However, not only had Rosamond enthusiastically reviewed all of Joey’s careful notes, but she’d arranged to borrow a tent from the Palowski family, where they’d enjoyed their Fourth of July feast.
“Don’t worry, I’ve chosen the place,” she says. “Only we’ll have to wait until your grandfather’s feeling a bit better, so he can be left on his own.”
Though Rosamond knows in her heart that Hayden is the one who will be going, and that they’ll be the ones left on their own.
chapter fifty-nine
On overcast days Hayden watches the lines of silver rain make adjoining rivers on the tall panes of glass while Rosamond reads aloud from The Crow Road by the Scottish author Iain Banks. And if a rainbow appears after dark clouds pass he is sure to tell Joey not to believe the Irish with their cockamamy yarns about leprechauns and a pot of gold. “The rainbow is right here in your own backyard, Joe-Joe. You have to go to school, work hard, and don’t hit the bottle until after the five o’clock whistle blows.”
To Rosamond the streak of pastel colors painted across the sky brings to mind the waters receding after The Flood and Noah’s ark surviving the test of God’s might, with the first rainbow symbolizing the new covenant between God and everything that lives.
When evening comes a swathe of purple rises up to the horizon and then melts into the sky, leaving in its place a sliver of a moon suspended above the Brooklyn Bridge like the broken edge of a white porcelain disc, and they lie atop the bed holding hands, safe within each other’s love, at ease in the mutual knowledge of each other’s flesh.
They are calm, resigned in the face of the inevitable, and even cheerful. When Rosamond plays Hayden’s favorite Bach cello suites and they have a glass of cabernet with dinner Rosamond is surprised at how both romance and Catholicism rely so heavily on incense, music, candles, and wine.
Diana, on the other hand, is increasingly overcome with anxiety regarding Hayden’s decline, and has accelerated the frenzy of her search for remedies, dragging hope along behind her like the fading tail of a comet. From a neighborhood aromatherapist she’s purchased tea light candles and incense cones scented with sandalwood and juniper that are purported to have healing properties. She has, however, abandoned her nutrition campaign, instead concentrating on making Hayden’s favorite dishes in an attempt to encourage him to take a few bites. Only he’s all but lost his appetite, and Diana is struggling not to admit to herself that he’s becoming more shadowlike every day.
The Greyfriars Gang now gathers around Hayden’s sickbed, with Diana serving up sweet mutton hot pot and dumplings and peeking her head in every so often to make sure they’re not plying him with scotch. But she appreciates the presence of Hayden’s friends and their stalwart good cheer, the way they boldly continue to argue as if everything is normal, hotly debating whether the English monarchy should be abolished and if the British should leave Northern Ireland once and for all.
Whenever one of the men tells a particularly first-rate God joke Hayden insists that Rosamond come in to hear it. “Do that one again, Hugh,” he says and watches her appreciatively as Hugh repeats: “When God created Scotland, He gazed down on it with great satisfaction and called the Archangel Gabriel to have a peek. ‘Look at the splendid mountains, beautiful scenery, brave men, fine women, and nice cool weather,’ God said to Gabriel. ‘Plus I’ve given them beautiful music and a wonderful drink called whiskey. Try some.’ Gabriel takes an appreciative sip and says, ‘Excellent, only perhaps you’ve been too kind to them. Won’t they be spoiled by all this?’ But God only laughs and says, ‘Not at all. Just wait ’til you see the neighbors I’ve given them!’ ”
Rosamond laughs heartily, which pleases Hayden. And on this particular evening she ventures into male territory by saying, “You know, we had some jokes at the convent . . .”
“Pour another round, Alisdair,” says Paddy. “Rosie’s going to tell us a joke!”
Rosamond clears her throat and hesitantly begins, “So this nun gets lost on a rainy night and stumbles upon a monastery.”
The men are already howling with laughter. But this only confuses her. “What’s so funny? I haven’t told the joke yet.”
“A nun walks into a monastery!” shouts Hugh, doubled over with laughter. “Saints be praised, it’s brilliant. Sorry, go on now.”
“Yes, yes, go on,” Alisdair encourages her, his hazel eyes glowing with merriment.
“Well, it’s dinnertime,” continues Rosamond, still unsure of herself, but the men are nodding that she should go on. “And they serve the nun the best fish and chips she’s ever tasted. So afterward she goes into the kitchen to thank the chefs, Brother Michael and Brother Charles. ‘That was the most wonderful dinner I’ve ever had,’ she says. ‘But just out of curiosity, who cooked what?’ Brother Charles replies, ‘Well, I’m the Fish Friar.’ And Brother Michael says, ‘And I’m the Chip Monk.’ ”
The men hoot with laughter, less a result of the dreadful punch line than the fact that the proper and reserved former nun is telling jokes of a “guy walks into a bar” variety. And in even larger part because they’ve been drinking for several hours and at this stage would find Joey’s knock-knock jokes to be hilarious.
Hayden takes Rosamond’s hand. “Tha’s wonderful. I do believe that in a former life you were a stand-up comedinun.”
Once again the men roar with merriment and clink their glasses. They offer her a drink but Rosamond leaves the men to their fun and returns to the living room where she’s promised to help Diana sort out photographs.
“Sounds as if the boys are in fine fettle,” says Diana. “Talk about a curse and a blessing.”
“Yes, it would certainly appear that we can’t enjoy the benefit of their high spirits without their bottles of spirits,” says Rosamond.
Rosamond enjoys looking at the pictures of the MacBride family throughout the years, especially Diana as a little girl with ribbons in her hair and a youthful Hayden waving gaily at the camera, usually with a cocktail glass nearby. Diana sorts the photos by approximate date and hands them to Rosamond to organize in the different albums. As for pictures of Linda, Diana rules that if she’s with another family member then they can be placed in the album, but all solo shots go right back into the box. Unless of course it’s a particularly bad photo.
An hour after Joey has gone to bed it’s so quiet in the back room that Diana and Rosamond decide to check and make sure that the men haven’t all passed out.
Diana opens the door a crack and peers into the darkened room. “Dad, is everything all right?”
A resounding “Shhh!” serves to hush her. In the soft glow of the television the men are wiping tears from their eyes, clearing their throats and blowing their noses into handkerchiefs. For a moment Diana fears that Hayden has not only passed out, but also passed away.
Then she follows their glassy eyes to the television, where an athletic Gene Kelly shares the screen with a stunning Cyd Charisse. With a catch in his throat Gene Kelly explains that he must go home and leave his love behind in her enchanted Scottish village of Brigadoon, which appears only once every hundred years.
“Do you understand at all?” asks Gene Kelly, playing Tommy Albright in a plaintive I’ll-never-forget-you voice to Cyd Charisse’s Fiona Campbell. “You’re not sorry I came?”
“No,” replies Fiona in her soft melodious brogue. “I’ll be less lonely now. Real loneliness is not being in love in vain, but not being in love at all.”
And after a few balletic parting steps Gene is on his way back to New York with shouts of “I Love You” reverberating throughout the encroaching Highland mist.
This touching moment is immediately followed by Paddy, Hugh, Duncan, and Alisdair sniffling and clamoring for another round.
Diana and Rosamond quickly slip out of the room and when the door is closed they burst out laughing from all the times Hayden has made fun of their movies. Diana wipes a tear from her cheek. Rosamond does the same. And then she wipes away ano
ther.
“It is awfully sweet,” says Rosamond.
Diana nods her head in agreement, tears up again, and they both sniffle and hug each other in the hallway.
chapter sixty
Day by day death continues to steal over Hayden’s failing body. The future slowly becomes the past as the hours dissolve into one another, and it becomes apparent that there’s no way anyone can reach out and extend them. Every night feels like a lifetime and it’s as if Rosamond and Hayden have left part of themselves behind, on an island in the bright blue Caribbean Sea.
Rosamond is no longer hopeful that Hayden will make a miraculous recovery. In fact, Diana is more optimistic than Rosamond at this stage. Then again, Rosamond’s view of miracles has changed considerably since she fell in love with Hayden. She now realizes that they rest not so much upon seeing visions, hearing voices, or the sudden acquisition of a healing power, but rather on our perception being enhanced, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what has always been around us.
The past two months have been like the long twilight between the Fall and the Redemption. The weight of doubt and loneliness in her heart and soul has dissolved while the faith that had once receded like a tide gone out has gradually restored itself.
On the last Sunday in August they awaken before daybreak, the yard outside still wreathed in the last mist of a dream. A solitary bird chirps in the darkness, secure in its faith that light will soon appear. There’s no reason to look at the bedside clock. Time has ceased to exist for the two lovers, as their lives have become woven into a single strand. But this particular sunrise will live forever in Rosamond’s memory.
Spokes of yellow-gold light appear on the horizon like the dawn of creation in a children’s Bible. Hayden slowly opens his eyes and gazes at Rosamond as if she’s a far off melody. “I have something to tell you,” he says. For the first time she can sense fragility in the halting rhythm of his breathing.
“I have something to tell you, too,” she says.
“Ladies first.” Hayden graciously waves his hand in her direction and then closes his eyes, as if it’s exhausting just to move. His lids feel grainy, like they’re scratching against his pupils.
“The other day, when you thought I was out shopping, I went to one of the doctors where Diana works. I . . . I thought I might be pregnant.”
“Great Scott!” Hayden opens his eyes and leans forward. In the midst of so much death the possibility of new life is the farthest thing from his mind. “And . . .”
“No. No, I’m not.”
Hayden visibly exhales. Talk about health care complications—a baby . . . he can’t even imagine it.
She pauses, not knowing exactly how to go on, then plunges ahead. “But my cancer, I mean, it’s not lung cancer. They did another CAT scan. I had pneumonia. It was apparently someone else’s biopsy report.”
Hayden stares ahead in silence, avoiding her eyes, as if calculating what this actually means. And yet it is something he has been sensing for a while, and perhaps just didn’t want to admit to himself because he thought it would lessen his chances with her. Finally he looks at Rosamond, takes her hand in his, and smiles. “See, it’s like I always told you. Those bone benders have no idea what they’re talkin’ about.”
“Well, I do have a tumor in my left lung. But it isn’t cancerous. In fact, it’s gone down by half, to a centimeter.” Rosamond feels guilty delivering this news, as if she’s betraying him, and has been holding off for the right moment, which never seemed to arrive. She finds it incredibly difficult to recall that only two months ago she’d been so distressed upon learning that she was going to die. Because it’s as if an eternity has passed since then, and now Rosamond feels totally prepared, if indeed death is what God has planned for her. In fact, in some ways she would prefer it.
“I’m so happy you’re not goin’, Rosie. I always said you had too much life left in you to be dyin’,” says Hayden. “It was probably just the haircut you had when the doctor first saw you that made him think you were a goner.”
“Oh stop it! Now what did you have to tell me?”
“Never mind. It wasn’t important. The main thing is that you’re well.” He gently squeezes her palm with his fingers.
“Hayden, please. What were you going to say?”
“It was silly. Just a dyin’ man’s last wish. I was . . . I was going to ask you to marry me.” He has the jagged respiration of an aging athlete who’s just finished a difficult marathon. “But now o’ course it do’an’ make sense, you being well and all . . . and me headin’ south for the winter.”
“Oh Hayden, that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She kisses him on the cheek.
Hayden looks hopeful. Outside the bright August dawn spreads like a flower of fire and the darkness quickly recedes while a vibrant end-of-summer-green fans across the damp earth. Everything sparkles like a garden after a shower.
“I’m sorry . . .” Her voice is as delicate as ice on a spring brook, and there is true sorrow in her gaze.
“No, no, do’an’ be sorry. I just thought if we were both goin’ to buy the farm, that if we pooled our resources we’d get more land, that’s all. But now you’re . . . I do’an’ want you to be a widow. . . .”
“But that’s not the reason, Hayden.” She pauses and then takes both his hands in hers and softly says, “It’s just that . . . I’m returning to the convent.”
He stares out the window for a long while before meeting her resolute gaze. Was being with him so satisfying that she wasn’t interested in meeting other men, or more likely, had the experience sent her fleeing the opposite sex forever? “I see. They’ve held your place, have they? No scheming young replacement from a temp agency performed an All About Eve while you were away?”
“I’ll be given a leave of absence for health reasons.”
“Very good. Like temporary insanity. That’s all it was anyway,” he says dismissively. “The crazy things we do and say when we think we’re dying,” he jokingly adds. But it’s apparent he’s crushed by the belief that their romance was nothing more than a fling on her part.
Rosamond is also distraught. “No, Hayden! It wasn’t like that, not for one minute. I was never thrown out of the convent. I left. I mean, I . . . I felt that I was falling in love with you. And I had to see . . . and I was . . . I mean, I am.”
“What about Him?” Hayden nods his head toward the ceiling.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t love Him so much as I didn’t know how to love fully, with all my heart.”
“But what about the fact that we, uh, you know?” Hayden’s not sure if he should feel guilty for having made love to a nun, especially so close to the hour of his death. He suddenly feels rather vague and thinks he hears the voice of his Presbyterian mother saying that near the end is when you should be busy polishing up your copybook, not sullying it.
“Yes, that.” Rosamond’s cheeks flush. “Actually, a substantial number of sisters enter the convent later in life, after being married, or at least after leading normal lives. Many have even raised families. And of course indiscretions occur. Celibacy is a Church principle, not a divine one. Some even believe the vow of chastity is a contradiction, that a life need not be devoid of love in a worldly sense if it is filled by Him who is all graces.”
“All right then.” He leans back into the pillows and loudly exhales. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for you on the other side.”
“I know you don’t really believe that,” she chides him, and yet there’s a trace of hope in her sky blue eyes.
“No, but I thought it might score me some points.” Hayden’s mischievous smile turns up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. “Not with Him, I mean. With you.”
“You don’t have to score any more points with me. I’ll never love another man.” And it’s true. Now that love has finally ventured into her heart, mind, and soul, there can be no higher form of expression for Rosamond than to love
her God. She looks at Hayden and a solitary teardrop trembles on her cheek like a diamond coming loose from its setting. The room is silent except for a dry leaf stirring against the door to the backyard.
By the time Joey enters the room with his breakfast cereal the sun has risen above the tree line and the room is filled with pure morning light that causes Rosamond and Hayden to appear pale against the yellow walls and sheets. Hayden nods toward the bagpipes in the corner and says to him, “Bring me my pipes, son.” Only his voice sounds too loud, as if in a fever, or else magnified by fear or hope or longing.
Joey brings the heavy set of bagpipes to his grandfather’s bedside. Hayden takes the gleaming black pipes in his hands and admires them one last time as one would a beautiful woman. “Here.” He hands the bagpipes over to Joey. “You’re an official member of the Greyfriars Gang now.”
Joey beams with pride and anticipation, not yet realizing that this is the moment signifying his grandfather’s departure.
“Listen to me now. Whene’er you blow those pipes I’ll hear you.”
A shadow suddenly crosses Joey’s face. “Grandpa, you’re not . . . you’re not going to die today, are you?”
Hayden musters all his remaining energy. “O’ course not!”
But Joey looks dubious.
“Tell you what, I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that I make it to see the Mets in the World Series!”
“You’re on!” Joey feels relieved. Hayden is never one to throw money around unless it’s a sure thing. Joey attempts to balance the heavy bagpipes in his arms. “But Grandpa, I hardly know how to play these.”
“Alisdair is going to finish teaching you. In fact, go call Alisdair right this minute and tell him that I’ve given ye my pipes.”
Last Call Page 31
