Doug plodded into the kitchen and accepted a hot mug of coffee from Joan with a nod of thanks. He sat at the kitchen table and yawned. Joan started an omelette on the stove.
“Hey, Dad,” said Nate.
“Daddy!” cried Megan.
“Kids,” Doug said with a nod. He sipped his coffee. “When is this skating party again, Joanie?”
“We should leave in forty-five minutes,” Joan told him. “Once we get there, I’m off to see my movie. We might do a little shopping at the mall after. I’ll be back home before five.”
Doug said nothing further but didn’t look too happy to be babysitting at a kids’ party today. It had taken every ounce of persuasion she possessed to get him to agree to it. By the end of the week, he was exhausted and wanted nothing better than to putter around the house doing projects or maybe take the dog into the woods for some hunting. But she was tired too. Sometimes he seemed to forget she had a full-time job just as he did, twenty-four hours a day, every damn day.
I shouldn’t have to beg, she thought as she put his omelette in front of him and smothered it in salsa. Doug stared at it for a moment with bleary eyes and dug in.
“So who’s this Josh?” he said.
“One of my kids. Ramona’s boy. I might be losing him.”
“She’s got money, though, right?”
“It’s not that. He got sick yesterday. Ramona thinks he ate something here.”
“She’s crazy,” Doug said. “Kids get sick all the time.”
Joan smiled. Her irritation faded. The man had his faults, but she could always count on him for certain things, one being that he always took her side.
She glanced at the clock and hurried her preparations.
There was always so much to do and not enough time to do everything.
David
Hour of Herod Event
David hated Nadine’s silences. The angrier she got, the quieter she became.
Right now, she was downright furious.
He drove slowly, both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. Somebody passed him, horn blaring, and he cringed. He’d only started driving again within the past two months and was being extra careful. The rehabilitation had been hard on him—David no longer used a cane but still walked with a limp.
Nadine had been driving the Mercedes last New Year’s Eve. Normally, it would have been David, but he’d had one too many. They’d picked up Paul at the babysitter’s and carried him sleeping to the warm car, wrapped in David’s coat. On the way home, a pickup truck slammed into them on an icy bridge. Paul died in the impact.
Nadine blamed herself.
If only, if only.
The big question was: Why?
Nadine was still searching for meaning. David, meanwhile, had embraced the horrible, simple truth of the accident. Often, there was no reason why bad things happened to good people, just a cause. Shit happened, and sometimes, it happened to you.
Now, as they drove in silence, he decided to try again to get her to talk.
“We haven’t seen them in six months,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
David’s friend Ben Glass was the county medical examiner. His primary function was to cut into corpses and determine the cause of death, analyze blood and DNA in a lab, and testify in court. Ben had chosen this path in medical school because he didn’t like treating living people. Dead people were easy, he believed. They didn’t scream; they didn’t die under your care and haunt your conscience for the rest of your days.
David and Nadine had been friends with Ben and his wife, Gloria, for years. Ben always had an interesting story to tell about helping the police solve a crime using forensic pathology, just like on TV. Dead men tell tales, he liked to say. The dead are real blabbermouths, if you know how to listen.
Since the accident, though, they’d hidden from everybody they knew. And in Ben’s case, they didn’t need another reminder of death. The night of the accident, death had stopped being an abstraction, the end of a long, satisfying journey. It was evil incarnate that had stolen their child.
Nevertheless, after a chance meeting at the grocery store, David had lobbied Nadine hard for this lunch, part of his resolution to try to move forward. She went along with it, but he could tell it was only to please him.
Still Nadine said nothing. David glanced at her, sighed, and turned the radio on.
Seeing Shannon Donegal and the other happy, pregnant women in his office over the past few weeks had helped him stop dreading the upcoming anniversary of Paul’s death and think about the future.
Every day, David brushed his teeth and tied his shoelaces, even though every atom in his body told him to lie down and never get back up. He’d learned to accept the days when it didn’t hurt as much and the days when it hurt even more. He wanted to be finished with death being the center of his world. He was tired of grieving and living in an endless haze.
He wanted to see his own life again. He wanted to share that life with Nadine.
So this morning, over breakfast, he’d told her he hoped they would eventually try to have another child. Not right now, but at least they could think about it. Maybe even talk about it.
The very idea seemed to offend her, however.
Now she turned the radio off.
“I dreamed of him again last night,” she said. “He was playing on the shore of Lake Michigan. That place we went to two summers ago? I stood behind him, looking at the water, big and deep and black. I wanted to protect him.”
“Nadine. Don’t.”
“He didn’t care about anything. He just laughed and played. He held up his little fist and let the sand trickle out of it. So real, when I woke up, I thought it’d actually happened. For just a moment, I thought he was still alive.”
“Okay.” David understood she couldn’t move on, at least not yet. Maybe ever. She’d experienced something she believed one did not simply get over. And that meant she might never feel ready to have another child. David knew that, in her mind, he wouldn’t even ask for such a thing if he loved Paul as much as she did.
But he did love him as much. Paul’s loss had left a gaping wound in David’s heart that would never go away regardless of how much therapy he got or how many support groups he joined. He loved his son differently, that’s all.
And he still loved life enough to want to live it.
Nadine said, “He’s still here, with me.” She pressed her fist against her chest. “I feel him. Right here. Alive. I can’t just let him go. Do you understand?”
He’s a dream, a memory, David wanted to say. The real Paul is gone, Nadine. But he understood. He parked, and they sat together while snowflakes fluttered onto the windshield and the heat drained out of the car. LED icicles, strung across the busy retail street, sparkled and drizzled drops of light. People crowded the sidewalks. They looked happy.
“Listen. We don’t have to do this. Have lunch with them, I mean.”
She reached and covered his hand, still gripping the steering wheel, with her own. “No, I want to.”
This much she could do for him. He wanted more, but it would suffice.
“Are you sure?”
She forced a smile. “Come on. They’re waiting for us.”
“I love you, Nadine.”
She’d already opened her door. David watched her step onto the sidewalk. He sighed, exited the car, and limped to join her. As always, they presented a visually interesting couple—David tall and aristocratic, Nadine petite and a bit ethereal.
She extended her elbow and allowed her husband to escort her into the restaurant. Ben and Gloria welcomed them with smiles, hugs, and concern in their eyes. The couple couldn’t produce children themselves and had doted on Paul as if he were their own. During the awkward conversation that started their meal, David felt their need to unburden their own pain as well as comfort him and Nadine.
When the subject they were actively ignoring finally came up over salads, they all cried except for Nadine, who stared at them v
acantly, as if watching a movie unfolding in a foreign language. It was a painful but essential ritual. They talked about Paul as long as they dared, and by the time the main courses arrived, the conversation had moved on to safer ground. David slowly felt himself unwind as they settled back into the easy rhythm of their relationship.
He realized he was smiling and thought, That’s why I’m here. To smile a little. To feel good.
His family used to have so much fun together when Paul was alive.
His smile faded. As always, pleasure had its sad echo.
They finished their meals surrounded by the sounds of cutlery and idle conversation. David ordered a cappuccino for himself and an espresso for Nadine.
“They have good food here,” Gloria said to Nadine. “The tuna was fantastic. I have to say I’m proud of Ben. Not once did I catch him checking out the football game on the TV in the bar.”
“Furtive glances,” Ben confessed. “Dallas is playing Detroit. David, you’ve always been a Cowboys fan, haven’t you? Want to know the score? It’s rather grim, I’m afraid.”
“I haven’t followed them this year, unfortunately,” David said.
“So how’s your new business idea working out? Giving free prenatal consultations to women in the hopes their kids will become patients?”
“I won’t know until the children are born,” David answered. “But I had sessions with three mothers in the past week. I think two of the children will become patients.”
“My God. You’ve discovered the pediatric version of ambulance chasing. Ingenious.”
“It’s actually fairly common,” David said, smiling again. “But here’s something that will interest you. About a month ago, Nadine and I treated a child with a very special disability and found a way to dramatically improve her life.”
The waiter brought a tray of cups. David accepted his cappuccino and sipped it. The hot drink made him feel warm and mellow. He glanced at Nadine. She stared blankly at her espresso.
“Go on, David,” Gloria said. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Well, we were treating a young girl—who must remain nameless, but let’s call her Kathy—with two afflictions. She’s visually impaired. She’s also allergic to dogs. Of course, this ruled out guide dogs.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” said Gloria.
“Why don’t you tell them the solution, Nadine?” David said. “After all, you did most of the research.”
Nadine said, “We recommended she use a guide horse.”
“You’re joking,” Ben said.
“Oh no, it’s no joke,” David responded. “She means a miniature horse, of course.”
“Now you’re joking,” Gloria said.
“Miniature horses—horses with dwarfism—are quite real,” said David. “The smallest miniature horse was just over a foot tall. You can look it up in Guinness World Records.”
“No, we can’t get one,” Ben said, casting a warning glance at Gloria.
She ignored her husband. “Can you pick them up and hold them?”
When Nadine didn’t answer, David stepped in again. “They can be great guide animals. They’re calm, they have a wide field of vision, they remember things, and they’re always on the lookout for danger. Some of them live up to fifty years or longer.”
“What about the smell?” said Ben, looking skeptical.
“Not a problem if you give them regular baths. Guide horses can even be housebroken. They don’t get fleas. And the child loves the horse. Treats it like a person. And yes, Gloria, she picks him up and holds him, though horses don’t need affection like dogs do.”
“What did she name him?”
David turned to Nadine and waited for her to answer this time.
“Tiny Tim,” she said.
Gloria laughed. “Oh God, I love it. If I had a miniature horse, I would name him something brave and bold, like Champion or Hulk.” She nudged Ben, who stared at the TV wearing a tense expression. “Aw, come on. Can we get one, honey?”
“Wait a second,” Ben said.
“Dallas making a comeback?” said David.
“No. Something’s going on.”
His tone made them all turn toward the television.
The game was gone. In its place, ambulances and flashing lights filled the screen. In the upper-right corner: LIVE.
“What is it?” Gloria asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben answered.
Whatever it is, it’s something big, David thought. They don’t just interrupt a major football game unless the world is ending.
The image on the screen cut to a group of people kneeling around something. David glimpsed what looked like a child’s arm. Parts of the restaurant fell silent.
They gasped as a caption appeared: HUNDREDS DEAD IN CALIFORNIA.
The camera zoomed out and tracked a man rushing across the street with a small boy in his arms. Behind him, the sidewalks as far as the eye could see were jammed with crowds of people huddled around figures lying on the ground.
“Jesus Christ,” somebody muttered.
“We need sound,” somebody else called out. “Turn it up! Please!”
The rest of the restaurant quieted with baffled looks. Men crowded around the TV.
“David,” Nadine whispered, her voice edged with panic.
David reached for her hand and held it tight.
The bartender found the remote and changed the channel to CNN, which showed a worried-looking Lyle Stanley behind a desk. He turned up the volume.
“The death toll already appears to be much larger than we first reported,” Stanley declared. He blinked. “Wait. I’m not going to say that.”
Is this one of those moments? David thought. One of those moments that changes everything?
The anchor glared at somebody off camera. “That can’t be right.” He held up the sheet of paper. “The report about the—I’m not going to say that on the air until somebody verifies it.”
Nadine gripped David’s hand even harder.
On air, Lyle Stanley stood up. “I need to call my wife.”
There was an abrupt cut to a commercial for a new Chrysler minivan.
The diners filled the ensuing silence with shouting.
“Where was that? What city?”
“San Francisco, I think. Union Square.”
The bartender switched to Fox, which showed the same video of people huddled around bodies on a sidewalk. The reporter was babbling, not making any sense.
“What do you think happened?” Ben asked David. “Some type of terrorist attack?”
David shook his head. He had no idea. “We should get home.”
“Why? Whatever it is, it’s not here in Michigan, right?”
Nadine squeezed David’s hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She said nothing, staring over his shoulder. He followed her gaze toward the front door of the restaurant, where a dazed woman stood alone.
David watched her ball her fists and scream, silencing them all.
Doug
Hour of Herod Event
Doug wished he had a shotgun in his hands.
He pictured himself deep in the woods, doing some hunting.
The skaters flowed clockwise around the outdoor ice rink. While some parents skated with their kids, most sipped coffee and smiled from the sidelines.
He stood apart from the crowd in the hope nobody would approach him to engage in banal small talk. None of these people were his friends. He couldn’t say he really had any. Acquaintances, sure. He had lots of those. Guys he worked with and husbands of Joan’s friends with whom he was occasionally forced to socialize.
He didn’t mind; he wasn’t much of a social guy anyway. He considered himself related to the cave bear. His family was everything to him. If you weren’t in his tribe, he didn’t care much about you and had a hard time faking it.
Doug checked out the moms, but even that got boring. This babysitting was for the birds. He didn’t understand the
se “breaks” Joanie needed every once in a while. She’d wanted kids; he’d given her kids. Taking care of them was her job. His job was to work ten hours a day, plus overtime, doing hard, dirty work to keep a roof over their heads. His job was to fix what needed fixing around the house. Hell, he needed breaks too. A little me time.
Like hunting. Sitting in a tree enjoying nature, with a thermos of hot coffee to keep him warm. The deep silences. Last year, he’d shot a doe and put a lot of meat in the freezer. Venison was good eating if you cooked it right. Roasts, stews, burgers.
Nate skated to a halt at the edge of the ice. “Is that hot chocolate, Dad?”
“Yup.” Doug handed it over.
His son poured a cup, gulped it down, and gasped for air. “Jeez, that’s really hot.”
“Warm you up good, kid.”
“I got invited to a game of shinny later. Can I play, Dad?”
“Sure. Just keep an eye out for Keith.”
“I will,” Nate grumbled.
Nate loved playing pickup games of hockey, but Keith McDonald always got carried away and reefed the puck, sending it flying above the ice among kids without protective gear. Normally, Doug wouldn’t say a word; he wanted Nate to learn how to handle these things for himself. But he was in charge today, like it or not, and intended for both his kids to give their mom a glowing report card for Daddy.
“And get home before dark, understand?”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Daddy!” Megan yelled. She trudged along the ice in her bulky snowsuit and helmet, pushing her bright orange training aid. “Look at me!”
“See you, Dad,” Nate said as he sped away.
“You’re doing great, princess,” Doug told Megan.
“I want you to come with me as I go around, Daddy.”
“I will in a minute.”
She ground to a halt in front of him and promptly fell on her butt. He laughed.
Suffer the Children Page 4
