Necessary Heartbreak (21 page)

“I don't know. We haven't spoken much about that night.”

“Well, but I think you can understand why I don't like to talk about it, right?”

Elizabeth nodded again.

“You know, Elizabeth, I have never been able to forget that night for many reasons. First, I lost my best friend. Second, I feel responsible.”

“Responsible?”

Michael hung his head. “If I had just stopped her . . .” His voice trembled and then trailed off.

“There's nothing you could have done, Daddy.”

They sat there quietly for several minutes, gazing upward at the night sky in all its heavenly glory. Suddenly Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Have you ever thought about finding someone else?” she blurted out.

He paused a moment before answering, “I have. Then I wonder what your mom would think. Would she be okay about it?”

Elizabeth looked at him questioningly so he attempted to lighten the mood. “Or would she be waiting for me at the pearly gates, ready to scold me?”

Elizabeth giggled weakly, and he continued, “I haven't really met many women over the years.”

“Leah seems to know you.”

Michael sat back. “I don't know why. I've never seen her. Not even back in Northport.”

“I know. But she keeps on saying she knows you.” Elizabeth dropped her voice. “Do you think she's crazy? She told me she lost her husband.”

He shrugged. “Maybe she's just confused because she's still grieving. I remember after your mom passed away I would be walking down Main Street and I would think I had seen her.” Michael shook his head. “Once I even ran up to some poor woman on the street. The back of her head looked just like your mom. I felt so bad. I scared her when I started yelling your mom's name until she turned around.”

Elizabeth started to tear up again and he quickly backtracked. “Oh, I'm sorry, I'm talking about your mom again.”

“No. It's okay, Dad.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because even though it was impossible, I was hoping you were going to tell me that it really was her.”

He had absolutely nothing to say to that because he'd wished the same thing a million times himself.

Michael awoke well rested the next day. His feet were starting to scab over and he felt more energetic. Elizabeth was still sound asleep, exhausted from the chores she shared with Leah and her rooftop talk. Her long brown hair was nestled underneath a woolen blanket. She looked so grown-up yet oddly vulnerable. Michael was still amazed at how well Elizabeth had handled the lamb the day before.

He smiled and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She rolled over slightly, alarming Michael, since he wanted her to sleep in so that she was fully rested for their trip into town to find the tunnel. Yesterday had been reassuring, and he felt it was time to go back, but he didn't want to wake her too soon.

He backed away quietly, looking out through the second-floor window. Although it was dark outside, the early-morning light was about to appear. He walked past the alcove where he knew Leah was still sleeping, having heard her quiet, shallow breathing. He tiptoed to the ladder and gingerly descended.

Michael walked into the kitchen area and began searching through covered baskets for something to make for breakfast. He thought maybe this could be the day he would repay Leah for her help.

Why not prepare breakfast?

It was dark in the kitchen except for the last few embers still gleaming in the fire. He took some wood out of a basket and added it to the hearth. When he started to blow on it, black smoke en-gulfed him.

Oh, no, what have I done?
He kicked off a large piece of smoldering wood. He grabbed some kindling and looked for a hot spot to place it. When he did, it seemed to ignite a flame.

Michael threw some grains from a nearby basket into a pot and poured water over them. He was impressed with himself. This was just like making oatmeal at home.

I'm not working with a Viking oven, but I'm certainly no Viking.

As he placed the pot over the fire, he felt a burning sensation near his right knee. “Oh, no,” he gasped. Michael's garment had caught fire from his leaning in too close to the flames. He swung his hands wildly, trying to put out the flame.

Turning quickly to grab the jug of water, Michael stumbled slightly and bumped into the simmering pot, which came crashing down. He dropped to the stone floor, attempting to catch the fallen bowl. The water and grains spilled all over him, extinguishing the fire and completely soaking him.

“Oh, my!” Leah exclaimed, jumping from the bottom rung of the ladder. She began waving her hands back and forth in front of her face to clear some of the black smoke. “What happened?”

“Ah . . . I was trying to help,” he said sheepishly. “I was preparing breakfast.”

“Oh. Is that what you call this?”

Michael was stunned and embarrassed, but then he detected the smallest smile on Leah's face.
Oh, she's teasing.

He started to chuckle. “I'm really sorry. You have done so much I just wanted to help you, too.”

“Help like this I cannot use.” She began to giggle, surprising herself.

Michael was even more shocked by her laughter, spurring him to laugh harder.

Between laughs, Leah gasped, “What a mess!”

“I can help you with that.”

Leah laughed even louder. “No, no, please!”

Surprised by Leah's sense of humor, he decided to egg her on, just as her fits of laughter were slowing. “You sit, I will cook and clean, and then you can clean up after me,” he said, straight-faced.

Leah's smile widened, and once again she erupted into uncontrolled giggles. She pushed back her hair again. “Ooh, that's enough for me!”

Embarrassed, she looked down at her feet, but when she did so, she noticed the burned hole in his robe. “Oh, what happened there?”

“I was cooking?”

“Hmm, of course. I have more robes upstairs. Stay here. I will be right back.”

Leah climbed up the ladder, and Michael could hear her rustling through some baskets. When she came down, she handed him a clean garment.

“You need to clean yourself up. Taking you to the baths is not advisable at this hour with so many soldiers in Jerusalem right now. Instead, go behind the house where there is water. I will take care of breakfast.”

Michael walked around the ladder and through the door at the back of the house. The area outside was about fourteen feet long and five feet wide. It was walled off so he was unable to see any of the other houses nearby. In the far corner was the door leading to the crude latrine that they had been using.

They've got an amazing drainage system back here
, Michael thought,
better than any of those facilities we use when we go camping.

He had definitely used worse.

Michael ducked through a side door into Alumni Hall. It had been almost three days since Michael had left the apartment he and his friend Steve had shared until they lost their jobs. He kept his hood up to cover his unwashed hair. Worried that someone in the St. John's athletic office would recognize him, he raced down the steps to grab a shower in the locker room.

As he turned the corner in the basement, he found sinks and shower rods outside the entryway.
Oh, no. What's going on?

He peered in where the showers were. A construction worker in a yellow plastic hard hat spun around as he was dismantling a shower stall. “You need something?”

“Yeah, a shower. I just worked out.”

“Not today.”

Michael sighed. “What about tomorrow?”

The heavyset man laughed. “We're just starting. Come back when school starts again.”

The St. John's students were on holiday break. It would be another two weeks before classes would begin. Michael looked at the mirror on the wall.
Just great. Look at me: a college graduate only six months ago. Lot of good it did me
.

The sight of his unshaven face reflected in the mirror only made his self-pity grow. He rubbed his torn gloves across his face, but they, too, were filthy from wear.

He walked down the adjacent hallway toward the job board hanging in one of the unused display cases, but grew ashamed.
Why am I even looking? I can't even find a way to get a shower.

His despondency slowly turned to anger, both at himself and those who ever doubted him.
I'll show them. I'll get a shower and then go door-to-door looking for a job.
He decided to go clean up in one of the upstairs bathrooms.

Quietly, he navigated inconspicuously through the hallways and back up the stairs near the basketball office. The bathroom was located directly across from where many of his friends worked, the same people with whom he had shared road trips while watching some of the greatest St. John's basketball teams play. His heart was skipping as his mind raced for a plausible excuse for his appearance should he be spotted. He opened the hallway door slightly, peeking through to see if anyone was around. The hall was clear.

Michael dashed up the five steps to the bathroom door, which he struck with such force that it slammed against the concrete wall, sending a big echo through the six-thousand-seat arena.
Darn, I hope no one comes out and looks.

Inside he remained silent for a few seconds, listening for any movement. When he heard none, his body relaxed slightly as he pulled off his hood.
What a mess.
He removed his tattered gloves and stuffed them into his pockets, squishing a piece of stale pretzel and a package of soup crackers he had picked up in the subway two nights ago.

The crunching sound frustrated him. “Can anything else happen?” he muttered.

He rammed the soap dispenser a few times, eking out a few miserable drops. He pressed the faucet down, but only a brief spurt of water trickled through.
Oh, great, one of these.

The idea of shoving the faucet and then quickly cupping his hands underneath it to capture a pitiful amount of water irritated him. He snickered to himself: funny how in all these years it had never before bothered him.

He was splashing the first handful of water on his face when the door opened behind him. He spun away from the sink as St. John's wildly popular basketball coach walked in.

“Stewy! How the heck are you?” He met Michael with a huge smile on his face.

Every time until this exact moment, a smile from the coach would make Michael feel like gold. Today, he felt like dirt.

“Um, fine, how are you?” Michael replied, tugging up his hood.

“How's life after college? You still writing? I always said you had a good pen.”

Michael sighed. “Everything's fine, Coach.”

“What are you doing?” the coach asked, glancing at the dirty collar of Michael's coat before looking back at him. “Where are you working?”

Michael put his gloves back on and tucked them inside his faded jeans pockets. “Doing a few things, got some job interviews. Everything is really going well, Coach.”

The coach finished up his business and washed his hands. Grabbing a paper towel, he flashed another huge grin. “Well, don't be a stranger. Stop by the office anytime.”

He gave Michael a hearty slap on the back and walked out. Michael walked quietly behind him, let the door close, and looked around.
Please, don't let anyone else come in.

He returned to the sink and removed his hood and gloves again.
I've got to wash my hair quickly.
It was flat and greasy. His light brown
hair looked nearly black.
Disgusting
.
How do I go for a job interview looking like this?

He heard some footsteps outside the door. He walked quickly to the far-end stall and opened it. He locked the door and kept silent.

Another man walked in.
Oh, boy. Now I'm going to have to wait even longer. Terrific.

He sat on top of the toilet and waited. Moments later the bathroom was empty again. Michael opened the stall door slightly to see if the area was clear. He closed and locked the door again.