Benediction (5 page)

Thank you.

Just before two, without telling Mary what he was doing, Dad went out to his car and
drove across town to the hardware store and went in by the alley and left the door
unlocked and turned the lights on. He entered the little office and switched the light
on there and checked to see that the gun was in the drawer of the desk and then put
it back, then he heard the car and Clayton was coming in at the alley door. He sat
and waited, only it wasn’t Clayton who appeared. It was his wife, Tanya, the young
blond woman.

Where’s your husband? Dad said.

He isn’t coming. I’m here.

What are you doing here?

She stepped into the little close windowless office. She was wearing a long coat,
a man’s raincoat, a kind of slicker. She came around the end of the desk and stood
three feet away from Dad. Then she opened the coat. She was naked under it. A young
woman who had had two children in rapid succession and she showed it. Her belly was
round and slack and had white stretch marks. She had wide hips. Her large breasts
sagged a little. But she wasn’t bad-looking.

You can have all this, she said. You can have all this as often and regular as you
want it for an entire year. I know some special things too that might interest you.

If what, Dad said.

If you tear up that paper he signed last night and we all forget anything ever happened.

He looked at her face. Her face was quite pretty. She was watching him closely, her
eyes fierce and hard and scared, daring him. Waiting.

No, he said. No, I’m not interested. You’re going to take this wrong but I’m not going
to do anything like that. Your husband’s wrong as hell to get you into this.

I don’t care about that, she said.

You will.

She opened the front of the raincoat wider, as if she hadn’t offered herself sufficiently.
She changed her stance, pushing herself forward, displaying her body. She put a hand
on one hip, moving the skirt of the coat out of the way. She turned slightly to show
herself in profile. Do you see? she said. Are you looking?

Yes, he said. And I’m married and my wife is all I want and all I’ll ever want.

You’re not looking good enough, she said.

Yeah I am. I think you better go on now.

You’re going to regret this. You’re going to wish you could change your mind.

No. That’s not going to happen, Dad said. Now I want you to get out of here.

She pulled the coat together and looked at Dad sitting in the swivel chair at the
desk. Then the coat came open once more and her breasts swung and bobbled with the
violent motion and she slapped him as hard as she could across the face. It left a
bright red mark. Then she turned and went out of the office.

It snowed that night as Clayton had predicted the day before that it would. A wet
snow more like one in March or April than one in
February, and the next day Clayton and Tanya took the two children and some few quick
belongings in suitcases and cardboard boxes and drove a hundred miles south and moved
into a house with her parents.

In the spring a couple of months later on a slow day Dad received a call. He was in
the little office again, in the middle of the morning. The voice on the other end,
a female voice, was already screaming when he picked up the phone.

You son of a bitch! He killed himself! You son of a bitch.

Who is this?

You know who it is. He went to Denver and started drinking and took a gun and blew
half his head off. He never even left a note. Because of you. You did this. You’re
the one that made him. Oh I hope you rot in hell! Oh goddamn you! I hope you burn
in hellfire forever.

M
IDMORNING
she was out on the front porch in the still fresh bright heat of the day with the
old wooden-handled broom she kept for the porch and sidewalk, sweeping across the
gray-painted wood boards, some of them warped and coming apart at the joints. At the
front window she looked inside and Dad was sitting in his chair staring out into the
side yard. She wondered what he was thinking about. If he was thinking about how his
death would come for him, in what manner it would take him away. He never talked of
it. She swept up the dead tree leaves and the dirt that had blown in. There was always
dirt on the front porch, even in winter. She was glad of that, in a way. She was sweeping
it off onto the bare ground next to the cement foundation of the old house when Lorraine
came out and said she had a phone call.

I didn’t hear the phone.

It’s some woman asking for you.

Did she say who it was?

No. But I wish you’d let me do this, Mom. You don’t need to be sweeping out here.

Yes I do. I have to get outside. This gives me an excuse to be out here. She leaned
the broom against the house wall and Lorraine handed her the phone and went back inside.

Yes. This is Mary. She stood facing out across the street.

This is Doris Thomas calling. I saw Frank.

What did you say?

I saw Frank.

What do you mean?

At the airport in Denver. He was in the lines at security where they make you walk
back and forth between those straps and we kept passing each other and I knew right
away it was him. He was wearing a cap so I couldn’t see the top of his head but it
looked exactly like him. Like your husband used to look when he was that age.

What did you say to him?

I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t want to embarrass either one of us.

He was flying someplace?

Yes. I just thought you’d want to know.

When was this?

Two weeks ago. I was on my way to Seattle to be with my daughter. She had her baby.

Did he look okay?

Frank? Yes, I think he looked okay.

I mean, did my son look happy?

Oh. I wouldn’t be able to say about that.

She stood facing out across the fence and gate and the street to the empty lot on
the other side. Inside the fence the shade under the silver poplar trees was shifting
and moving on the grass. There were tears in her eyes now and she stayed for a long
time crying quietly and thinking. Then she wiped her face and went back into the house.
Lorraine was upstairs in her bedroom. At the foot of the stairs she called up to her.
Will you come down now?

Is something wrong?

I want to tell you and Dad at the same time.

What is it?

She turned and went into the living room. Dad was sleeping and she went over and put
her hand on his arm and held it there until he opened his eyes and looked up at her.
Are you awake, honey? she said.

I am now.

I want you to hear something.

Lorraine came into the room.

I want to tell you both something, Mary said. About a phone call I just got from Doris
Thomas. You remember her.

No. I don’t, Dad said.

Yes, you do. She had the daughter that moved out to Washington State. She and her
husband lived over on Detroit Street until he died.

Don Thomas.

That’s right.

He always talked a lot, said Dad.

Well, I don’t know about that.

They had a boy my age, Lorraine said. I never heard what became of him.

What about this phone call? Dad said.

Mary looked from her husband to her daughter. Doris said she saw Frank. At the airport
in Denver.

How could she see Frank?

That’s what she said. She said she saw him at the airport.

When?

Two weeks ago.

Why is she just calling now?

Because she was in Seattle seeing her daughter. Her daughter had her baby. She just
got back.

What did he look like? Dad said.

She said he looked like you when you were his age.

I doubt that.

That’s what she said.

I doubt it.

Dad, she said she saw him.

I don’t believe any of this for a minute. It isn’t possible.

But, honey, what if she did.

No. Frank’s gone off someplace far away. He’s not coming back here or anywhere near
here.

I don’t think she saw him either, Mom.

Oh why do you say that?

I don’t think she could have. I don’t think Frank would be flying anywhere.

Mary looked from one to the other, her eyes filling again with tears. Shame on you
both, she said. Shame on you.

She left the room and went out through the front hall to the porch and carried her
broom to the swing and sat down.

In the house Dad said, Go see about her, will you? She won’t talk to me now.

Lorraine went out to the porch. Can I sit with you, Mom?

No, I don’t want any company. I don’t want to speak to you or anybody else right now.

T
HE NURSE
from hospice was a small active woman with beautiful teeth and shiny hair. She came
into the living room on a sunny morning in her pink shirt and vest and blue jeans
and came over to Dad, walking slowly so as not to surprise him, and he turned from
the window to look at her. Lorraine brought her a chair and she sat down in front
of Dad and took his hands and examined them, inspecting his fingernails, and smiled
and he looked at her soberly, not smiling but not frowning as he sometimes did. She
said, Mr. Lewis, how are you this morning?

About the same.

You’re out of bed and in your chair. You still feel well enough to sit up.

Yeah.

What did you have for breakfast? Did you eat breakfast?

I ate something.

What did you have?

He looked at Mary who was standing behind the nurse with Lorraine.

You had your oatmeal, she said.

I had some oatmeal, Dad said.

He didn’t eat very much of it. He didn’t want his toast.

I’m tired.

Yes, the nurse said. You eat whatever you want to.

She thinks I need to eat.

Of course. Because she cares about you.

I’m not hungry anymore.

I know. That’s what happens. We get like that. Did you have a shower today?

No, he said. Later maybe.

All right.

We’ll see. I don’t know if I will.

Do you mind if I check your breathing and pulse?

If that’s what you want to do.

I do.

She took his temperature and his pulse and put the clothespin-like oximeter on his
finger to gauge the oxygen level.

What is it today? Mary said.

It’s ninety-two. Still satisfactory.

Can I listen to your heart and your breathing now, Mr. Lewis?

She took the stethoscope out of her bag and he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled up
the undershirt. His chest was white and bony and almost hairless, the ribs jutted
out. She bent forward and listened to his heart and his chest and his stomach.

You sound all right for today. Do you feel okay?

Well. I know I don’t have long. If that’s what you mean. But I don’t feel too bad.

Are you in any pain today?

Some.

A lot of pain?

There’s some pain. Yeah.

Honey, you don’t tell us that, Mary said. I wish you would say something.

He looked at his wife and then turned and stared out the window.

He can take the Roxanol too, the nurse said. Along with the MS Contin.

How often can he take it? Lorraine said.

Whenever he wants, the nurse said. It won’t hurt him. Every fifteen minutes if he
needs it. Mr. Lewis, will you listen to me? she said.

Slowly he turned back around. His eyes were flinty now.

When you’re in pain you need to tell your wife or your daughter. They can give you
something that will help right away.

I don’t plan on getting addicted, he said.

You won’t.

It’s morphine, isn’t it?

Yes. It’s a form of morphine. But it won’t matter.

He studied her face. Because I won’t last that long. That’s what you’re talking about.
Not long enough to get addicted.

That’s right. But it’ll give you immediate relief. I’ve told them about it and they
can help you take it.

He looked at her and then he began to rebutton the front of his shirt, fumbling with
the buttons. The nurse took his hands again.

What are you going to do today?

Today?

Yes.

Not much.

What are you thinking about? Will you tell me?

I was thinking I’d like some peace, he said. He withdrew his hands and turned and
peered out the window once more.

Well, you seem to be doing pretty well here. I’ll come again next week. Is that okay?

He was looking at the side yard and at the tree and the shade on the grass. There
was less shade now, the sun had moved higher in the sky. That’ll be fine, he said.
Thank you for coming.

The nurse took her bag and equipment and rose from the chair. Do you need any more
of any of the pills?

No, Mary said. Do we, Lorraine?

I don’t think so.

The women went out to the sidewalk in front of the house and stood talking quietly.
Does he seem worse to you? Mary said.

He’s still getting out of bed and he’s sitting up. He’s still fairly responsive to
questions when you ask him something.

When he wants to be, Mary said.

He’s sleeping more now, Lorraine said.

He’ll probably begin to sleep even more. You understand he can have Roxanol throughout
the day.

And it won’t hurt him.

No. You have the journal I’ve left, with my phone numbers on it, and you know what
to do when things change. And you have that little blue book I gave you to read. You
can call me anytime, night or day.

Thank you.

You’re doing a wonderful job taking care of him. I want you to know that. He’s lucky
to have you.

I don’t want my husband to suffer.

Lorraine put her arm around her mother. The nurse said good-bye and they watched her
go on to the car.

W
HEN
L
YLE
heard something and looked up they were standing in the doorway watching him. He
was seated at his desk in his office at the rear of the church with the shelves of
books behind him and the framed print of Sallman’s
Head of Christ
hung on the wall together with the picture of Christ knocking at the door wearing
the crown of thorns, lifting aloft a lantern. They were a young couple, the boy maybe
twenty-one or twenty-two; the woman looked to be older. He was a big strong tall boy
wearing new jeans and brown boots and a suede vest over his white shirt and holding
a good Stetson hat in his hand, and the girl, the young woman, was dressed in a short
white sleeveless dress with a silver belt and she had on white high-heeled shoes.
Can I help you? said Lyle.