Drowning in the East River (9 page)

"Jessica's in a better place," Father Carlson said, resting a light hand on the David's shoulder.

"I beg your pardon Father, but that's horse shit." Despite the restrained emotion he could feel quivering in his muscles, his voice sounded flat and tired. His eyes burned, and for the first time in the last three days, he felt cried out. He reached down for the drink sitting on the carpet underneath his chair and took a long sip.

"You're just speaking out of anger, son." Father Carlson said. With his other hand, the grandfatherly priest slow fingered the gold cross hanging around his neck. "You must make peace with this. I would have thought with your time in Europe….”

David jumped in, "Father, I beg your pardon, but I'm not your son. I've been hearing this shit since I was five." His voice cracked as the repressed memories flooded back into his head. David ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled sharply. Glancing back up at the Father, he stood up. "My mother is in a better place. My brother is in a better place. Jessica is in a better place. How do you know they're in a better place, Father? Have you been there?”

"You have to have faith in The Lord," the Father said, his voice adopting the soothing tone he used in his sermons.

"The Holy Father wanted Jessica with him," Anna said, walking over to the Father's side. She was white knuckling her rosary beads as if they were the literal source of her strength. Her thumb and fore finger rolled and squeezed the tiny cross at the end of the strand. "We can take comfort in that." She looked up at the Father with a look of respect and admiration reserved for Sunday school pupils.

"Well stated, Anna." The father chimed in. He placed a gentle hand on her forearm as he focused his attention back to David. "Fall back on your faith. It's all we have at times. There's no shame in that.”

David put his hand out, jumping in awkwardly. "What kind of honest, loving God would take a mother away from her son?" He thought for a moment, glancing back at Thomas. "If he's such a kind and loving god, why would he put anyone through this? Thomas is two years old….”

The look on Anna's face suggested she'd just been slapped in the face. "How dare you question the Father!" A stunned scoff escaped from her throat as she stared at him, her eyes frozen in horror at his blasphemy. "What on Earth has gotten into you, David?”

"I'm sure the boy's just speaking out of grief," the Father said, once again turning to Anna. He spoke quickly, not allowing David a chance to reply. "His family's been members of my parish for about as long as the Conlon's have. It was such a shame about what happened to your father, David.”

"Thank you, Father." David stared at the drink clasped in his hands. He could feel the muscles in his back quivering with tension. Spots floated lazily through his vision.

Thomas started crying from his crib. The high-pitched wailing echoed through the tiny apartment.

"How should I tell my son that his mother isn't coming back? How am I supposed to tell him that she bled to death? He's convinced that Jessica didn't love him anymore." David paused for a moment, biting his lip. His voice cracked as he continued. "Her last words to me were that she loved him, and I haven't the slightest idea how to tell him that.”

"The child knows," Father Carlson said, looking toward the crib. A pained grimace flashed over his face as he turned back to David. He folded his hands peacefully in front of him. "The child will come to learn that his mother is watching over him from heaven.”

David could feel all the eyes in the apartment boring into the back of his head. They were waiting for him to do something, expecting him to crack under the tragic circumstances. There was a pressure in the glances, daring him to do the right thing by his son, to not make a mistake and make things even worse.

"Father..." David began.

"Aren't you going to go to him?"Anna cut in, her voice sharp. Thomas was standing up, frantically rattling the bars, trying to break his way to freedom. Turning back to David, Anna raised a critical eyebrow. "Are you just going to let the child cry all night?”

Outside the living room window, a drizzle had settled in over Manhattan. The background of the apartment seemed to fade into the fog, as David lost himself in the gloomy atmosphere outside the window.

"Shouldn't you tend to your son?" Anna asked again, snapping David out of his haze.

"What?" David asked, wiping his eyes as he shifted his glance back to Anna.

"The baby," Anna said, putting emphasis on every syllable. She leaned forward at the waist, her hands on her hips. "Are you going to let the child cry all night?”

Getting to his feet, David white knuckled the back of his chair. The room was spinning around him. He squeezed his eyes closed; the sound of Thomas' wailing overwhelming his senses.

"I swear," Anna said. She turned to the Father and plastered on a sweet smile. "Half the time I'm not even sure if he knows I'm talking to him. It's been like conversing with a brick wall since Jessica died.”

Looking at the floor ahead of him, David ignored her and squeezed through the crowds of people filling the living room. Every so often, someone placed a hand on his shoulder or his back in a simple showing of solidarity. No one spoke, they sipped the drinks in their hands quietly, almost afraid to say what could be construed as the wrong thing.

Stooping at the waist, David slowly reached into the crib and wrapped his hands around Thomas' waist. He sucked in a deep breath as he lifted the child into his body. Still screaming, Thomas thrashed violently in his father's arms, slapping at the big hands around his waist. His voice morphed from a cry into a shrill scream. "No! I want Mommy!”

"Shhhh," David said, trying to keep his voice gentle while still being heard over the crying. He held Thomas out in front of him, meeting the young boy's eyes. He blinked back a shudder of deja vu. His voice was quiet and firm as he desperately tried to get his son's attention. "Thomas, I'm here.”

"I want Mommy!" Thomas screamed, tears and snot streaming down his face. He slapped and pushed at his father's chest trying to get his point across.

"Daddy's here," David said, bouncing the baby gently in his arms. He hugged him tightly to his chest.

David squeezed his eyes shut. "Daddy loves you, Thomas." His words came out harsh and choked as he placed a gentle hand on the back of Thomas' head. "Daddy loves you.”

"Don't want you! I want Mommy!" Thomas screamed, tears continued to stream down his chubby cheeks as he thrashed violently in David's arms.

"I can't do this," David hiccuped, practically dropping the screaming child back in his crib. His breathing came in short, raspy bursts.

"Where are you going? You can't leave in the middle of the wake." Anna asked, running after David as he moved towards the front door. There was a mixture of panic, and outrage in her voice. She caught up to him as he reached towards the knob. "You're going to that whore, aren't you?”

The tone of the conversations surrounding him seemed to drop as people watched him out of the corner of their eyes.

"I can't do this alone." David said, not turning around to look at her. He wiped his eyes quickly; his tear ducks burned as he glanced in his son's direction. He stammered as he struggled to continue, "I can't - I don't know how raise him without Jess.”

"You have a son!" Anna's voice was barely above a whisper in an attempt to not make a scene. She reached out for his arm as he put his hand on the doorknob. She took off her glasses, rare emotion brimming in her eyes. Her voice broke slightly as she spoke. "What about Thomas? You can’t just leave. How can you possibly be so selfish?”

"It isn't fair to him." David turned back to face her as he pushed open the door. Tears were brimming in his eyes again. He wiped at his eyes quickly. "Just take care of Thomas for me."

Unable to meet her disappointed glance, he stared at a spot on the floor just behind her.

Anna stammered, blindsided by the abruptness of his request. "What?" She wiped her hands on her apron. She put a hand out, leaning heavily on the doorknob.

"Anna, you- you're his aunt," David said. He took a half step, turning his back to the crib. Looking Thomas in the eye would only shake his resolve to do what he knew was best. He continued slowly, thinking through each word, trying to keep his surging emotion from his voice. "Please. I won't be able to raise him as well as you and Katherine could. I want you to take him. I need you to do this for me.”

Her defeat and disappointment in him was evident in her face as she looked him up and down. "When are you coming back?" She pulled her hand off the doorknob, placing it on her hips. "What do you intend on doing?”

"I don't know," He crossed his arms in front of him, chewing on his thumbnail in hopes of centering himself. He looked back towards Anna. "I need to figure some things out. I'll send you money for him- just- Please take good care of him.”

"Are you at least going to say goodbye?" Anna asked, the defeat in her voice rang out clearly. She glanced away from him, and over to the crib. During the conversation, Katherine had moved over, and was cradling Thomas in her arms. His crying had quieted to pained whimpering. Katherine looked on with distant eyes, her emotions impossible to read. Anna turned once again to face David, her arms crossed in front of her.

Anna barely finished her sentence before David was out the door, shutting it heavily behind him. He stopped in the hallway, bracing all his weight against the fading wallpaper, his muscles feeling drained of all strength.

His legs slowly slid out from under him, and he dropped to a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees, as tears overwhelmed his exhausted eyes.

The urge to walk back into the room and pick up his son overwhelmed the synapses of his body.

David's legs felt shaky as he wiped his eyes and pushed himself back up to his feet. He took the stairs two at a time, the floorboards creaking loudly with each step. The heavy door slammed as he stepped outside onto the cobblestoned street.

David wrapped his fingers around the cool chain of his pocket watch and pulled it out of his breast pocket. It was just a little after six, but around him, the city was sleepy. The block was quiet, most of the apartments and brownstones were dark and closed up for the evening. The nearest signs of life came from the chugging of traffic up and down Second Avenue.

Lighting a cigarette, David sat down on the sidewalk. He exhaled the lungful of smoke slowly; his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. He was able to bring his adrenaline under control as the calming effect of the cigarette gradually flooded his synapses.

David leaned back on his hands and stared up at the washed out sky far above him. He blinked his eyes, trying to rub some life back into them. He muscles ached from lack of sleep.

The streets of New York City were a daunting place, especially with nowhere to go. David needed to find somewhere he didn't feel like a stranger. He needed an escape from the constant judging of everything he was doing wrong.

David looked around at the bumpy plaster ceiling as his eyes snapped open. Every inch of his body burned, nausea pulsated through his groggy system as he sucked in a few stinging breaths. He squeezed his eyes closed, searching his memory for the last thing he remembered.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he glanced down at his arms. He was in a white hospital gown. Giant yellow blisters covered his arms. He sucked in an involuntary breath, as a shot of pain blindsided him.

David braced his head against the pillow tucked underneath his head as he strained to look around the room. He was in a crowded hospital ward somewhere. It was pitch black outside the tiny windows lining the side of the room, shrouding any telltale clues in darkness. Dozens of occupied beds were jammed indiscriminately into the already tight room. David strained his neck to look over his head, crying out as another wave of pain wracked through his torso.

His throat felt like it was on fire. In the deafening silence of the room, he could hear his own wheezing and raspy panting in his head as he stared at the ceiling and tried to center himself.