On Wednesday, December 20th, Lynne accepted the delivery of a large bouquet of white roses, along with three massive poinsettias. She smiled at the card, from Laurie and Stanford, small crosses adorning the corners. She declined to telephone them her gratitude, for they might expect that Eric had returned. Lynne had stayed home the last two days, sharing dinners with the Aherns, but Eric had yet to arrive.
On Thursday, she sent out a thank-you note, the cold making her walk quickly back to the house. From the sunroom’s French doors, she stared at thick frost laid across the back garden, but amid streaky clouds occasionally the sun shone, making the crystals sparkle. She hadn’t looked at the outside thermometer, but it was well below freezing. Sam had been grateful the weather had been dry, or roads would have been treacherous. Lynne didn’t worry for the Aherns, for Sam was a careful driver. But Eric was flying in the frigid air, that thought making Lynne shiver. Maybe he had found it too cold, was taking refuge in a barn or other structure. Christmas was in four days, but he probably didn’t realize that. He only noted the dim light, during which tomorrow it would be the shortest. Lynne had never pressed her husband about those sorts of details, for once he was home, all that mattered was feting that event. He’d been fully a hawk flying home this time last year, but that had been after five long months away. Now it had been over four weeks, but had that extended stretch somehow altered him this time?
The phone rang, and she hesitated answering it. When she did, Sam’s tone put her at ease. He wasn’t working that morning, and if she needed company…. Immediately Lynne requested his presence, and they hung up with little more said. Sam arrived half an hour later, finding Lynne starting a pie. “I thought we were gonna wait till Christmas,” he teased, setting his wraps over a kitchen chair.
“I got a craving for pumpkin,” Lynne smiled. “Besides, this won’t last much beyond the next few days, and it certainly won’t interfere with what I make for Christmas.”
“Boysenberry, right?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, making Lynne laugh. She nodded, then poured him some coffee.
While she rolled out the dough, Sam drank his brew, decaf a fairly acceptable compromise. Lynne had said that regular make her jittery, and she hadn’t wanted it to affect the baby. Sam didn’t know if things like that made any difference; Frannie had never avoided anything, and all of her kids were fine. Little Helene was talking a streak, but sometimes Sam saw a trace of sorrow in Fran’s gaze. Fran was excited for Eric and Lynne, and had told Sam to let her know when they had their baby. She had a small gift, no more than a token, but Fran had wanted to somehow repay Eric for the painting, and that sketch. Sam hadn’t mentioned it to either Eric or Lynne, but as he observed Lynne, he could see Fran in that kitchen, although a passel of kids would be surrounding her. Then Sam smiled. One day a throng of children would clamor at Lynne’s sides.
“He’ll be home soon,” Sam said without thinking. Then he shook his head. “God Lynne, forgive me.” Sam wanted to slap himself, sometimes he was a loose-lipped as Renee. Probably from all their years together, he admonished himself. The Nolans were more chatty than the Aherns, when he thought about it, although around Fran, Sam could talk about most issues, or those safe for public expression. He could talk about anything with Eric, or he had this time last year, when Eric could barely speak, and conversation was necessary to distract Sam from exactly who Eric had been for those days in early December. Sam had rambled more than in ages, probably the way he had chewed the fat with Josh and Larry back in…. “Lynne, please, I didn’t mean….”
She stood at the counter, wiping her eyes, but a smile lit her face. “No Sam, I think so too. Maybe we’re setting ourselves up for heartache. Actually, I wanted you here this morning, maybe hoping to tempt….” She sighed, then chuckled. “To tempt the fates, or God. Do you think God is shaking his finger at us right now?”
Sam vehemently shook his head. “Not at all. He wants us to ask for great things, he came to bless us with the most perfect gifts. Faith is top of the list, but we’re measly corporeal beings, so sometimes tangible items best catch our attention.”
He joined her, then gave her a hug. She wasn’t short like Renee, but the baby had made Lynne’s usually slender frame more curvaceous. That baby was kicking hard, and Sam bravely set his hand on Lynne’s torso. Their eyes met, hers with grateful tears, his with a flash of knowledge. How many Catholics felt that God was always seeking to condemn? What point was faith if this life had to be so damned miserable?
War was vile, and often actions outside of combat were brutal, but not everything had to be tainted with the scourge of human sin. Sam stroked Lynne’s damp cheek, ignoring the tears falling down his face. “I know he didn’t wanna miss any of this Lynne, but sometimes we have to do things because….”
“Because you just do. I know Sam, I know and….” Her voice broke, and she collapsed into him, weeping hard. Sam’s grasp increased, then he chuckled, as the baby stopped kicking. Lynne pulled away, smoothing her blouse over her belly. “You’re gonna have a funny family,” she said to her child. Then she looked at Sam. “Is that all right?”
He nodded. “Of course it is. And I do feel like Eric’ll be back soon. But that pie isn’t gonna make itself.” Sam pointed to the oven. “Shall I do the honors?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.” She headed out of the kitchen, taking the stairs. Sam placed the pie in the oven, set the timer, then sat at the kitchen table. His coffee was cool; if it had been regular, he would have topped it up. Instead he stood, then poured the remnant down the drain. He could hear water running overhead; Lynne had needed to collect herself, and Sam wondered if he should stick around. They could wish for Eric’s return, but other than their prayers, Eric was in God’s hands.
When Lynne came downstairs, Sam was stoking the fire. She didn’t join him, going into the kitchen. Sam stood at the French doors, staring at the glittering ground. Clouds had gathered, allowing the frost to remain. It was pretty, Sam allowed, but he couldn’t fully enjoy it. Only after Eric was home might Sam permit himself to embrace the icy beauty.
His heart skipped a few beats, then he grimaced. Most would view the scene as perfectly setting the stage for Christmas Day. Snow was rare in these parts, no one ever saw a white Christmas, but this was darn close, and Sam was torn by his anxiety for Eric having to fly home in it, and the sheer spectacle of the sparkling vista. To the left, tangled berry vines created webs of ice, and water in the birdbath looked like a miniature skating rink. Sam imagined that if the fountain was bubbling, instead a solid block of frozen water would gurgle in the shape of babbling liquid. Why he could see that so clearly, he wasn’t sure, other than for all the times he had been mesmerized by that running fountain in the spring, summer, and autumn. Eric had left it in motion until the first hard frost.
He had still been here then, Sam mused, then Sam smiled. It was pretty, even if Eric was out in it. “Lynne, I’ll be right back.”
She stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “Is he….”
Sam shook his head. “No, sorry, I just wanted to see something.”
“Oh okay,” she smiled, turning back for the kitchen.
Sam grinned from her easy tone. Eric was foremost in their minds, but he didn’t always intrude. Perhaps the baby was active again, or Lynne had been considering the same idea; there was much to appreciate, regardless of the cold and who was still missing.
As Sam poked around the garden, he shivered, then smiled at himself; he hadn’t even grabbed his scarf. But if Eric was out, Sam could brave the temperatures. Sam went as far as the studio, but the bramble was forbidding. Besides, Renee would have his head if he came home with holes in his clothes.
In a few months, this thicket would be cleared, and Sam wondered what it would look like, once the studio was no longer bordered by shrubs. Eric and Lynne would have plenty of room to add whatever they wanted to the garden, besides more boysenberry plants. Sam chuckled, then rubbed his upper arms. He w
as quite cold now, the fire would feel so good. But instead of returning to the house, he walked the perimeter of the thicket, until he reached the property gate. His car was on the other side, parked along the street. Lynne and Eric’s vehicle was safe in their garage. Sam had driven it a few days ago, to keep the battery charged.
Sam gazed at the house; it looked huge, but only because he still remembered how it had appeared this time last year. A chill ran all through Sam, but he chalked it up to being outside in little more than a sweater. He started for the kitchen door, silly to be outside without proper attire.
As he reached the front door, the clouds broke, rays of sunlight streaming across the icy ground. A large shadow then blew past, and Sam glanced upwards, but saw nothing. Instead of going inside, he quickly walked around the house, stopping at the bare patio. He nearly shouted Eric’s name, but didn’t want to alert Lynne, although Sam wasn’t sure if she could have heard him. Sam peered over the landscape, then again into the sky. The sun had snuck behind a fast-moving low cloud, and Sam stamped his foot. Had Eric flown past, it was a very big shadow. But if so, why didn’t he just land? He was home, he had to know that, it had only been four weeks since he….
The screech made Sam cover his ears, then he looked up, blinded for a moment by the sun, shining directly into his eyes. When he could see again, Sam scanned the garden, then ran toward the studio. “Eric?” he called, but not loudly, still not wishing to garner Lynne’s attention until he was certain. “Eric, is that you?”
Sam stopped at the start of the brush, but something was inside, rustling about. “Damnit Eric, it’s cold out here.” Then Sam sighed. “Hell, you know that better than me. Are you all right?”
The rustling stopped, and Sam closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He had seen something overhead, then heard that distinctive screech. Now Sam was worried, but he remained where he was, opening his eyes. “Eric, I’d prefer to not have Renee yelling at me tonight about torn clothes. But if you need me to come in there….”
The rustling started up, making Sam’s heart pound. He peered into the frosty brush, then gasped, as a figure appeared naked, bleeding, and emaciated. “Oh Eric!”
Sam ignored the feathers falling from Eric’s forming skin, as he scooped up the shaking, injured man. This time Eric was a man, but the cold, and perhaps what he had encountered, had left him skin and bones. Yet, these were human bones, Sam pondered, as he carried Eric’s limp frame toward the house, calling for Lynne as loudly as possible.
This time, Sam didn’t try to separate a husband and wife. Sam had bathed Eric, as Lynne wasn’t quite up to that task, but once he was clean, Eric had asked for Lynne, who helped Sam get the weak man into bed. Sam left the couple long enough to remove the pie from the oven and heat up tomato soup, what Lynne had told him to fix. When Sam reached their bedroom door carrying the bowl and crackers on a tray, he knocked. Lynne said to come in, but Sam’s steps were slow. He found them curled into each other in the middle of the bed, Eric under the blankets, shivering. Sam had dressed him in long pajamas, but perhaps he had a fever. “Eric, I’m gonna set this right over here. Whenever you’re ready….”
“Bring it now Sam. We need to get something into him.”
Lynne sounded like a nurse, Sam thought, as he picked up the bowl, then carefully sat on Eric’s side of the bed. Lynne sat up, then positioned her husband into her arms. Eric still looked miserable, although clean, and Sam wondered if he was strong enough to swallow soup. Sam gazed at Lynne, who nodded. Sam shrugged his shoulders, then dipped the spoon into the soup. It wasn’t steaming, but Sam blew on it anyway. Then he placed it in front of Eric’s lips. “Take a small sip honey,” Lynne said softly.
Eric’s eyes were closed, but he opened his mouth, and Sam did the rest. Several spoonfuls were ingested, then Eric slumped against Lynne. Sam set the bowl on Eric’s side table, but wasn’t sure what else to do. He looked at Lynne, who cradled her husband, her face at peace. Sam gazed at them for a moment, recalling Michelangelo’s Pietà, although Eric wasn’t lying in Lynne’s lap. Yet she looked as beautiful as Mary, while Eric seemed as lifeless as Christ. Feeling like an intruder, Sam stood. As he went to leave, Lynne spoke. “Don’t go, please? He just needs a minute to rest. Actually, have you called Renee yet?”
“No, there hasn’t been a free moment.”
“Call her now. He’s gonna need round the clock care for a few days.”
Sam nodded. He stepped to the door, then turned back. Lynne was whispering something to her husband, who still looked unconscious. Yet Lynne’s tone wasn’t fearful, which encouraged Sam as he took the stairs, going into the kitchen. His words to Renee would be discreet, but the message would be clear; Eric had returned, worse for wear, but not as a casualty. Or at least not to his wife.
That evening, Sam slept on the sofa, while Renee took the night shift. Lynne napped when she could, but Eric’s fever hadn’t broken. Lynne didn’t fear catching his cold, staying close to him in their bed. He hadn’t spoken more than her name, but had motioned for her to place his hands on the baby. He seemed to rest better that way, and often the couple slept at the same times. Lynne didn’t get out of bed except to use the toilet and to eat. Otherwise she had remained at Eric’s side.
During the night, Renee prayed the rosary, or tended to Eric. He had lost perhaps as many as thirty pounds, which had diminished his already slender frame. His appetite was hampered by the fever, but Lynne insisted they keep shoveling food into him. Renee didn’t ask if Lynne assumed that Eric hadn’t eaten during his return; Renee wanted to separate that element of Eric’s persona from the scrawny but human figure she now looked after. She was grateful Sam had been there, for Lynne wouldn’t have been able to carry Eric into the house, and Eric couldn’t even walk to the bathroom.
If he was any other man, Renee would demand they admit him to the hospital. His temperature had spiked to one hundred five degrees, then dipped to one hundred one. He had swallowed aspirin, but that wasn’t going to alleviate such a fever. Renee tried to maintain a positive attitude, but it was difficult, until she glanced at Lynne. Something about that woman’s calm bearing gave Renee hope that Eric would pull through.
Renee fell asleep in the large chair that Sam had brought into the master bedroom. She dreamed of watching Eric leave that first time, then of when he had come home, his squawky voice like nothing she had ever heard. When she woke, Sam shaking her gently, she squinted at the light, which peeked through the curtains. Then she looked at the bed. Eric was in it alone, but water in the shower was running. Renee stood, with Sam’s assistance. “Go down to the couch,” he said softly. “I left the blankets there for you.”
She nodded, then pointed at Eric. “Any change?”
Sam shook his head. “One-ought-four half an hour ago. Honey, I’m not sure about this.”
Renee closed her eyes, fearing the worst. But a familiar tune drifted under the closed bathroom door; it sounded like “Oh Holy Night”. Lynne had a beautiful voice, Renee thought, as she blinked away tears, heading for the door. Renee could still hear that tune as she sat on the sofa, taking off her shoes. The carol followed her into sleep, which came over her like a warm blanket, assisted by the scent of her husband within the bedding.
When Renee stirred, the Christmas tree was lit, but it was dark outside, and she had no idea of the time. A fire blazed, and good smells emanated from the kitchen. Renee got off the sofa, used the downstairs bathroom, then entered the kitchen. It was six in the evening, she saw on the clock, then she stirred the simmering pot of vegetable soup. She detected a beef broth, then spooned herself some. It was tasty, Sam’s doing she assumed, which made her smile. Then she frowned, finding on the counter most of the pumpkin pie alongside a half-full bottle of whiskey. Who had needed a drink, she wondered.
She took the stairs, hearing muffled voices behind the master bedroom door. Renee almost knocked, then refrained, not wishing to wake Eric. Slowly she pushed open the door; her husband stood at th
e foot of the bed. His head was bowed, and Renee shivered, for the room seemed cool. Then Sam faced her, but the light was behind him, and she couldn’t see his expression.
Renee came to Sam’s side, and he put his arm around her. Eric lay in the middle of the bed, sweating profusely. He was mumbling something, and Lynne lay at his side, kissing his face. Renee’s heart pounded, for something didn’t seem right. She tugged on Sam’s hand, and he followed her out of the room.
She led him to the end of the hallway, then spoke. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?”
“You might need to be up with him tonight.”
“Is he….” She blinked, but wanted to weep. “How is he?”
“I don’t know. But she’s, well, stronger than I ever thought. Lynne seems to think he’s gonna pull through. She’s why I made the soup, although he hasn’t eaten anything since you fell asleep.”
“Who had the whiskey?” Renee asked.
“I ran home for it. I needed something and….”
Sam’s voice cracked, and Renee hugged him tightly. “You give any to him?” she whispered.
“Tried to, but he can’t even drink water. Renee, I just don’t know if he’s gonna….”
She trembled, but not even Sam’s grasp could steady her. Then both of them turned, as Lynne cleared her throat. “Sam, Renee, can you come here?”
They ran down the hall, but Lynne stopped them at the bedroom door. “Bring me a slice of pie and two bowls of soup. Well, maybe just half a bowl for Eric. Then go home.” Lynne smiled, her voice kind. “I know Renee just woke up, but I need to be alone with Eric right now.”
“Lynne, he needs to be admitted into the hospital.” Renee stared at her friend. “He’s….”
Lynne nodded, then grasped Renee’s shaking hands. “I know that’s how it seems, but….”
Sam unclasped the woman’s grasp. “Renee, go get the soup. I’ll be right down.”
Renee glared at her husband. He might be good with emotional problems, but this was a physical ailment. Then Renee felt sick. Lynne looked like she sometimes had at work, when a patient was near death. Acceptance was etched along her brow and in deep lines framing her mouth. Renee nodded, for she couldn’t speak. Her feet were heavy going down the stairs.
She was grateful that Sam followed her, for she didn’t want to return up those steps. He delivered the tray, then came back into the kitchen. “Honey, let’s go.”
“Are you serious?” Her voice was raspy. “He’s gonna….”
“He’s in God’s hands. There’s nothing more we can do.”
Renee shook her head, then sighed. “Fine, fine! We’ll leave, and she’ll be here alone and….”
“And that’s how they want it.”
“Humph!” Renee jammed her hands into the pockets of her slacks. Then she stomped to where her coat and wraps waited, draped over a kitchen chair. She did allow Sam to help her into her jacket, but she hastily draped the scarf around her neck and didn’t bother with the gloves until she stepped outside, the temperature bitterly cold. “Do they have enough wood?” But her teeth chattered so badly that Sam had to ask her to repeat it.
She waited until they were in the car, which was frigid, but protected from the strong wind. “I said do they have enough wood, inside the house, I mean.”
He nodded, starting the car. Then he looked at her. “I brought in plenty. You never stirred.”
That puzzled her, then she shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense, none of this makes any sense Sam.” She stared at him. “You should be there. Just take me home and….”
“They have all they need Renee. We’ll hear from Lynne in the morning.”
“But, but….”
Sam squeezed her hand, then put the car into gear. Renee wept all the way home, tears in her eyes making Christmas lights a blurry mess.
Chapter 46
The Hawk: Part Three Page 6
