Conceived Without Sin (48 page)

"Well!" Mark said, looking at his watch. "It's getting late."

After pleasantries, the gathering broke up quickly.

+  +  +

Bill drove off. Mark and Maggie closed the door. Ellie, Buzz, and Sam stood next to their cars in the driveway.

"Before we go home, let's go for a walk," she suggested. "I love the cold air."

Neither man detected her white lie at the tail end.

"Sounds good to me," Buzz said
through white puffs with feigned enthusiasm.
Anything to relieve this dark cloud!

She stood between them and took their arms.

"My big guys," she said happily as they walked up the sidewalk on the side street in Rocky River. It was past eleven and there were no cars on the road.

The suburbs always sleep.

"Buzz," she began after a few minutes. "How bad is it?"

"Real bad," he told her. "I know you
guys are trying to cheer me up. I love you for it. But nothing seems to work."

"Can't you see a doctor?" Sam asked.

"I tried that once. The drugs made me crazy. I suspect because I'm half crazy already. I get manic. I would lose my job, or worse, run over some kid. Driving a UPS truck is not a responsibility to take lightly.

"Plus there's the other thing," he finished, leading them.

"What?" Ellie
asked.

"I'm an alcoholic. I have an addictive personality. I don't want to go near drugs. Just the thought of taking drugs makes my skin crawl. Caffeine and nicotine are about all I can handle."

"So where does that leave us?" Sam asked.

"Us?"

"Yes, us. We're in this together. I don't mean this to sound like a rebuke, but you haven't been answering your phone."

But it did sound like a rebuke to
Buzz. He couldn't help it.
Sure, but you're married now,
a dark voice prompted Buzz.

"You guys can't solve my problems for me. I appreciate the concern, but even if I moved into your living room, I would still feel lousy."

"Have you been going to Mass? That always makes you feel better, doesn't it?" Sam asked.

Here's one for you: my husband the agnostic asking Buzz to go to Mass,
Ellie thought.

Buzz laughed darkly. "I mean to go. I miss it in the morning, and then, well, I miss it after work if I get home late. My manager is really loading up my routes. It's official, now. He wants me out. He told me the other day after the morning meeting. He took me aside, and said, 'I don't care what the union does. You're not performing. I'll get you out one way or another.'"

He heard Ellie gasp a
bit. "That's terrible! Can you report him or something?"

"Not really," Buzz said. "He's well-respected. Everyone loves him. He's got a point, too. I haven't been doing a good job lately."

They heard the self-castigation in his voice.

"He's riding you, Buzz. Come work for me."

"Sam, I can't. I like this job. Managers come and go. I'll outlast him. The union is behind me. My shop steward is on my
side. And I'm not much good to you in this state of mind. I don't think I could take it if I washed out with you at Edwards, either. Look, I've got to ride this out on my own. I always do. This monkey's one stinking bad ass, though. I can't seem to shake it off my back. I almost didn't come tonight. I know Mark planned it for me."

That led to a long silence.

"Oh Buzz," Ellie said. "Isn't there
something we can do?"

"You're doing it right now."

They turned the corner. They had gone around the block, and were back in front of the Johnson's house. Buzz felt the cold on his lips, which were beginning to feel pressed on like separate pieces.

Mr. Potato Head,
Buzz thought disjointedly.

"Hang in there, Buddy," Sam said.

"I will. It's this friggin' endless Cleveland winter. That poem was wrong.
April isn't the cruelest month. It's February. Come spring, I'll feel great. We'll play hoops."

"That's it!" Sam said. "I'll play hoops with you at the Y. They have that seven-to-eight morning thing in Lakewood. I'll bang on your door in the morning and get you up."

"Aw," Buzz said. "You don't have to do that."
Will you, man?
his eyes pleaded.

"Sure he will. He's getting fat," Ellie teased. "He's
been working too hard lately on the new contract."

"Maybe we could get Bill to go?" Buzz thought out loud.

"I'll ask him. Mark too. We'll get the old gang together," Sam said, warming to the idea. "Do you know how to contact the Man? We'll get the Scaps going again."

"I have no idea where the Man is. He's like a summer ghost." Buzz said.

"I'll see you tomorrow at six forty-five then," Sam said.

"Sure," Buzz replied unenthusiastically. "Six forty-five."

Ellie stepped over and gave him a hug. She was surprised again by his powerful build. Hugging him was like hugging a piece of furniture. Then she remembered waltzing with him at her wedding–and the night before the wedding.
So much locked inside, waiting to get out,
she thought suddenly.

"Thanks," she told him.

"For what?" Buzz asked, confused.
"I should be thanking you."

She pulled away and gave him a look that Sam couldn't see because he was standing behind her.

"For Sam,"
she mouthed silently.

Oh yeah,
Buzz thought.
The wedding.

He was bitten by an old, ardent longing for companionship, and willed himself not to be envious of Sam.

Everything seems to come to Sam, and run away from me,
his depression told him.

After saying good-bye,
he walked to his car, which was blocking the Fisk's. He lit a cigarette before driving away.

Sam and Ellie watched his red lights disappear around the corner.

"You've been driving yourself pretty hard at work," Ellie said with concern. "Are you sure you can get up that early?"

"I'll have to. You can help me, can't you?"

"No problem. I'll barf on you."

"That's looking at the bright side of morning
sickness," he joked.

She hit him on the coat with decent force.

"Hey! Wanna play rough, do you?" He attempted to tickle her through her heavy wool coat. She whirled away with ease.

"You're slowing down, old man!"

2

Sam and Ellie made love that evening, quickly, like a couple who had been married for many years. When they were done, he propped himself up, and rested a hand on her belly.

"When will
it show?" he asked innocently.

"It already is. Can't you tell? My pants don't fit anymore around the waist. I had to get my fat-pants out of the closet. I haven't worn those since college."

He heard the resentment in her voice.

"You don't want this baby," he said.

"It's not that. I want the baby. Maybe the timing is terrible. What will I do with my company?" she asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"We can afford day care," she muttered.

"You don't sound like you're thrilled with the idea."

She looked him in the eye. "Are you?"

He didn't answer her. She could guess what he thought of day care. She didn't have to ask what Maggie thought. She knew what Donna would think.

What do you think?
she asked herself.
A year ago, it would have been an easy question to answer.

She wondered if the baby
was a boy or a girl.

Why did I let him talk me into moving to the West Side!

She hugged herself and felt him take his hand off her stomach.

Grace,
a little voice answered her. The voice sounded masculine, but a bit lazy, a bit casual and high at the same time–a little like Buzz.

"I don't want to talk about the baby right now," she said with finality.

"We'll have to talk about it sometime."

"Not
tonight."

"Is that why you were somewhere else tonight?"

"No."

He waited for her to explain. She didn't. Instead, she blew out the candle on the night stand. The smell of the vanilla in the wax, like other smells over the past few months, made her feel like blowing chunks.

"You just make sure you get up for your friend Buzz tomorrow, or else," she said after another long minute, and turned from
him, taking the sheets over herself.

In her haste to turn from him, her Miraculous Medal, the same one she had been wearing on the night he first met her in Mama Santas, got caught in a tangle of her hair, and landed on her back.

He carefully reached for it, untangled it, and let it fall, unseen now, onto her breast.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"I love you, Ellie."

"I love you too. Remember about
Buzz."

Or else what?
he asked himself, wondering if he was having or avoiding an argument.

+  +  +

She fell asleep and dreamed of a white knight, lying in a ditch next to a dead horse. Tree-lined hills cut off a view of her surroundings. She saw only the gully below her. Dark clouds filled the sky, portending a deluge. The wind was loud up here, on the small hill.

Where am I?
she asked herself.

Across the ocean,
a sweet voice told her.

She looked at the knight, then ran down the hill to his side, standing above him. She turned her nose from the stench of the horse, clenching her eyes tight. She felt like throwing up. The ground here, next to a brook, was covered with white, wet sand.

She heard him moan. She forced herself to look at him. There was a broadsword sunk deeply into his chest,
below his heart, thrust through gnarled, chained armor. The sword was so buried into him that she wondered if it was all the way through, pinning him to the sand. His head was raised on a pillow of black rock, and the rock was covered by clusters of barnacles. She heard wet, little ticking noises coming from the barnacles.

They're alive!

The sand was murky with his blood.

His nemesis has left
him for dead.

"Get up!" she screamed, terrified. "You're not dead yet! Get up!"

His silver helmet covered his face. He moved his head in her direction, disoriented.

"Guinevere?" she heard his pained, confused voice ask. "I've waited for–I've been waiting forever."

His voiced reeked with despair.

"Get up Buzz!" she cried, falling to his side, her pink, flowing gown blowing in the chill wind, speckled
with droplets of blood. Blood everywhere. Her blond hair flew in the wind, getting into her eyes, her mouth.

The flies are coming. And their lord with them,
a witchly voice whispered in her ear, then laughed with false elation.

"I'm dying," he croaked.

The princess reached for his faceplate, despite her fear of the grim visage that would be beneath the two chevron slots, but she couldn't pull
it open.

"I can't breathe. Too heavy. This armor is too heavy," he rasped.

She saw blood ooze from the slats, and she began to scream: "Sam! Where are you! Can't you see he's dying?"

She gave up on opening the faceplate. She reached for his metal-covered hand. Her bitter tears mixed with blood.

Like most dreams, she didn't remember this one clearly, as if the waking day air was a darkened lens.

3

Bill White declined the invitation to play morning hoops because of his norms. Mark Johnson promised three days a week. Sam managed to arrive at Buzz's apartment door at six forty-five for three straight weeks, right smack into February.

Buzz's spirits seemed to pick up. And Sam enjoyed the exercise.

Then Sam had to leave town for a week-long computer show in Long Beach, California. Mark showed
up at the Y like clockwork, but Buzz missed one day, then two. Then Buzz sprained his ankle slightly in late February. Sam stopped going while Buzz recovered.

Buzz was afraid to skip work because of the injury, and the ankle re-sprained on the job.

4

Dear Postulant Regina:

It's so hard not thinking of you as Donna. I don't have much time to write.

Pray for Buzz. Oh, I know you do already, but
I'm really worried about him. He doesn't answer his phone at night. He won't see a doctor. Sam tries to get through to him, but it doesn't always work. I'm praying a Rosary for him every day now. I can't seem to concentrate unless I say the Sorrowful Mysteries. The fifth sorrowful decade is so sad. Mary is so sad.

Much Love, Your Friend, Ellie.

5

UPS Centers are a maze of four colors: black conveyor
belts, gray concrete floors, gunmetal ceilings, brown trucks, and dull yellow-painted cinder block walls.

Buzz ran from his car, stopping only to flash his ID card at the gate, then raced through the huge building to the time clock. He punched in with two clicks to spare.

Norman Porcine, his manager, stood next to the clock and smiled wanly.

"Screw you, Norm," Buzz said with a smile, then turned
away.

"You'll hit a couple red lights on your way in one of these days," Norman called to Buzz's back.

Buzz saw a new color when he walked into his section a few minutes later–after he shined his boots.

Into the grays, blacks, dull yellows, and browns, he saw red and silver.

Norman Porcine cleared his throat. "Gentlemen and Ladies, meet Maxine Corcoran. She's just transferred over from the Lakewood
section to drive split."

In the equal opportunity world of American industry running at the speed of business, a female UPS driver was common-place. A few old-timers had to stifle an urge to wolf whistle.

Not that Maxine was a fashion model. But she was built nicely, had cute blue eyes, and a freckled complexion that made up for relatively average features.

Her thick, straight, deep red hair took
care of the rest.

Buzz immediately fell in love. The Miraculous Medal around her neck raised his sagging hopes.

The Medal. Corcoran. She's got to be Catholic! But what kind of name is Maxine?

Her truck happened to be parked next to his that day. They were both split drivers.

"Where do the guys hang out for lunch?" she called over as she adjusted her seat and completed her inspection.