The Shortest Way Home

by Juliette Fay

  “I’m praying for you, too, picture taker,” he said, and sent one up right there on the spot.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Thanks so much.”

  The hug had gone on for a few moments now, and Cormac said, “Dude!” playing the jealous husband. But when Barb let him go, Sean could see the gratitude behind his friend’s posturing. Hug my wife, his faux-indignation seemed to say. She needs it.

  * * *

  As they waited for the curtain to go up, Sean gave Kevin an overview of the story. Joseph was one of the twelve sons of Jacob, he explained. Jacob loved Joseph so much that he gave him a really expensive coat. The other brothers were jealous, especially when Joseph started having dreams that he would rule over them one day. They were so angry they sold him into slavery.

  “Slavery?” Kevin was skeptical.

  “Yeah, slaves were pretty common back then. This is a story from the Bible—you knew that, right?”

  “How would I know that?”

  Sean smiled. “Sorry, I forgot to mention it. So he ends up being a slave for a guy named Potiphar. Then Mrs. Potiphar . . .” How did you explain seduction to an eleven-year-old? Sean decided it wasn’t a good idea to go into it. “Well, she had kind of a crush on Joseph, and Mr. Potiphar got mad and sent Joseph to jail.”

  “Aunt Deirdre plays the guy’s wife, right, so she’s the one who gets Joseph in trouble?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kevin grinned. “This’ll be good. Aunt Deirdre’s good at acting mean.”

  When Deirdre made her entrance, she was dressed in a tight black sequined gown and headdress. It was glamorous, but also somehow lewd. It wasn’t the dress, Sean realized. Though her movements were minimal, smoking a cigarette from a long holder and leaning back sensuously, Deirdre exuded a persona that was half starlet, half dominatrix.

  The chorus sang, “She was beautiful, but—”

  “Evil,” Deirdre replied. And she was.

  When she began to force herself on poor Joseph—who didn’t look as horrified by the proposition as he was supposed to, in Sean’s opinion—running her hands over his bare chest and squeezing his buttocks, Kevin’s eyebrows went up so high they almost met his hairline. He glanced over at Sean, who had no idea how to react. The boy’s aunt was acting like a millionaire porn star, for godsake. He decided to go with a look of shock. Kevin giggled silently at this and went back to watching the show.

  When Deirdre’s scene was over, the audience clapped enthusiastically. Sean let out a whoop and Cormac whistled loudly, which served to extend the applause. Kevin clapped hard and fast, his small hands a blur. They grinned triumphantly at each other for their small part in Deirdre’s success. Sean found himself hoping there was some Broadway bigwig in the audience noticing the unfettered appreciation of her performance.

  At intermission they all got up to stretch, and Aunt Vivvy murmured to Sean that a trip to the powder room might be in order. The two of them shuffled toward the lobby with the rest of the crowd. As they approached the back of the theater, Sean saw him—Da, dressed in a suit jacket, a bouquet of pink roses in his lap. Sean didn’t know what to say. On the one hand Da had been told in no uncertain terms not to come. On the other, it was his one chance to see his daughter. “Enjoying the show?” Sean asked him when their eyes met.

  “Very much,” said Da. “She’s brilliant.” He glanced to Aunt Vivvy, whose grip on Sean’s arm was starting to leave marks. “Vivian,” said Da. “Faith, you’re a sight altogether.” It was clear to Sean he was taunting her, his brogue harsher, his phrasing distinctly Irish. He sounded like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

  “Martin,” she replied coldly. “You’ve returned.”

  His jaw tightened at her parry.

  “Okay,” said Sean, briskly. “We’re off to the powder room.”

  “Would you give these to your sister?” Da asked him. “I won’t be here at the end of the show. Tell her they’re from you.” Sean took the flowers and guided his aunt out to the lobby.

  “The unmitigated gall,” she muttered. “You throw those weeds directly into the trash.” And she released him as she entered the ladies’ room.

  When she returned she gazed pointedly at the bouquet in his hands. “You’ll do his bidding.” It was as close to a sneer as he’d ever heard from his aunt.

  “Someday Deirdre might like to know that he gave her something,” said Sean quietly. “And one thing I won’t do is get in the middle of your grudge match. It’s almost thirty years now, Auntie. Enough is enough.”

  * * *

  After the show, they made their way backstage and found Deirdre. She had changed out of the slinky sequined dress, but her stage makeup remained, her face still resembling something from an Egyptian tomb. They congratulated her, grinning awkwardly, feeling like star-struck fans. Even Aunt Vivvy said, “Brava, my dear.”

  Sean presented the roses, saying only, “These are for you.”

  Deirdre accepted the flowers and compliments graciously. “It was such a great crowd tonight,” she said. “The whole cast could feel it. I’m going to miss that in New York—audiences are so much tougher there.”

  “You’re going to New York?” said Kevin.

  “Um, yeah,” said Deirdre, glancing at Sean. “But not till you get back from Ireland, so I’ll definitely see you.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, clearly uncertain as to why this was so important.

  The cast was being called for director’s notes; Deirdre said good-bye and hurried off.

  Later, when they pulled into the driveway, Kevin scrambled out of the car to reassure George that she hadn’t been left for good. Aunt Vivvy turned to Sean. “Please don’t keep Kevin in the dark about Deirdre’s departure,” she said. “He needs to be prepared for what’s to come.”

  As Sean and Aunt Vivvy made their way up the walk, they could hear George barking maniacally. “I’m coming!” Kevin called, as he heaved himself against the uncooperative door. When it popped open the dog jumped up, and Kevin stumbled back onto the porch. “Whoa! Hey!” he yelled, batting her down. “No jumping!” She obeyed, but continued her loud barking. “Chtch!” he told her. She barked once and then soothed herself by circling him several times. He could barely take a step. “I know!” He laughed. “You missed me—I get it!”

  Aunt Vivvy gave Sean a look. I know, he almost told her. I get it.

  * * *

  Before bed, Sean went to say good night to Kevin. He sat down on the edge of the bed and straightened out the weighted blanket, which tended to get bunched up if Kevin moved around too much. “So, what did you think of Aunt Deirdre tonight?”

  “She’s pretty good at getting all creepy and weird.” Kevin grinned.

  “True.” Sean smiled. “So, there’s something I need to tell you. You know how much Aunt Dee loves being onstage.”

  “Like crazy.”

  “Yeah. And the best place to try and be a stage actor is New York City.”

  “She said she was going down there when we get back from our trip.”

  “She is. Actually . . . she’s moving there.”

  Kevin’s eyes blinked, calculating the implications. “For how long?”

  “For a while. Like maybe years.”

  A look of horror grew on Kevin’s face. “Am I going with her?”

  “No! You’re staying right here.”

  “Okay.” He sighed, relieved. “Because I’ve seen TV shows that’re in New York City, and it looks really loud and crammed in.”

  “That’s an accurate description.” Sean nodded, enjoying the brief calm before what he knew would be Kevin’s next realization.

  “Wait, but who’s going to be here? I mean, when you leave. Aunt Vivvy’s not very . . . she can’t do a lot of stuff. There won’t be anyone . . . like, responsible.”

 
“Well, I’m going to stay until I can hire someone to come and help out. Someone who could do housework and help you with homework and stuff. How does that sound?”

  “So, like, when?”

  “Maybe a month or so.”

  “That’s right after school starts.”

  “Yeah, we’ll get you settled, and things should work out pretty well.” It sounded weak, even to Sean. “I’ll come back and visit, too,” he insisted. “I’m not going as far as Africa this time.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got an offer in Haiti—that’s a lot closer.”

  “Haiti? Where they had that earthquake and all the buildings fell down?”

  “Well, a lot of them did, but not all. Hey, how about if I plan to come back for Christmas? That’s only a couple of months away.”

  Kevin stared at him. “Four,” he said finally. And he began to snuggle deeper beneath the covers, curling his body until every limb was pinned down under the heavy blanket.

  “Four?”

  “Four months,” he said, and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 47

  Hi Rebecca,

  I hope this is okay that I’m e-mailing you. I know you were looking for a little space, but I’m hoping you meant physical rather than electronic. Is there such a thing as electronic space?

  I wanted to let you know a couple of things, just in case anything changed on your end, so you’d know where I was. I’d hate for you to try and get in touch and think I wasn’t responding on purpose. Because I don’t think I could ever not ­respond to you.

  Apparently meeting you gave Kevin the courage to meet my father. Thanks for that. It’s no surprise that he would feel comfortable with you, but seeing as he’s not a kid who generally feels comfortable anywhere, it actually was a surprise to him. My father was good, didn’t overwhelm him, seemed to get it that he was on thin ice and better not stomp too hard.

  He spread that Irish charm pretty thick, though, and got Kevin interested in a trip to the old sod. Totally manipulated me, which pissed me off at first. But as things stand at the moment, I thought it might be good to take off for a little while. Locational therapy. The three of us leave Sunday, and Kevin and I will be gone for a week. I just wanted you to know.

  Also, I’ve applied for a temporary sub nurse position at Belham Middle School. It’s just till October, by which point I plan to have things set up for Kevin and my aunt. I heard from a colleague from my days in Kenya who wants me to work at her clinic in Haiti. She’s an older woman, really smart, and I think it would be a good gig. Also, it’s much closer than a lot of other needy places in the world. I’ve already promised Kevin I’d be home for Christmas.

  I have kind of a crazy suggestion, and you might hate it, but I’m just going to put it out there. Would you ever have any interest in coming with me to Haiti?

  You could work in the clinic, or any one of a hundred volunteer projects in the area. The conditions would be pretty rustic. Actually I have no idea what the details are, but the conditions are always “rustic.” Or worse. But you don’t strike me as a girl who can’t travel without a blow dryer, and I can guarantee it would be a hell of an experience. It always is. And I would really love to share it with you.

  Just a thought.

  I miss you. Maybe I’m not supposed to say that, but it can’t be too much of a surprise, so I’m going to chance it. It’s been a day and a half and I feel like it’s been a year.

  But I want you to know that I get it, and you had every right. Part of me is proud of you for taking care of yourself. And I’ll admit, part of me selfishly wishes that you would just throw caution to the wind. That’s the selfish part, did I mention that?

  Hope you’re well. Hope the furniture moving is quick and easy. Sorry I’m not there to help. Think about Haiti, okay?

  Love,

  Sean

  After he hit Send, Sean wondered if it was okay that he’d signed it “Love.” Maybe he should have used “affectionately” or “fondly” or just his name alone. Did “love” seem like a taunt—like “I love you, but not enough,” or “I love you, but only on my terms”?

  Jesus Christ, I am SO BAD at this!

  He turned his attention to something he might actually be able to succeed at: nailing the sub nurse position. Especially with the Ireland trip, the added income would really come in handy. He called the middle school and spoke to the secretary, who passed him on to the assistant principal, who passed him on to the principal, a Mr. Girardi.

  “So you’re interested in the sub nurse position?” He inhaled noisily. Sean diagnosed him as asthmatic, a smoker, or morbidly obese. Possibly all three. “We’re waiting for a few more applications before we start interviewing.”

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of town next week on some family business. Would it be possible for me to interview tomorrow? Otherwise I could be available the following Monday. But I know that’s getting close to the start of school.”

  “Huh,” said Mr. Girardi, and then there was only the sound of his juicy inhalations.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you hesitant to hire a man?”

  “Not at all! That would be discrimination.” His breathing got heavier. Sean could imagine the beads of perspiration on Mr. ­Girardi’s upper lip. “But lemme ask you . . . in middle school some girls are menstruating, and some are even involved in sexual activity. How comfortable would you feel talking about this stuff? And more important, are they gonna feel comfortable talking to you?”

  Sean smiled. Menstruation? Sex? Mr. Girardi was in for a surprise. “Well, that’s a very reasonable concern,” he said. “Some guys wouldn’t know how to handle it. For myself, a good portion of my career has been in poverty-stricken areas, working with refugees from natural disasters and wars. I’ve treated and counseled girls dealing with terrible trauma. Rape and childbirth complications are common, unfortunately. So I’d be pretty comfortable talking about tampons and STDs. I think when you’re comfortable, the patient feels better about opening up.”

  “Huh,” said Mr. Girardi, practically wheezing now. “You’ve got a point there.” After a laborious sigh, he conceded. “Well, I suppose we should get you in here ASAP.”

  Arrangements were made for an interview the following morning. Sean hung up knowing he’d better have very good answers to all of their questions. He booted up Deirdre’s laptop and surfed nursing sites on pediatrics and working in schools, jotting down notes on whatever he needed to brush up on.

  Every half hour or so he’d check his e-mail. Oh, let’s be honest, he thought, it’s more like every five minutes. So far Rebecca hadn’t responded. It was Thursday, and she’d be at work, he told himself. But like an allergic sneeze or a facial tic, the checking felt beyond his control.

  He wanted more information about Yasmin’s clinic and sent off a note to the e-mail address she’d included in her letter. Maybe there was something particularly appealing about it. Maybe they used massage for the really traumatized patients.

  Unlikely. But it was worth a try.

  * * *

  The next day an enormous box arrived.

  “What’s in it? Where’d it come from?” Kevin was dying to know.

  “It’s a surprise,” said Sean. “We’ll open it when I get back from an appointment I have.”

  “What appointment?”

  “Nothing. Just something I have to do.” He didn’t want Kevin to get his hopes up about the sub nurse position, especially after talking with the less-than-enthusiastic Mr. Girardi.

  “Why is everything a secret?” Kevin whined.

  “Because it is. Now go walk the dog, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Sean drove over to the middle school with his pile of note
s on the passenger seat. At stoplights he glanced over them and gave them one last look-through in the parking lot.

  There were two people waiting for him in the main office. One was Mr. Girardi, who was about a head shorter than Sean and had a torso like a beach ball. His thick glasses needed a good wipe.

  “This is Penny Coyne,” he said, indicating a tiny woman with short black hair and a sharp beak of a nose. “She’ll be taking the lead nurse position while Kelly Krasmus is out on medical leave. When Kelly comes back, Penny will return to the part-time position we’re hiring for now.”

  The interview proceeded through Sean’s qualifications and ­experience. Penny was particularly interested in his work with refugees, asking about how he’d dealt with the emotional trauma of his patients. The depth and thoughtfulness of her questions were ­impressive, given that she’d never worked anywhere but suburban Boston.

  Mr. Girardi checked his watch several times. “Penny, I think we should move on to talking about Mr. Doran’s knowledge of school populations.”

  “Just one more thing,” she said. “Why do you want this job?”

  Sean had prepared a response to this very question that involved his respect for the important work of school nurses, blah, blah blah . . . But he liked Penny, and he didn’t want to dish off some brown-nose baloney. So he told her about Kevin not having parents around, needing moral support for the transition to middle school. He also mentioned his plan to go to Haiti. “Kevin should be pretty well settled by October. The timing’s perfect.”

  They discussed the job, which appeared to consist of an extra set of hands for Penny, who would be doing all the administrative work. Sean wouldn’t even have access to computer files. As far as he could see, he just had to show up, help triage the real medical issues from the get-out-of-class scams, apply common sense and the occasional ice pack to each, and keep his hands washed. A heck of a lot easier than remembering the “extra hot” at the end of “half-caf skinny latte, shot of sugar-free caramel, two Splendas.”

  * * *

  On his way home, he stopped by the Confectionary and picked up Mr. McGrath, Cormac’s father. They had a job to do.