Past Heaven

by Laura Ward

  “Yes, please go on. If you’re ready, so am I.” Reynolds took a big drink of coffee and then bit into a croissant from the basket on the table.

  “So we were down to one last state-run institution in Maryland at this point. Don’t let me mislead you, Reynolds. Plenty of privately run centers are very much institutions. Jack’s main goal was to start with the ones that the state funded and direct that funding toward smaller group homes with better care for the residents and more accountability for administration and staff.” Reynolds nodded while he typed away. Even his typing had a catchy rhythm and his fingers made me wonder about the myth about men based on the size of their hands.

  Sipping my coffee, I waited for him to catch up. I had to stop objectifying him, but I couldn’t deny that I liked him. He seemed genuine. Focus, Liz, on the topic at hand. Institutions and Jack. My God, Jack.

  “The unbelievable part was how many people were against the institutions closing. You’d think when stories came out reporting about the neglect, abhorrent conditions, and physical and sexual abuse, that we would have unanimous support for the closures, right?” I cringed, thinking about the uphill fight we had endured—that Jack ultimately gave his life for. “We realized the problem was that unions were against the closures. No institutions meant no jobs. The saddest part was that even some parents fought us. The issues were so much more complicated than we saw at face value.”

  Reynolds stopped typing, and his jaw dropped. “I’m sorry. What?” He lowered the screen and leaned forward. “How on earth could the parents be against this? I’m not a parent. I have no clue about how that feels, but I couldn’t imagine how anyone who loved their child would want them to stay in any place where they were being mistreated.”

  “You know, nowadays our society is open to accepting people with all kinds of issues. In the not-so-distant past, if a mother gave birth to a child with Cerebral Palsy or Down syndrome, the child would go from the hospital straight to an institution.”

  Reynolds sat quietly, staring out the window into the backyard. His jaw was clenched, and his posture was rigid, as he nodded or shook his head with every word I spoke.

  The back story was critical to understanding who Jack was, so I pressed on with the information. “Some parents would sever all contact with their children. This breaks my heart, both as a mother and a sister. I can’t imagine my life without my brother. But I can’t judge those who made the hard choice. The issue for some parents was fear that they wouldn’t know what to do or where to get support, and ultimately, they feared failing their child.”

  Reynolds turned his gaze back to me. His eyes were rimmed red and his voice was solemn. “I hear you. Like I said, I’m not a parent, and I’ve never been in that situation, but I think I understand it to an extent. I get it.” Reynolds looked down at his coffee cup and shook his head. “What I don’t get is, finding out about the abuse or neglect and still choosing to keep their child there. At some point, don’t you have to stop being afraid and do what’s right? Weren’t the people at Jack’s agency ready to help those parents?”

  “Well, the mission of the Warren agency was not only to lobby the state legislature for funds, but also to raise money privately so that those supports would be in place for every family that came looking for help.” I toyed with the handle on my mug, lost in my own thoughts and mixed emotions. “The agency has always hired people to provide respite care for parents who had young children with severe disabilities. They’ve hired transportation and supervision for adults with disabilities to go on vacation; some saw the ocean for the first time in their lives. The Warren agency provides so much help for so many people, but they’re always struggling with the funding issues.”

  Reynolds jumped in with enthusiasm. “This movie could help with that by making corporations and individuals who struggle to find the best charities, know where to donate their money. We will bring agencies like this to their attention. Not to mention the money that actors, producers, and directors have. If even a few people take these agencies on as pet projects, a lot of money could be raised easily.” Reynolds’ excitement was contagious, and I saw a light in all of this tragedy. It was almost as if he had embraced Jack’s vision. He understood.

  “That would be amazing,” I nodded as I picked on a croissant. “So back to the parents. The last institution Jack helped close, the Caldwell Center, had begun the process of shutting down. There were some very vocal and upset parents. Most of it stemmed, I think, from fear of the unknown. Some—one, in particular—were afraid that funding would eventually be cut and their children would be forced to move back home.”

  My heart sunk in my chest. Wells wheeling his daughter into that hotel ballroom replayed in my head. “Jack tried to explain all of that to this…this…” I swallowed hard and brought my hand to my neck. “This man, if I have to call him that. Jack tried to explain to him, that guaranteed funding and placements were available for all of Caldwell’s residents. Hundreds of other adults were on waiting lists for group homes in Maryland, but at least they were in the safe care of their families. Those living in the institutions were the first priority for placements.”

  I stood up and paced, anger buzzing inside of me with a force I couldn’t contain. My face hardened, an expression I knew I wore when discussing the loss of Jack. “The Caldwell Center was set to close on November twenty-sixth. On the eighteenth, the agency had their annual awards ceremony; one of Jack’s favorite nights of the year.” I took a breath and let Jack’s smile visit me once again. “He’d get to stand in front of a room full of people who felt the same way he did about individuals with disabilities. Then he’d get to recognize them for their top-notch work. Jack loved to celebrate the achievements of his staff.” I braced myself against the counter, bitterness making her daily visit. “But he was never recognized in the same way. Jack worked harder than anyone else, but because he was the leader, he never got the thanks he deserved.” I wiped the tears that ran down my cheeks. Reynolds came behind me and handed me a tissue.

  “He will be recognized, Liz.” My body calmed at the sound of his smooth voice. I turned around and met his gentle eyes. “He will. That’s why we’re doing this. I promise you.”

  I nodded and wiped my eyes again as we both sat back down at the table. “Jack was on stage when Robert Wells barged in. Wells was, by far, the strongest parental opponent of the closures.” The mere thought of Wells was like a vice grip around my throat. “It’s very difficult for me to talk about him, but I know he’ll be a crucial character in the screenplay.”

  Reynolds’ brow furrowed, and he grimaced before agreeing with me. “Unfortunately, yes. Do you have any information about his background?”

  “I knew nothing about him before that night, but in the weeks after Jack’s death, I was obsessed with finding out everything I could about Robert Wells. I learned that his wife had died in childbirth. Amanda, his daughter, was born with many health problems from a traumatic birth injury.” I rubbed my temples, hoping to ward off the headache building behind my eyes. “Wells put his daughter into the Caldwell Center, but he didn’t abandon her. According to the center’s records, he visited her every Saturday for hours. Amanda couldn’t communicate at all. She was one of the most severely disabled clients in the center. He would sit and read and talk to her. The staff continually told me how shocked they were that he had done this because that was not the same man who showed up at the awards banquet.” The image of his disheveled and grungy appearance was seared in my memory. “He looked like he had a hard time caring for himself.”

  “What the hell happened, then? So he just snapped?” Reynolds threw his hands up in a questioning gesture, then rested them on his head.

  I shrugged, not really knowing the answer to that question. “I assume that he was scared. He hadn’t been responsible for a single day of his daughter’s life which was filled with feeding tubes, diaper changes, dressing, and medication. Not that he would have had to, mind you. Jack would never have
let Amanda fall through the cracks, but Robert Wells didn’t trust the agency.”

  “So then he worried that if he was left to care for her not knowing how to do it, he could mess up and hurt her.” Reynolds rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. His eyes squinted as if he was trying to understand the complexity of the issue. “It probably hit him for the first time how ill-equipped he was to take care of her and how overwhelmed he was with needs he didn’t understand.”

  “Exactly.” I held the coffee mug against my lips. The emotion of that horrible evening crept around my heart, strangling it like a weed. I inhaled and slowly let it out, preparing myself for what was to come. Getting this part out would drain me, but it was important that I retell Jack’s murder with composure. I couldn’t leave out anything. I had to share the terror of that night and the enormity of the loss that had occurred. Jack deserved that.

  With a breath of courage, I poured out my heart and told Reynolds the story of how Jack was taken from me…from us. We both knew how the story ended, but it didn’t make it any easier to tell. I looked up through my tear-clouded eyes to find Reynolds with his head hung low. For a moment we sat in silence. Then he looked up. In his eyes was an acknowledgement that words could never do justice. He understood.

  Reynolds leaned over the table and laid his hands over mine, but I slipped them to my lap and glanced away. I didn’t want affection, or attention, or compassion. I didn’t want his pity. I was sick of obligatory sympathy that people were desperate to give. I just wanted the nightmare to be over. I wanted someone to make it go away, but I knew that couldn’t happen. The story never ended for me. To this day, when I closed my eyes, I pictured Jack dying in my arms. I was back in that room again. I could smell the blood, and feel Jack’s skin as it lost its warmth. Bile rose in my throat, and I brought my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting.

  Reynolds jumped up and fumbled around behind me. I didn’t look. I couldn’t—I was there again. Jack was in my arms. Cabinets opened and closed, the faucet ran and then it didn’t. He handed me the glass of water. I took it in my shaking hand, water spilling out of the top of the glass as I brought it to my parched lips.

  Reynolds pulled his chair closer to mine, but kept a safe distance. “How did you keep going, Liz? After everything you saw, how did you not give up?” His voice was laced with sincerity and concern, but his eyes were filled with wonderment.

  I stared at the wall. “The pain of watching my husband die was unreal. I felt like I was shot through the heart, that I would die too. But I couldn’t. I knew I had to carry on for my boys, even though my happiness had been extinguished, right along with Jack’s life. The best man I had ever known was taken from us. He was taken in the name of helping others.” I turned my steady gaze on Reynolds. “Now our lives are changed forever. So to answer your question, I keep going for my boys.”

  I rested my head on my folded arms and let the anguish I’d kept at bay free. I sobbed my heart out in the comfort of my kitchen and in the company of a stranger. Reynolds rubbed my back. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. What could he have said? The gesture was enough. Surprisingly, I allowed it.

  A few moments later, Cindy’s high pitched, “Helllllooooooo” echoed through my house, and the door slammed behind her. This was about to get interesting.

  She waltzed right in, carrying cookies for my boys and a fountain Diet Coke for me. She babbled something or other, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it; she was talking so fast. Silence filled the room, followed by a blood-curdling, Cindy scream.

  “Oh my FUCKING GOD! What the hell is Reynolds Carter doing in your house? Holy shit, Liz. I’m going to pass out.” She fanned herself. “Take the cookies. Take your stupid ass soda. This is it.” She braced the wall. “I’m hallucinating. The kids have finally made me lose my damn mind.”

  My eyes widened and I jumped up to intercept her. “Cindy.” I rubbed her shoulders and tried to send her a telepathic message with my eyes to stop. “Get a grip! Sit down and chill out. You’re acting like a crazy psycho.” I forced her into a chair and shrugged apologetically as I focused on Reynolds’ shocked face.

  I put my arm around Cindy’s shoulders. “And this is my dear friend Cindy.”

  Cindy’s eyes bulged out, and she fanned her face with her hand. “Nice to meet you, Reynolds. Jesus Liz, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Remember how I told you about the screen play?” I raised my eyebrows in silent reminder and wiped away the tear-stained mascara streaks from under my eyes.

  Cindy smacked my arm. “No way! Hollywood dude is Reynolds Carter?” She screeched and hit me again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Probably because I knew you would act like this.” I swatted her hands away from me as we laughed. Cindy’s timing was imperfectly perfect. I needed this. “Now, stop hitting me.” She looked Reynolds up and down, settling her eyes just below his belt buckle. “This is fucking unreal. Reynolds Carter here in the flesh. You look great, by the way.” She bit her thumbnail and slowly raised her eyes back to his face. “Can’t believe you are forty years old.” She let out a small moan. “The tabloids sure have been up your ass lately, huh? I never liked that Kylie girl. You were up for a Golden Globe when that skinny bitch walked into your life, and I think she used that to help her own career. But hey, the two of you looked great on the cover of all those magazines. I might have picked up a copy or two. This town’s going to go bat shit crazy! Do people know you’re here yet?”

  Rock, where are you so I can crawl under you?

  “No. I try to fly under the radar as long as I can.” Reynolds rubbed his mouth and let out a sigh. “I’d rather not draw attention to the project until we’re done, or at least almost done. We don’t need those kind of distractions.”

  Cindy stared at Reynolds like a lovesick teenager with a mixture of awe and wantonness. “What were you saying about distractions?” Sighing dramatically, she rested her chin on her hand. “I can’t believe I’m sitting next to the actor in my favorite movie.”

  “Ahem.” I cleared my throat and smiled wickedly at Cindy. “I thought your favorite movie was The Notebook. You couldn’t get enough of Ryan Gosling shirtless. Remember?” I waggled my eyebrows, enjoying myself. “Wait, wasn’t it Magic Mike and ‘all the magic that is Channing Tatum.’ Did I get that right, my friend?”

  Cindy glared at me and then shook her head at Reynolds. “This one has clearly never seen you in Comeback Glory, has she? Your bare chest was inspirational. It caused you to move up to number two on my list, you know?” She leaned back in her chair and ogled my business partner.

  Reynolds laughed at the both of us and then tilted his head to the side, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. If Cindy caught a glimpse of that, he’d be promoted to number one. I on the other hand, had seen it and quickly glanced away. “I’ll probably regret this, but on what list am I number two?”

  Oh shit. I knew where this was going, and I buried my face in my hands, mortified.

  “You wouldn’t know about these lists, Reynolds.” Cindy looked almost devilish as she leaned in to impart the truth about her secret list. “You see, when married couples get old and boring, they’ll make a list of celebrities they’d get a free pass to cheat on their spouse with. You, you big sexy man, are number two on mine.” Cindy laughed as she held up two fingers. She looked at both of our faces and seemed proud of herself.

  “Hmm.” Reynolds stared at the cup of water in front of him and ran his fingers along the glass. Cindy gulped loudly. “Just number two? Damn, I’m losing my touch.” He looked over at me, a slow grin spread on his face. His voice dropped an octave. “So tell me, Liz, do you have one of these lists?”

  “No, Jack wouldn’t have gone for a free pass list.” I fidgeted and played with my nails. “But I may or may not have discussed such a list with my girlfriends after a few cocktails.” I looked away, embarrassed, certain my face was a bright shade of red. The
se two were enjoying this conversation too much.

  “I’ll help you out and change the subject because you’re my best friend.” Cindy leaned forward on the table and began her interrogations. “Where are you staying, Reynolds, and how long will you be here?”

  “I rented a small cottage on a horse farm up the road for a few months, but I’ll probably be back and forth to L.A. for some of that time.”

  “Wait. You rented a place on a horse farm?” I smiled, eyebrows raised with curiosity. “It’s not the stone house on Jarrettsville Pike, is it? The old Freehill Farm?” Reynolds nodded. “Jack and I loved that farm. When the boys were younger, they liked driving by there to see the horses.”

  “Do you like horses, Reynolds?” Cindy interrupted, her head tilted to the side, as she played with a lock of her hair.

  Reynolds met my eyes with a shy grin that felt a little personal, as if he let me see a part of him that he kept private. “I’ve ridden horses since I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to have them, so it seemed like the perfect place.”

  Cindy opened her mouth, but I stopped her. I looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Interrogation over?” I laughed at the look of faux innocence on her face. “How can I help you, my friend?”

  “I was just asking a few questions, love. I came over to bring the boys a snack and you your favorite beverage, aside from wine, of course.” She looked over at Reynolds and winked. “This one is a bit loose-lipped after a couple glasses of vino.”

  Reynolds burst out laughing. “Good to know. I’ll pull the wine out when we hit a writing lull.”

  “All right you two, that’s enough. I have to run downstairs for a minute. Behave.” I glared at Cindy and then headed to the basement.

  “Never have. Not going to start now that this fine piece of man candy is in front of me!” Cindy shouted back. I could only imagine the expression on Reynolds’ face as I left him alone with her in my kitchen.