty.
The article floors me, could this be the same guy I was spending time with less than twenty-four hours ago? I met the self-assured and well composed business man yesterday, but this article describes a complex, compassionate, and in a way, a quixotic man who wants to change the world.
I put the magazine down and replay the conversations I had with Patrick, and—
“Are you okay,” my mom asks from the other side of the side table.
“Yes, just thinking about this guy I met yesterday,” I say, thinking of Patrick’s drool worthy suit clad body.
“Oh?” Her curiosity is piqued.
“The man who presented me with the check yesterday at the celebration, the magazine I was reading had an article about him, and the way they painted him seemed different from the man I met yesterday.”
“Which one do you think is really him?” She raises her eyebrow at me.
“Possibly a little of both. I think he was out of his comfort zone yesterday, but after reading the article, it’s possible the center hit too close to home.” I sigh, wondering if made a fool of myself by flirting with him.
“You’re normally a good judge of character, I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you see him again.” She reaches across the table that separates us and pats my hand.
“Not if…I have to schedule a meeting with him next week to discuss a project of his.”
“I’m sure that will be closer to the real him when you see him again. One on one is a lot different than in the public eye.”
“True. I—”
“Cassandra and Emily?” a spa employee calls out.
“Yes?” my mother says.
“This way, please.”
We follow her into the changing room of sorts in the spa. The room offers soft lightening and the cream colored large room has hidden changing areas, showers and restrooms, and lockers around the perimeter of the area.
“Please remove all your clothing and jewelry and dress in the robe provided. You can place all of your belongings in the lockers behind you. There is a safety pin on the key to fasten the key to the inside of the robe pocket.” She lists out what we need to do while setting out everything we need.
“I’ll leave you two to get undressed and prepare your massage tables.”
“Thank you,” I say as I smile. I so need this massage.
We go behind the curtain and change into our robes, and put our belongings in the lockers. The anticipation of her returning has me feeling giddy because it’s been a while since I’ve had a full body massage, without expecting to exchange it for sex.
“I scheduled facials too,” my mom says.
I giggle, as I was just thinking about sex when she says facials. “Sounds good,” is all I can get out.
A few moments later, the spa employee returns and leads us into a room with two tables. Candles are sitting on the shelves around the room to light the area, and the sounds of relaxing water music plays softly around us.
“Natalie and Ragan will be your masseuses today and will be with you in a few moments. Please let them know if there are certain areas you want them to focus on today. I’ll leave you to get comfortable on your table. Enjoy your massage, ladies,” she says politely with a smile and walks out the door.
“I hope I don’t snore,” my mom says while she’s finagling with the sheets and her robe.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first person. Do you need any help over there?”
She is yanking and pulling on the sheet, and I think she might fall off the bed she is pulling so hard.
“Finally! Nope, got it,” she says breathlessly. I was able to get my sheet up and my robe off without any trouble.
There’s a quiet knock at the door as I’m about to say something, and in walk two ladies in pink scrubs with the spa’s logo on the left side of their chests.
“Hello, I’m Natalie and this is Ragan. We’re glad you’re here today. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” we say at the same time with too much excitement.
“Fantastic. Since I’ve worked with you before,” she points to mom, “I’ll work with you again. Emily, Ragan is amazing, and I’m sure you’ll be impressed.” I nod my head, because I don’t care as long as they know what they are doing.
The ladies get in position and start with the massages. Ragan’s hands feel wondrous and I feel myself drifting to sleep. She grasps my glutes, and I jerk up in bed. What the hell was that.
“Sorry, Ms. Emily. Did you hurt your buttocks area recently? It feels bruised.”
“I fell yesterday. I guess I didn’t realize that it was tender because it doesn’t bother me while sitting.”
“I’ll put some Arnica on it. Let me finish the other side, and I’ll place warm towels on you. While you’re resting, I’ll mix up the Arnica in coconut oil and apply it. I’ll send the rest home with you. It’s great for bruises and helps with swelling,” she says in a whisper, trying not to interrupt my mom’s massage.
“Thank you,” I murmur, trying to re-relax face down on the table.
My mind revisits yesterday and replays all the events that happened at the celebration, especially the moments with Patrick. There’s something about him, he’s very charming, but I can’t help to wonder if it’s a façade? I hope that it’s not, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out—I want to find out.
Our time at the spa is over before I want it to be, but it’s time to return to reality. I think I’m going to talk Mom into doing this monthly or at least every other month. Even though it felt like Ragan was ripping my butt cheek from my body, the ointment she put on after soothed away the ache in my rump.
We stop at a deli on our way to Mom’s to grab a late lunch and it’s the perfect way to complete our morning out together.
“Nate’s headstone should be in place now,” my mom randomly blurts out while we are eating. Not exactly what I’m expe
cting her to talk about.
“Do you want to check and see? To make sure it’s how you want it?” I know if I don’t offer, she will go by herself.
“If you don’t mind, we can head over after we eat.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think we have anything else planned.”
“No, I didn’t know if you were staying the whole weekend or not.”
“I guess I thought you would know I’d be here until Sunday afternoon.”
“I know that now; do you want to go to mass with me in the morning?” Church. Blah.
“Early mass?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s fine. Mind if I borrow a dress.” She just looks at me.
“I don’t know if I have anything long enough. They all will be short on you.”
“That’s the point.”
“Smartass.” She shakes her head and resumes eating her lunch. I’m sure I just got out of going to mass with her, and I smile to myself and finish my sandwich in a comfortable silence.
The sun at this time of day is blistering hot, unlike the last time I was here. What a difference a week makes in a cemetery. I don’t know exactly where I’m going and I hope she does.
“Go around the bend and take a right. Drive out a little ways. He’s in a row almost by himself. There are four empty plots around him…” she trails off.
Four? What is she talking about? I guess we will have to talk about this later. I’m too busy trying to concentrate on where I’m going and keeping the tears at bay.
“Slow down. See that tree? Park right there.” She looks out the window. “It’s there,” she says, pointing her finger out the window.
I pull under the tree and turn off the car. I lick my lips and take a slow, deep breath.
“Yes.” She gets out and I quickly follow behind her. I look around on my way to Nate’s resting place, and I see the willow tree where I saw the man under during the funeral. I continue to walk but I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking and run right into my mom.
“Um. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” Oops.
“You’re fine. Well, what do you think?”
I look at it, and our family picture is in the center of the headstone. Nathanial Kendrick Reed Janes, 23 years of age. He gave all serving his country… I can’t read anymore as my eyes fill with tears, but my eyes advert to the name. Why is there Reed on there?
“Mom? Did they mess up Nate’s name?”
“No.” She doesn’t explain herself any further.
“Okay.” I notice there are fresh cut flowers on his headstone and I wonder if she brought them recently. “Pretty flowers you brought here.”
“Those aren’t from me. I haven’t been here since the funeral, because I haven’t been able to bring myself here.”
“You should have called; I would have picked you up.”
“It’s okay, sweet girl. I can make it here now. The grief is still here,” she puts her hand on her chest, “but it’s getting better.” She smiles through her tears.
“Oh, Mom.” I pull her into a hug and I swear I can feel Nate’s arms around us. I love you too, Nate.
“Patrick, it’s Addison. Please call me. Dad’s awake. Love you.” Message two. “Patrick. Please call me. I love you.” Message three. “Patrick Harrold Matheson! Call me.” End of messages.
Ugh. She’s upset with me. I hate it when Addison’s mad at me—the one person who used to protect her. I throw my phone down on my desk and push myself into my chair. Shit. I don’t even know what time it is. Or what day it is for that matter. Squinting my right eye, I look at the clock with my left and see it’s nine.
I pick my phone back up to see the day, Sunday. Well, that’s good. At least I didn’t drink this day away too. I look at the empty bourbon bottle and glass on my desk and rake my hands through my short hair. I’ll have Kristin pick up more Monday.
I put my phone down, but I decide to call Addison now instead of later.
“About damn time you called me,” she answers without the phone even ringing.
“Hi.” I don’t even know what to say.
“Dad’s awake. I thought you should know. You really should come see him.”
“I…I don’t know about that.”
“Please, Patrick? I’m sure it will mean a lot to him,” she begs.
I chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Well, visit him for me then,” she pouts.
“Okay, fine. Give me an hour or so. I need to finish some things here and I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Patrick! I’m sure you’ll be surprised.”
Yeah, I don’t think it will be me. “See you shortly. Love you, Addison.”
“Love you too.”
I put my phone in my suit pocket and get my belongings together to go upstairs. I need to give Kristin a case of wine or two for always making sure I have everything I need, even when she isn’t here. I pull a clean suit out of the coat closet, pick up the small gym bag from the floor, and head to the showers.
The drive to the hospital takes thirty minutes. For a Sunday afternoon, traffic is heavy. I pull into the large concrete parking garage attached to the hospital, and drive around as if I’m really looking for a parking spot. I drive to the top of the structure and park in a spot near the elevators.
I hate elevators, especially hospital elevators. The last time my father raised his hand to me was at the hospital after my mother died. The next time I got in one, I relived the pain I felt that night. I try to avoid riding in them, but they are usually close to the stairs. I get out, lock up my car, and proceed to the stairs to exit the garage. Step by step, my feet feel like they are getting heavier and heavier. I’m not afraid to see my father; I just know what it’s going to be like when I see him. Stroke or not. The man hates me.
After what seems like hours, I finally make it to the front of the hospital, and walk inside to the help desk.
“Hello, how can I help you?” a younger looking woman who’s wearing a volunteer badge asks.
“Hi. I need the room number for Harrold Matheson.”
“Are you family?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She blushes at the use of ma’am.
“Okay, sir. He’s in room 308 in Critical Care. Take this bank of elevators to the third floor and take a right. His room will be the last room on the right,” she says with a smile.
“Thank you.” I nod as I shove my hands in my suit jacket and walk to the elevators.
All the elevators are on other floors and I look around for the stairs. I finally see a door with the stairs symbol a few feet from the elevators, and I take them to the third floor. I hope I run into Addison so I don’t have to go into my father’s room.
The CCU is hectic with activity when I arrive, and I walk around for a few moments looking to see if Addison is outside of my dad’s room. I don’t see her anywhere so I’m hoping she’s in his room.
I find the room labeled 308 and softly knock on the door.
“Come in,” a garbled voice replies from the other side.
I walk in through the door and there lies my father in his bed, completely alone in the room. I should have called before I came in. Too late now.
“Father,” I say clipped as I walk into his room.
“Patrick. I take it Addison called you.” Seems like his memory is intact.
“Yes. She wanted me to come and see you.”
“Well, you’re here. You can leave now,” he raises his voice.
“Gladly. I didn’t come here for you anyways.”
“You always thought you were too good for us. You’re sadly mistaken, boy.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I never thought that. I was worried about keeping Addison and Mom safe from your hands.”
“I never abused you.”
“Maybe the stroke did affect your memory. I often went to school with bruises on my face where you thought I needed to be taught a lesson.”
; “You did. You were worthless growing up and a smartass. You needed to be knocked down a notch or two.”
“I worked and kept straight A’s, and while you were at the bar, drinking your check away or screwing bar flies, I made sure Mom and Addy were taken care of. I did a hell a lot more for them than you ever did.”
“You selfish son of a bitch, get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see your face ever again, you worthless piece of—”
“Enough! Both of you. I could hear you yelling down the hall. The nurses were calling security when I walked by. I told them I would handle it,” Addison says as she rushes into the room.
“I was just leaving, Addison.” I grab the door she just came through.
“I’ll walk you out,” she says as she grabs my hand.
I walk out the open door and apologize to the nurses standing outside of the door.
“Patrick, I had no idea…” Addison says, lost for words.
“I know. I tried to keep it from you. I know how much you love him.”
“He’s never spoken to me like that or even said anything negative about you to me. Actually, he doesn’t even bring you up,” she says as she wipes a tear from her cheek.
I pull her into an open conference room and hug her.
“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“But…he used to hit you?” The hurt shows in her face and I don’t want her to worry about what went on between my father and me.
“All in the past.”
“I don’t understand any of this.” Tears streak her face.
“Do me a favor. Make sure he’s taken care of, okay?” I lift her chin so she looks me in the eyes.
“Yes.” She sniffles.
“Good. Do you need anything? Hungry or thirsty?”
“No, I just ate.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Patrick.”
“Are you okay here by yourself?”
