Necessary Heartbreak

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “This is calm?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I’m calm, see?” she said, flashing a forced smile.

  “I told you I thought I saw Jesus. He was on a donkey and people were placing palms in front of him. Yes, I know I couldn’t see his face because there were so many soldiers. But I saw the back of him. I could swear it was him.”

  “No, Dad, not again,” Elizabeth said in a harsh tone, holding up her hand in protest. “We need to get back to the tunnel.”

  “I know we do, but really, Elizabeth, if you had seen him riding through the crowd . . .”

  Elizabeth shook her head, interrupting him. “You stopped to watch a man on a donkey?”

  “I know what I did. But don’t you get it? We’re in Jerusalem. We got here through a tunnel. Isn’t this crazy? Look at the buildings, the Roman soldiers in the street.”

  “You thought they were in a play.”

  “Yes, yes, I did at first . . . but that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “And saying you saw Jesus does?” she asked, dramatically raising her eyebrows.

  Michael stood up and paced back and forth in front of the fig tree a couple of times. “I know it sounds out of this world. I know I’m the last person you think would believe it. But I thought I saw him. I thought I was at Palm Sunday.”

  Elizabeth rose to her feet and hugged him. “I didn’t see it. We’re both confused. I just want to get home. That’s all I want. Why can’t we just leave now?”

  Michael shook his head. “Oh, Elizabeth . . . we just can’t.”

  Elizabeth pulled away from him, her body trembling with frustration.

  “Come on,” he whispered, trying to soothe her. “I just can’t take that chance right now. I’m worried about these soldiers everywhere.”

  After another moment, Michael decided to be totally honest with her. “Actually, Elizabeth, I’m just really worried about that one soldier from the other day.”

  “So it is true what Leah said?”

  Michael’s eyes widened. “What did she tell you?”

  “She told me the soldier could take me and force me to marry him. Could he really?”

  He waved his hands in the air, shaking his head several times. “No, no, no. I won’t let that happen. If he took you, I would have no way to get you back. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

  Elizabeth was terrified now. Michael could see her body stiffen, her hands clenched at her sides. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Remember this, Baboo: no one will ever take you. I won’t let it happen.” Michael kissed the top of her head. “Come on. Show me this Cassie,” he said, smiling, as he led her back across the courtyard to the lamb.

  Elizabeth kept her arm around him as they headed toward the tree. “You know, if we are stuck here for a bit, maybe we should look for Mom.”

  Michael pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “Elizabeth, you know I want that more than anything in the world. But your safety is more important. Let’s just see what happens, okay?”

  She nodded before leaving him to walk ahead.

  Following her, he stepped into a puddle. “Man, there’s so much water on the ground.” Michael began moving his right foot back and forth across the muddied ground, trying to spread it out so it would dry faster.

  “Dad, what are you doing? It’s just from the jug that Leah dropped before. It’s no big deal. It’ll dry up.”

  “Hey, Sammie, come down, let’s play!” he called upstairs while watching the rain pelt the casement window. His younger sister was a gullible little girl who loved to be the center of attention, which meant he knew how to manipulate her.

  She dropped her Curious George coloring book on the kitchen table and headed downstairs to join him. “Okay,” she said in her sweet, innocent voice, “what do you want to play?”

  “Go upstairs and get a loaf of bread,” Michael said quietly, “and don’t let Mom see. I’m going to show you a new game.”

  Samantha was excited: her older brother was going to play with her. She recognized the enormity of this event and quickly sprinted up the stairs. She peeked around the corner to the living room. Rebecca was nowhere in sight. Jetting through the hallway and into the kitchen, Samantha hopped up on a chair and grabbed the loaf of Wonder bread from the top of the refrigerator.

  Back in the basement, Michael set the bread down next to him. He took a worn Bible from the bookcase and draped an old tablecloth around his body. After covering the rusty metal table between them with some stained red, white, and blue napkins left over from the Fourth of July, he found a discarded plastic cup behind the couch and rinsed it in the utility sink in the corner. Michael filled it with water and carried it carefully to the table. Then he pulled out several slices of bread and tore them into small pieces. Placing them on the napkins, he looked up toward the ceiling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh,” Michael said quietly, “we’re at mass.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Pretend we are.”

  Samantha shrugged, gazing innocently at her big brother. “Okay, I guess. What should I do?”

  “Just be quiet for now. If you’re good, I’ll let you have Communion. But don’t tell Mom: you’re too young to eat it.”

  Samantha smiled, thinking that this was getting good. “Okay, I won’t tell,” she promised solemnly, adding, “I won’t get you in trouble.”

  “Good.” Michael looked up at the ceiling again and made the sign of the cross. As he tore another slice into pieces he whispered, “This is my body, do this in memory of me . . .”

  He held the cup of water over his head. “This is my blood, do this in memory of me.” Michael looked down into the cup to see if the water had changed to wine.

  “Ew, gross. Let me see!” Samantha grabbed his arm, throwing him off-balance and spilling the water on the floor. She watched as the water pooled toward the edge of their mother’s favorite old rug, soaking the tassels. “Mommy’s rug!” She added in a voice only he could hear, “Oooh, are you in trouble!”

  “What’s going on down there?” Rebecca shouted from above.

  Michael could hear the annoyance in her voice and felt the familiar knot growing in his stomach. “Nothing!”

  He turned sharply toward his sister and hissed, “Shut up.”

  Samantha took a dramatic breath but Michael covered her mouth with his hand. “Cut it out and I’ll let you have some of the bread now.”

  She nodded happily as Michael offered her a small piece. She shook her head. “I want a bigger one.”

  “Okay, okay, here’s a big piece.”

  Samantha swallowed it seriously while holding her tiny hands together just as she had seen her mommy and daddy do at Sunday mass. “I wish I had a hat like Mommy wears.”

  “You don’t need one.”

  Then Michael offered her a sip of the water.

  “Yuck, I’m not drinking from that,” she said, making a face, “you drank from it.”

  “Just drink it, Sammie. Remember, you have to pretend it’s wine, so only take a little sip.”

  His little sister perked up. She was able to be a grown-up while playing with her brother. She nodded and reached for the cup. It slipped from her hands and clattered on the tiled floor.

  Michael froze in horror.

  “Now look what you did!” Samantha yelled. “You made me spill it.”

  “I did not. You dropped it!”

  Samantha started to cry and Michael heard angry footsteps. Their mother was coming down the staircase. From where they sat, he could already see the bottom of her shoes.

  “What’s going on down there?”

  “Nothing,” Michael said, praying that she wouldn’t come down any farther. He knew it was no use. Nothing always meant “something” in the Stewart house.

  Thump, thump, thump. Three more steps and she was able to peer over at them in the corner. He watched her take it all in—the water on the floor, the mangled bread on the table. She sw
iftly came down the rest of the stairs and towered over them.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked quietly.

  Michael hated the quiet voice. It was worse than the shouting because he knew what was coming.

  “Look at this mess. Who did this?”

  She noticed his sleeve was wet, and her voice grew even more calm and frightening. “Did you do this, Michael?”

  Michael remained absolutely still, silent.

  “Are you going to answer?”

  More silence.

  “I’d better get an answer or you’ll be in the house for the rest of the summer.” Rebecca crossed her arms. “And your father will have to deal with you.”

  Neither one answered. His mom’s face became even angrier. Her hands were clenched. Michael kept his head down slightly and stared at her brown loafers. Sears Roebuck.

  “Fine, you can stand down here all day long. Just wait till he gets home.”

  Samantha began to sob. Her best friend’s birthday party was tomorrow and she knew her dad wouldn’t let her go. She cracked.

  “I did it.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. Was she stupid?

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Michael, upstairs!”

  Michael looked over at Samantha, remaining perfectly still.

  “Get upstairs now, I said!”

  He reached the top of the stairs but lingered in the doorway. He hoped because his sister was small and young that she would just be sent to her room. But he was wrong.

  Whack! He jumped. His sister’s scream went through him like a knife in his stomach. Whack, whack, whack. He started to cry.

  It’s all my fault, he thought.

  Michael turned and raced through the hallway and up the second flight of stairs to his bedroom, covering his ears. It was such a small house that even conversations in the basement could be heard through the heating vents.

  Whack!

  Today was no different.

  Michael curled into a tight ball on his bed even though he knew it was over. After a minute, he sat up, wiping his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  Someone was coming upstairs. Michael jumped off his bed and ran to the hallway. Sammie stood near the top of the stairs. Her face was splotchy from crying, and he could see the marks on her arm. They looked at each other for a moment. Her blue eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Sammie,” Michael said as his voice started to break. “If you can’t go to the birthday party tomorrow, I’ll play with you . . . whatever you want to play, even dolls.”

  Samantha nodded and tried to smile. She turned and headed down the hall to her room.

  Michael followed her, making sure she got there safely.

  9

  FALLING

  BACK UP

  Elizabeth joined Michael on the rooftop that evening while Leah remained downstairs. The previous day’s events had left them exhausted both emotionally and physically. For a while they sat in silence, enjoying the peaceful view before them.

  Michael was the first to break the silence. “It’s so beautiful here at night.” He caught Elizabeth studying him thoughtfully. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing.” When he refused to look away, she shrugged. “It’s just rare that I see you”—she hunted for the word—“smile.”

  “I smile!”

  “No, Dad, you don’t.”

  Michael thought a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t, do I?”

  “Nope.”

  He sighed. “I guess I haven’t had much to smile about over the years.” After an awkward moment of silence, he added, “I miss your mom.”

  Elizabeth shifted nervously and tried to change the subject. “Look at those stars, Dad.” She pointed to a cluster in the sky.

  Michael stared at his daughter. “Elizabeth, you always change the subject when I talk about Mom. Why?”

  She looked away. “No reason.”

  “There’s got to be some reason.”

  “There’s no reason, Dad, okay?” Elizabeth edged away slightly, still focusing on a group of stars in the clear, dark sky. “So pretty,” she tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. It’s not easy for me to talk about Mom either. I just felt this was a good time.”

  Elizabeth cried harder, and Michael wrapped his arms around her. “Talk to me, sweetie.”

  She turned to look at him, eyes red and watery. “Do you really want to know how I feel about Mom?”

  “I think so, but we really haven’t talked much about her.”

  Elizabeth tried to wipe away her tears. “I feel terrible. I feel horrible. I get so upset when you mention her.”

  “Why? Why would you get upset? Haven’t I told you how much we wanted you? How excited we were when we found out it was going to be you?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “Then why do you feel so horrible when I talk about her?”

  Elizabeth leaned against him and sobbed heavily. “Because she died when I was born.”

  Michael held her tightly and rubbed her back. “Oh, honey, oh, honey. You don’t think she would have lived if you weren’t born?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

  “No!” he said emphatically, cutting her off. “I can’t believe you ever thought that. Why would you ever think that?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken much about that night.”

  “Well, but I think you can understand why I don’t like to talk about it, right?”

  Elizabeth nodded again.

  “You know, Elizabeth, I have never been able to forget that night for many reasons. First, I lost my best friend. Second, I feel responsible.”

  “Responsible?”

  Michael hung his head. “If I had just stopped her . . .” His voice trembled and then trailed off.

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Daddy.”

  They sat there quietly for several minutes, gazing upward at the night sky in all its heavenly glory. Suddenly Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Have you ever thought about finding someone else?” she blurted out.

  He paused a moment before answering, “I have. Then I wonder what your mom would think. Would she be okay about it?”

  Elizabeth looked at him questioningly so he attempted to lighten the mood. “Or would she be waiting for me at the pearly gates, ready to scold me?”

  Elizabeth giggled weakly, and he continued, “I haven’t really met many women over the years.”

  “Leah seems to know you.”

  Michael sat back. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen her. Not even back in Northport.”

  “I know. But she keeps on saying she knows you.” Elizabeth dropped her voice. “Do you think she’s crazy? She told me she lost her husband.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she’s just confused because she’s still grieving. I remember after your mom passed away I would be walking down Main Street and I would think I had seen her.” Michael shook his head. “Once I even ran up to some poor woman on the street. The back of her head looked just like your mom. I felt so bad. I scared her when I started yelling your mom’s name until she turned around.”

  Elizabeth started to tear up again and he quickly backtracked. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m talking about your mom again.”

  “No. It’s okay, Dad.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because even though it was impossible, I was hoping you were going to tell me that it really was her.”

  He had absolutely nothing to say to that because he’d wished the same thing a million times himself.

  Michael awoke well rested the next day. His feet were starting to scab over and he felt more energetic. Elizabeth was still sound asleep, exhausted from the chores she shared with Leah and her rooftop talk. Her long brown hair was nestled underneath a woolen blanket. She looked so grown-up yet oddly vulnerable. Michael was still amazed at how well Elizabeth had ha
ndled the lamb the day before.

  He smiled and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She rolled over slightly, alarming Michael, since he wanted her to sleep in so that she was fully rested for their trip into town to find the tunnel. Yesterday had been reassuring, and he felt it was time to go back, but he didn’t want to wake her too soon.

  He backed away quietly, looking out through the second-floor window. Although it was dark outside, the early-morning light was about to appear. He walked past the alcove where he knew Leah was still sleeping, having heard her quiet, shallow breathing. He tiptoed to the ladder and gingerly descended.

  Michael walked into the kitchen area and began searching through covered baskets for something to make for breakfast. He thought maybe this could be the day he would repay Leah for her help.

  Why not prepare breakfast?

  It was dark in the kitchen except for the last few embers still gleaming in the fire. He took some wood out of a basket and added it to the hearth. When he started to blow on it, black smoke en-gulfed him.

  Oh, no, what have I done? He kicked off a large piece of smoldering wood. He grabbed some kindling and looked for a hot spot to place it. When he did, it seemed to ignite a flame.

  Michael threw some grains from a nearby basket into a pot and poured water over them. He was impressed with himself. This was just like making oatmeal at home.

  I’m not working with a Viking oven, but I’m certainly no Viking.

  As he placed the pot over the fire, he felt a burning sensation near his right knee. “Oh, no,” he gasped. Michael’s garment had caught fire from his leaning in too close to the flames. He swung his hands wildly, trying to put out the flame.

  Turning quickly to grab the jug of water, Michael stumbled slightly and bumped into the simmering pot, which came crashing down. He dropped to the stone floor, attempting to catch the fallen bowl. The water and grains spilled all over him, extinguishing the fire and completely soaking him.

  “Oh, my!” Leah exclaimed, jumping from the bottom rung of the ladder. She began waving her hands back and forth in front of her face to clear some of the black smoke. “What happened?”

  “Ah . . . I was trying to help,” he said sheepishly. “I was preparing breakfast.”