Two weeks had passed since the Snyders’ departure and for Sam Ahern those fourteen days had felt like the slowest in over a decade. Time dragged whether he cooked, counseled vets, or visited Frannie, and it seemed to go most slowly in the evenings when he and Renee found themselves alone with very little to say to one another.
Only when Sam drove to the Snyders’ to check the mail did time seem to fly, or at least it seemed normal. Maybe it was that at Eric and Lynne’s, there was little for Sam to do; he collected the mail, of which there was more than Sam had imagined. Most of the letters were from Europe; Sam was stunned that every day a stack was stuffed into their box. He had no idea the level of appreciation for Eric’s paintings, and it was one of the few things providing conversation with his wife. Each night Renee asked how much mail had arrived that day, for she too was just as shocked. And every evening Sam remarked that yes, the Snyders’ post box was again full, making both Sam and his wife smile.
The Snyders’ dining table was piled high with correspondence, the plants were watered, but no bills had arrived for Sam to pay on Eric’s behalf. Tulips were blooming, which Sam denoted to Eric in a brief letter, but other than that, little remained for Sam to report. He wouldn’t tell Eric how much post waited; he wanted to surprise that man with the abundant correspondence. He also wouldn’t burden Eric with how empty Sam’s life now seemed. That emptiness wasn’t solely due to the Snyders’ absence. It was a daily realization on Sam’s part to how his earlier stubbornness had caused a marital rift that had changed the entire tenor of Sam’s existence.
Even when Eric, Lynne, and Jane returned, time for Sam would never again flow properly. Sam didn’t consider how time might move while posing for Eric, because in having made that decision, he’d hoped to resuscitate a part of his marriage. And while that action had appeased Renee to some degree, she remained adamant about not wanting to adopt, nor did she speak of visiting the Snyders when they returned. She had accompanied Sam to the Canfields after church yesterday, spending much of that Easter Sunday speaking with Fran, occasionally giving the older children her attention. And Sam had been grateful for those brief moments, for instead of chastising Sally, Will, and Jaime, Renee had been kind. Not quite her old self, Sam had noticed, nor did she interact with the younger Canfields. Sam took that task, playing Chutes and Ladders with Denise, Brad, and Johnny, or reading to Helene. She’d sat on his lap and while she was much bigger and more animated than Jane, those moments had relieved a part of Sam’s heart that for years and years he had resolutely denied needed any attention whatsoever.
Sitting in his quiet kitchen, a pot of stew simmering on the stove, Sam felt his chest muscle ache. That morning Renee had commented how quickly the year was passing, what with Easter now over. He’d wanted to agree, for in a way she was right. Spring’s healing touch was clearly visible all over town, trees leafing out, flowers bright in gardens. The longest winter in his life was effectively over, yet why did minutes feel like hours, the last two weeks some strange set of month-long days each. This was worse than when Sam was in Korea, wondering not only if he would ever get home again, but why in the world had he enlisted? Why purposely put distance between himself and Renee and….
Then Sam wanted to pound the table; when he got home, he then set the largest amount of space he could find between them, leaving it to fester there. And now the result of that erroneous action made him ache not only within his ribcage, but all over. His legs hurt, his head tingled, he felt feverish. He scoffed, sipped his luke-warm coffee, then stood to refill the cup. But as he stood, Sam grew dizzy and had to grip the table to remain on his feet. He sat down again, assuming he’d either stood too soon or maybe the caffeine was too much. He’d grown used to drinking decaf with Eric and Lynne, but Sam hadn’t been around them in two weeks. Lynne had sent an Easter card, which Renee had glanced at, but otherwise hadn’t acknowledged. Sam had set the card on the mantle with others from family. What had the Snyders done yesterday, Sam wondered.
He thought about getting up again to look over Lynne’s brief note, written on the back of the card. Maybe she had shared their plans, but as Sam went to stand, his knees buckled. Immediately he retook his chair, breaking out in a sweat. He’d felt fine that morning, well actually he’d noticed the room spinning right when he woke. But he’d dismissed that, and some slight nausea right after he ate breakfast. But now he truly felt sick, maybe one of the Canfield kids had given him a bug. Sam considered calling Frannie to ask, but instead he remained in his seat, not certain he was well enough to walk to the phone, much less make the call.
Was this some adverse reaction to time moving like a turtle, he suddenly wondered. Or was this what he deserved after so many years of ignoring his wife’s desires. As that thought wafted through his mind, he didn’t simply discard it as he usually did. Sam wasn’t depressed, not like Renee had been, or maybe still was. But Sam did feel culpable, which while not the same as depression wasn’t a positive sensation. Yet, there was nothing he could do to change Renee’s mind. Her heart was stony in regards to children, or at least kids for them, or maybe youngsters in general. That made Sam’s stomach ache, but it was the truth. She hadn’t paid a whit of attention to the four youngest Canfields, she couldn’t bear to see her Lutheran goddaughter. If she still worked at the hospital, would she even be able to assist in the maternity ward? Years ago Renee had remarked that she never minded being called into the labor ward, but that Lynne only went if absolutely necessary. At the time, Sam hadn’t done more than nod at Renee’s statement, but now he pondered it, amid an increasing headache and nagging queasiness.
Finally Sam had to close his eyes, putting aside his wife, Lynne, and kids. A terrible sickness was assaulting him and he wondered if he could manage to reach his bed. From where had this bug arrived and so quickly? He managed one wry smile, that for how slowly time had seemed to be going, now it felt like an oncoming train, or maybe the wreck had already occurred. Opening his eyes, Sam blinked, everything in his vision doubled. He had never felt this ill, well, not for a while. If nothing else, he’d never been so violently attacked by what was now dogging his heels. Could he walk to bed or would he have to crawl? Sam stood, again grasping the table, unsure how he would reach his bedroom. If he could get to the sofa, perhaps that would be good enough. He turned around, leaving one hand on the table. With the other, he reached for the kitchen doorway. By outstretched fingertips he gripped the doorframe, then took halting steps, breathing deeply but still feeling miserable. He could see the couch, merely feet away, yet it seemed like a mile separated him from where he could lay down.
As if a battlefield loomed in the distance, Sam Ahern took stock; the sofa was about ten feet from where he stood. Bile was creeping up his throat, but if he was horizontal, he might not throw up on the carpet. Yet his head ached so badly, maybe he should try for the bathroom. He glanced that way, but even the hallway seemed too far to go. The sofa, he just needed to lie down for a bit.
After several minutes, he staggered from the kitchen doorway, across half of the living room, falling into the couch with a loud plop. He wanted to vomit, his knees knocked, and his head pounded. With all his remaining strength, Sam swung his legs onto the sofa, grabbed a knitted afghan Lynne had made them years ago, then did his best to cover himself with that blanket. Then he closed his eyes, praying for release from this suffering, whether it be sleep or death. At that point, Sam didn’t care which option God had planned.
When Sam stirred, he was in his own bed, under blankets, a cool rag on his forehead. Renee was sitting beside him, her eyes wide and opaque. Sam closed his, then reopened them. Renee’s face was streaked with tears and his first thought was had someone died? Then he tried to speak, but another round of nausea stilled his voice. Maybe he was near death, but if so, at least his head would stop throbbing.
“Oh Sam, oh honey!” Renee’s tone was soft, but the words were said with force. She leaned over, kissing his forehead, but her lips felt cool. Then Sam rea
lized how warm he was, maybe it was all the blankets. He wanted to ask, but again felt too poorly to talk.
“Sam, listen to me. You’re about as sick as Eric was on Christmas. I’ve got half a mind to call Ted and have him help me get you to the hospital. Sam, do you hear me?”
He nodded, which took great effort. He also wanted to shake his head about going to the hospital, but when he tried, he just couldn’t manage it. Did he have some strange flu and if so, how were Fran, Louie, and the kids? Sam had spent time around each one and the last thing he wanted was for one of them to be so afflicted.
He wanted to say all of that to Renee, but couldn’t. Instead he stared at her, wondering if they still shared a deep enough of a bond that maybe she could sense those queries. Her eyes were so white, he’d never seen her look so frightened. Then he was surprised she hadn’t already taken him to the hospital. But perhaps like Lynne had been entreated with Eric, Renee had been asked to wait, or maybe Sam was going to kick the bucket here and now.
So many symptoms hit him, Sam wouldn’t be shocked if this was it. Yet, Renee hadn’t called St. Anne’s. Neither priest stood at Sam’s bedside to offer last rites; maybe it wasn’t yet Sam’s time. He pondered that for a few seconds, then a raspy chuckle escaped his lips. God wasn’t going to take Sam Ahern home until he posed for Eric Snyder.
Maybe that sacrifice hadn’t moved Renee to reconsider adoption, but Sam had made that pledge, and it seemed God was going to hold him to it. Sam smiled, although he still felt awful. “Don’t take me to the hospital Renee. I’m gonna be all right.”
“What? Oh Sam, oh dear lord!” Renee began to cry, kissing his hand, then his face. Her lips were still cool, but her tears were warm. Sam wanted to cry as well; she still loved him, what she had said over the last several weeks, but Sam hadn’t realized his doubts. But she did, regardless of how she felt about other subjects, and Sam inwardly thanked God for that fact.
“I’ll be okay honey.” Sam didn’t think to say that was tempting God. Then he wondered if Eric had spoken to Lynne when he’d been near death. Had Sam been that ill, he wasn’t sure. But he knew, without reservation, that this ailment wasn’t fatal. And the last place he wanted to be was in the sterile confines of Renee’s former workplace. “If you need to call Ted or Henry for an extra hand, that’s fine. But I want you to take care of me, if you can.” Did she have any time off accrued yet, Sam wondered. She had only been at Dr. Howard’s practice a few months.
“I’ve already called, I’m off the rest of the week. I’ve been home most of the afternoon, just had a feeling something was up. Vivian told me to take as much time as I needed.” Renee wiped her face, but her tone was still tearful. “I might call Ted to come pray for you in person. Well, I’m gonna have to tell your parents.” Renee sighed. “By this time tomorrow, there’ll be more family here than we can shake a stick at.”
Slight brassiness edged her worried voice, which alleviated a little of Sam’s headache. He wanted to smile, but felt too lousy. Instead he nodded, but that made him more nauseous. Yet, he would recover. That did stir his grin. “Don’t forget to send someone to Eric and Lynne’s. For the mail,” Sam added.
Renee nodded. “Oh of course. Ted or Henry can do that and just bring the mail back here.”
“Yeah, not much room left on their table anyways.”
Renee patted Sam’s hand, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Actually, I’ll go call Ted now, see if he’s busy. Maybe he can stop there on the way and….”
Sam nodded again, then weakly gripped his wife’s hand. “Call Frannie too, see if the kids are all okay.”
Renee grasped her husband’s hand with force. “Already did that, she said they’re fine. I also told her to pray for you. My goodness Sam, you scared the life outta me!”
He smiled, hearing that depth of fear. For how terrible he felt, one glimmer of hope coursed through him; Renee did love him. Then he shivered, wondering why he’d carried that subconscious doubt. The last year of their marriage had been fraught with so much tension, anger, and bitter disappointment; they had even weathered a brief separation. Just that morning he had been unsure about their future, but now, those considerations felt like how Sam had pondered going home while squatting in a Korean foxhole. At times why did reality seem so fleeting? Then his heart throbbed; last Thanksgiving he and Renee had been so close to making a family. They had been at his parents’ house, along with all of his siblings and their broods, which included the Canfields. It had been the first time in years that Sam and Renee had celebrated that holiday with either of their clans; Sam had been roasting his own turkey, usually for Eric and Lynne, for ages. But last year had been different and now this year wasn’t what he’d expected, except that his wife still loved and needed him.
Sam knew that not only from her tremulous voice, but now in how hard she wept, leaning over him, her red hair splayed out on the blanket like a raging fire. Sam patted her head, although it took great effort. Had they stopped going to family gatherings because he hadn’t wanted kids, Sam mused, as Renee kept crying. Would they go this year, he wondered? Then he inhaled deeply, still feeling horrible but alive. He was alive and Renee loved him and he had a date with a certain painter to keep. Sam might not get back to Eric’s to check the mail, but when Eric returned, Sam had a task waiting. Ted or Henry could water Lynne’s plants. Sam would stay home and let his wife look after him.
Chapter 101
The Hawk: Part Six Page 3
