While three children played in the Snyder living room, Lynne watched John Kennedy’s funeral procession with Renee on one side, Laurie on her other. Sam was in and out, fixing soup and praying when not watching TV. Those prayers encompassed his family and nation, the Kennedys, and one man over whom Sam felt an inordinate amount of dread alternating with formidable peace.
Those opposing waves were similar to sensations Sam recalled while in Korea, in the midst of fierce battles where he wondered if he would survive, then marvel at that very miracle. He didn’t delve too deeply about how those sentiments related to Eric, although he knew his friend was the basis for those feelings. Yet they could also be applied to what Sam glimpsed on television as a family and country tried to comprehend a magnitude of loss. Sam was struck by how formal were the proceedings, yet also graceful, from the riderless horse to Mrs. Kennedy flanked by her brothers-in-law, to two youngsters in blue coats standing out amid a sea of black. When young John Kennedy saluted his father’s coffin, Sam stared at his son, Paul happily chatting to Jane, who seemed to understand all Paul said. Sam strained to listen, but Paul’s voice was muffled, yet it was cheery as though nothing being broadcast could possibly be true. Then Sam met his wife’s eyes, tears falling down Renee’s cheeks, also tumbling down Lynne’s and Laurie’s. Sam wondered where Stanford was, hopefully with his father. Sam gazed across the room to the French doors, where one clear pane stood out from the rest. Please let Eric come home today, Sam prayed inwardly.
By noon, the television was turned off, all gathered in the kitchen for lunch. Sam had briefly spoken to his parents, his father’s voice shaky. Joe asked if Sam, Renee, and the children would like to join them for dinner, but Sam declined, in part that Renee had turned down a similar offer from her folks, and that after lunch, Sam wanted to take his family home. Lynne looked exhausted, but Laurie would look after her, for which Sam was exceedingly grateful. He didn’t like thinking about the New Yorkers’ separation, but at least Lynne and Jane were benefitting. Then Sam sighed, for later Marek would join this group, but that too was good, for Marek shouldn’t be alone, and if Eric came home today…. Since Friday, Sam had been too overwhelmed to count the days, but the number popped in his head. Ten days ago Seth had left the hospital, Eric finally on his way westward. Weather along the Bible Belt had been relatively mild, it truly was only a matter of….
Renee patted Sam’s shoulder, her cheeks still splotchy, her eyes bloodshot. Laurie had played hide and seek with the children while the ladies stepped into the sunroom, having had a good cry. Sam had heard their soft sobs over Paul and Ann’s shouts and Jane’s giggles, making him wonder about the acoustics within this home as well as his developing paternal intellect. Before Friday, Renee had joked that she was waiting for the eyes in the back of her head to emerge, while Sam felt his hearing had improved, for he discerned the children’s murmurs where before no sound had swirled. The last four days had cast a pall over those considerations, but perhaps after Thanksgiving, and once Eric was home, Sam wouldn’t be so distracted. He kissed his wife’s forehead, then stroked her cheek, which felt soft and slightly damp. Sam ached for Eric’s absence, but he had Renee, two children, and good friends with whom to break bread.
Sam said a brief grace, then lunch was served, the children chatty while Lynne and Renee said little. Laurie seemed to have bonded with Paul and Ann; he was Uncle Laurie, and Paul peppered him with questions about New York and the rest of Laurie’s sisters. Sam didn’t mind that small fib and Laurie was animated, which balanced the quiet proffered by the women. Then Paul coughed, staring at Laurie. “Where’s your wife?”
“I’m not married,” Laurie smiled.
“Oh.” Paul thoughtfully ate a bite of soup. He gazed at Sam, as if seeking approval to inquire further. Sam coughed, then gazed at Laurie, who nodded first at Sam, then at Paul.
The little boy smiled shyly. “How long are you gonna stay here?”
“Until Eric comes back. Maybe until I’m an uncle again.” Laurie was seated beside Lynne, and he gave her a one-armed hug. “Is that okay with you?”
Paul nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh yeah. You’re nice.” Paul drank his milk, then gave Laurie a sharp stare. “Are you ever gonna get married?”
“I don’t think so. But I am thinking about looking for a little house out here. Winters in New York are pretty cold, and the summers are pretty hot. I have a lot of family in this town, not a bad place to settle down.”
Laurie’s tone was light, but Sam was stricken by his message, which didn’t sound at all glib. Paul and Ann were delighted by the news and Jane laughed from the conversation’s overall tenor. Then Sam looked at Lynne, who now leaned against Laurie’s shoulder. A few tears rolled down her face, then Laurie kissed the side of her head. They didn’t look at all like siblings, then Sam ruffled Paul’s hair as Renee urged Ann to finish her sandwich. No one would guess these children weren’t the Aherns’ biological offspring, then Sam found himself staring into Jane’s wide eyes. He smiled at her, then peered around the room as if seeking one more. Yet Eric’s whereabouts remained a mystery.
Cookies were served for dessert, but only the children enjoyed them. Lynne apologized for not having baked, but Renee said pie would be a treat on Thursday. Sam wasn’t sure how Thanksgiving would go, regardless of Eric’s condition. But he kept that to himself as Renee gathered the children’s coats. Laurie toted Jane, standing beside Lynne in the kitchen as goodbyes were said. Sam and Laurie merely exchanged glances. Sam could see the same unspoken worry festering in Laurie’s green eyes.
Once at home, Ann took a nap while Paul and Renee worked on a child’s puzzle in the living room. Sam had taken pork chops from the freezer and he stood near the counter, watching condensation form along the packaging, Renee and Paul’s harmonious voices in the background. Sam wondered what Jackie Kennedy and her children were doing that evening; it was John’s third birthday, newscasters had pointed out, and Caroline would be six on Wednesday. Sam doubted that Paul would remember much of this weekend, Ann and Jane carrying no recollections he was certain. John Junior would probably be spared, but the late president’s daughter might think back to her childhood, noting the demarcation. That day’s events were so stark, then coupled with the eventual move from the White House, how could that little girl not realize the change?
Yet, youth would lessen the trauma, although her father would always be dead. Sam shivered with that notion, then grasped the counter’s edge, keeping himself upright. Rare were the times he considered the worst occurring, and even if it did, Lynne would never have full closure. They would always be wondering, hoping, praying…. Would Laurie actually move west, Sam mused. Much of that depended on when and if Stanford came round, which of course hinged on Eric’s return. And strangely, the longer Eric was gone, the more credence would fall to Laurie’s assertion. Sam trembled, then stood upright, gazing at water droplets along the cellophane. Each passing moment led to another; here it was, Monday evening, after one of the most dismal weekends in Sam’s memory. Yet tomorrow Paul would go to school, Sam was scheduled for time at the VA hospital. Thursday would be another interruption, then it would be nearly December. Eric had been gone for coming on five months. How much longer was he supposed to be away?
The phone rang and Sam jumped, then smiled. “Hello?” he answered.
“Hi Sam, it’s Brenda. Is Renee busy?”
Quietly Sam sighed. “Uh, just a minute.” He poked his head around the side of the doorway, meeting Renee’s gaze. “It’s Brenda,” he said softly.
Renee nodded, telling Paul she had to take the phone call. Then she stood, stepping into the kitchen. Sam handed her the receiver, then went to take her place in the living room. He tried to ascertain the mood of the conversation, but Renee spoke softly when she did any talking. Sam wondered if Brenda had needed to vent, sometimes she called Renee just for that purpose. It was as if both sets of their siblings and in-laws still thought of them as before, with unlimited free time o
n their hands. Yet, Ann remained asleep and Paul was happy for Sam’s attention. Sam focused on his son. Later that night, Renee would share what she felt was appropriate.
It didn’t take long, for as soon as Renee was off the phone, she turned on the television, then gave Sam a look. He stood, telling Paul he’d be right back. Paul nodded, then sat cross legged a few feet away from the TV. Sam followed Renee into their bedroom, where she closed their door most of the way. “What?” Sam said.
“I might need to go over to the folks’ later, seems Ritchie got really drunk watching the funeral. Mom called Brenda, I think she was hoping Brenda might talk to him, but he’s in no shape to listen to anyone. Brenda was just giving me a heads-up. She sounds even more convinced she wants a….”
Divorce popped into Sam’s head and he nodded as though giving his support. “Well, I don’t know how much more she’s supposed to take, not that he’s living with her, but….” Then Sam frowned. How much more could Marie and Gene handle was another question. “Whatever you need to do honey. We’ll be fine here.”
Sam didn’t worry about caring for the kids alone. Renee wouldn’t leave until after the children were in pajamas, and honestly, Sam didn’t expect Renee’s parents to call unless Ritchie required a nurse. After that day’s events, families needed to end their evenings peacefully, and Ritchie would probably sleep off his bender. Tomorrow was another matter, but if Renee was needed at the Nolan home, she could take Ann to either Frannie or Lynne’s. Sam could collect Paul from school, and while he’d need to excuse Renee’s absence, Paul was young enough not to question vigorously.
He had taken Laurie’s explanations without further inquiry, although at the time, Sam had squirmed, yet not merely for Paul’s inquisitive nature. But what was worse, covering for an alcoholic or fibbing about…. Sam thought Brenda’s situation was more embarrassing, and that was why Sam felt they wouldn’t get a call from Marie that evening. Not that Ritchie’s problem was his parents’ fault, but it wasn’t anything the Nolans would wish to publicize.
Renee nodded like she understood all Sam had considered. “Well, I just wanted to tell you what’s going on.” Then she shook her head. “For a second I thought Brenda was gonna say she’d decided to take him back. I gotta wonder how much this weekend might have made her think twice, but if he’s drunk again today….” Renee sighed, then sought Sam’s embrace. He wrapped her close, having briefly pondered the same. Yet Brenda was doing the right thing, at least Sam saw it that way. She couldn’t keep waiting for Ritchie to….
Sam’s heart raced. How long had Renee held out hope for a family, how long might Lynne wait for Eric? How long had Eric waited for Sam to…. Josh’s voice rang in Sam’s ears, but living with a drunk wasn’t good for Brenda and her children. “I love you honey,” Sam whispered. “We’ll just see what happens.”
Renee sniffled, then pulled away, stroking Sam’s face. “We should check on Paul. My goodness, too much drama for me.”
Sam nodded in complete agreement, yet one loose end remained. Sam prayed for Eric, then led Renee back into the living room. Paul smiled at them, then patted the carpet. Sam motioned to the sofa and the boy scrambled to where his parents sat, snuggling between them.
In Texas, Luke had spent much of the day running between the shed and the house, wondering if that man was going to die on their property. Tilda, Esther, and Gail had been forbidden to approach the shed, but a few times Luke had seen Tilda and Esther peeking around the front of the house, their eyes wide, mouths open. The man had been in terrible pain until after lunch, then had spent much of the afternoon sleeping, although sometimes he cried out, making Luke’s flesh crawl. The sounds weren’t altogether human, and now as evening approached, again the man was making noise. Luke’s father had taken care of him for most of the day, while Luke’s mother spent time in the bathroom, often throwing up. Luke wondered what was making his mother unwell, for the man still smelled badly, and while Luke hadn’t gotten another look at him, the memory from last night was fresh in his mind. The upper right side of the man’s body had sloped downwards, like he had no right arm. But Walt hadn’t mentioned anything so gruesome, only telling Luke to keep an eye on his sisters and to let Walt know how Dora was doing.
Now Luke wondered if his mama was having another baby, for how concerned his daddy was about her and how sick she was. Tilda didn’t seem to have made the connection, which pleased Luke, for she acted like she knew everything. He wasn’t sure if Tilda was aware of the two lost babies, then Luke shuddered. Taking care of a sick man was the last thing his mama needed, and tomorrow it would all fall on her, for Luke and Tilda would go to school, their father to work. Luke stood on the porch, inhaling the cool night and a large responsibility. Even if the man died, the Richardsons would carry the knowledge of his brief stay, maybe as meaningful as thinking to what had happened last Friday. Then Luke gripped himself. The man in the shed was even more striking, for Luke had never met President Kennedy, he was just a picture in the paper or on television. Luke would never forget how the man smelled, like he was a woodland creature, or the terrible sounds he made, like his body was being ripped apart. Then Luke trembled. Those sounds were similar to ones made by his mother when she lost the baby between Esther and Gail.
Luke clearly recalled when that had happened, and he’d overheard his parents talk about the other child they lost, between him and Tilda. Luke tightly shut his eyes, then prayed that if his mother was pregnant again, this baby would be all right. If God had to take someone, then take that strange man in the shed. Luke felt no shame in that request, for that man was hurt so badly, he shouldn’t continue to suffer. It would be like putting down a mad dog, Luke surmised. Sometimes that was just what happened.
Opening his eyes, now the sky was black, a few stars twinkling overhead. Luke stepped off the porch, then looked toward the shed, where light shone through cracks in the walls and under the closed door. Luke could hear the television, his sisters’ chatter, but his mother was quiet in the kitchen, other than the sound of dishwater sloshing in the tub. Luke had offered to help, but she had gently shooed him away, probably keeping him free if his father called for assistance. But Walt hadn’t stepped foot from the shed since before supper was eaten. And he hadn’t joined his family for that meal, taking his plate to the shed. Luke wondered if the man had eaten anything; he hadn’t made much noise lately, perhaps he was dead. Luke tiptoed along a worn path that felt cool under his feet. He rarely wore shoes, especially since he’d been growing so fast over the last year. Plus in his bare feet, Luke’s steps wouldn’t be detected; he wanted to know if that man was dead or still living.
He reached the shed, could hear his father murmur something, which made Luke sigh; the man must be alive. Then a wave of guilt washed over the boy; he hadn’t wanted the hawk to die, but this man’s life wasn’t anything so majestic or beautiful. From where had this man come, Luke then wondered. Who would have shot him, then left him to die near the lake; not Hiram, Luke decided. Hiram could be mean, but he wasn’t that cruel. No one in Karnack possessed that sort of heartlessness, well, Hiram’s father was a bad man, but Luke couldn’t equate beating one’s son with murder. For, if the man died, that would be why, just like President Kennedy. Someone had shot him, then left him for dead.
“My God,” Walt said, making Luke jump. “What’n the hell?” Walt added. Luke inhaled, then exhaled, wishing to ask if his father needed help. Luke tried to peer through a large crack in the shed wall, but all he could see was what looked like his father leaning over the figure in the bed.
“Holy Jesus!” Walt stood, then shook his head. Then he turned around and stared at where Luke stood. Luke shivered, for it seemed as if his father could see through the crack, finding Luke’s eyes, beseeching him to step into the shed. But Luke was afraid; he’d never seen a dead man, only roadkill. Now suddenly he didn’t want this stranger to die, especially not in their shed. It would be bad luck, Luke felt, and certainly not good for his mother.
>
“Luke, you there?”
Luke nodded, then realized he needed to answer his father. “Yes Daddy.”
“Come in here son.”
Taking a deep breath, Luke let it out as he blinked, then opened the shed door. Walt stood a foot from the bed, but the distance loomed large to the boy, like his father was on the other side of the Red Sea. Luke moved in that direction, not sure how his feet were being propelled other than by a divine hand, the same way God had held back the waters while Moses led the Hebrews from Egypt. Luke had paid special attention a few weeks back when their pastor told that story. Then it had been the Egyptians’ destruction to catch Luke’s attention, but now he imagined how the Hebrews had felt, water raging at their sides, but an amazing power had kept it from drowning them.
As Luke reached his father, Walt grabbed him, holding him close. Luke was grateful for that hug, pressing his face close to his dad, who now smelled like the man, although alcohol was strong, both in what came from their bathroom as well as whiskey, the origin of which Luke had no idea. But he understood what it was for, to numb the man’s pain. “Is he dead Daddy?” Luke whispered.
“No, in fact, look here.” Walt pulled back the blanket, releasing a foul odor into the air. That scent was then overwhelmed with a more pungent aroma which was new to Luke, a mixture of mop water the school custodian used alongside something that might be what heaven smelled like. Luke would keep that part to himself, but he stared first at his father, seeing Walt’s small smile. Then Luke gazed at the man; his shoulder was still badly wounded, but now he had a shoulder. Luke trembled, then again sought his father’s gaze.
“But Daddy, last night he looked different.”
“I know. Don’t ask me how, but sometime during the afternoon it healed.” Walt sighed, but not in sadness. “I checked him after lunch, thought we’d lose him by suppertime. But I just looked now and by God, I just can’t say what’ll happen next.”
“Daddy, did he have an arm last night?”
“Yeah, just hanging by a thread.” Walt cleared his throat, then knelt beside his son. “I gotta work tomorrow. I’ll come home at lunch to check on him. When you get home from school, I want you to keep an eye on him. Don’t let Tilda in here, you understand?”
Luke nodded. “Will Mama, can she….”
Walt blinked, then gazed at the man. “We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, go tell your mother to come out here. Take my plate with you.”
Luke noticed that Walt’s dish was empty. “Did he eat anything?”
“No, but that’s all right. He’s had some water, right now that’s enough. Go on and don’t forget to send your mother out here.”
“Yes Daddy.” Luke walked to the table, gathering the plate and fork. Then he gazed back at his father, who sat on a low stool next to the man. “Daddy, will I see you before bedtime?”
Walt nodded, but kept his back to his son. “Go on now Luke.”
“Yes sir.” Luke left the shed, but heard moans behind him. Then a loud groan resonated through the air. How had that man’s shoulder gotten better, Luke wondered, reaching the porch. He took the steps, seeing Tilda waiting behind the screen door.
“Is he dead?” she whispered, opening the door for her brother.
“No, in fact….” Luke whispered the changes, making Tilda’s eyes grow wide. “But Daddy says you have to stay back,” Luke added. “Not sure what’ll happen tomorrow.”
As Tilda nodded, Luke looked for their mother. “Where’s Mama? Daddy wants to see her.”
“She’s putting Gail to bed.”
Luke nodded, then walked to the sink, where he put his father’s dish and fork. Then he turned around, seeing his mother approach. Her face was pale and he sucked in his breath. She was having another baby, he was sure of it.
“Daddy wants to see you,” Luke said softly. “The man’s shoulder’s better,” he added.
She nodded, then took a deep breath. “Gail’s sleeping, so you kids be quiet.” Dora stroked Tilda’s hair, then ruffled Luke’s. She kissed the top of his head, then walked from the house. Luke stared at his feet until he could tell she had left the porch. Then he grabbed Tilda’s hand, leading her to the sofa where Esther sat, watching television.
Chapter 162
The Hawk: Part Nine Page 5
