Sightings
Chapter Four
He runs through hallways and conference rooms of a strange hotel trying to find the room where Sarah waits for him. She wants to make love. He left the bed to go to the bathroom and she begged him to hurry back. Now he’s lost, unable to find either the room or a bathroom. He wanders into a large ballroom filled with people, and finds a urinal against the wall. He begins to pee. But it’s not a urinal. It’s a drinking fountain and he’s standing there, naked, while everyone watches him. He tries to stop peeing, but he can’t.
Sam woke up amidst twisted sheets clammy with his sweat. The night was hot, the air still. He lay there thinking about the dream, trying to recall Sarah stretched out on the bed waiting for him. But the vision of her drifted away, lost in the myriad rooms of his frustrating dream. He didn’t want to get up, but the pressure in his bladder was too much. With a stab of pain below his incision scar, he got up and made his way to the bathroom. Returning, he looked at the digital clock on the TV’s cable box. 3:13. Too early. Carefully he settled down, searching for a position where his groin didn’t pain him.
Still aroused by the dream he’d had of Sarah, his mind drifted back to the second time he’d kissed her under the weeping beech. For more than a month they’d been seeing each other after work for dinner or a show. She glowed with a sensual innocence that made him forget their twelve year’s difference in age. That night Sam had moved aside the hanging branches like a tent flap and they had entered into the tree’s enfolding privacy. It was more than one kiss and when they left the tree both knew they were going to his apartment. With eyes closed, both in pain and pleasure, Sam remembered that night until the sense of loss drove him from the bed to make a cup of tea. He drank the tea in bed and must have fallen asleep because, when he looked at the clock again, it was 6:27. He got up.
Another day, another Prevacid pill. Pulling on the same pants and shirt he’d worn the day before, and without bothering to shave, he set out for Flynnie’s On The Beach. Art would be having breakfast with Rachel so he wouldn’t be there, which was fine with Sam. He didn’t want the temptation of telling him about his behavior the day before. He didn’t even want to think about it. He’d acted like a fool, crying the way he had at the parade and chasing a mirage at the fireworks. What he wanted was to sit there on Flynnie’s deck, eat breakfast and stare out at the ocean.
He ordered an egg and bacon biscuit, and sat down at one of the picnic tables with his cup of coffee. One of Flynnie’s cronies would bring him the biscuit when it was ready. Next to him sat a middle aged woman and an elderly man. They were regulars at Flynnie’s and Sam knew them to say hello.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she replied, greeting him with a warm smile that filled her face. She was wearing a yachting cap pulled low at the brim to keep the morning sun from her eyes. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Can’t beat it,” Sam said. “How’s your dad today?”
The stick thin man sitting beside her seemed unaware of Sam. His angular skull showed through his sparse white hair and a couple day’s growth of beard softened the jutting bones of his jaw and chin. He was licking the cream cheese from a bagel, the crumbs from which were falling down onto an old dress shirt that was buttoned to the neck.
“About the same. He loves to come here for breakfast. He used to come by himself when he could.”
“I know. I’ve seen him here for as long as I can remember.”
A man about Sam’s age brought him his breakfast with the words, “There ya go kid. Enjoy.” Sam thanked him and began nibbling off the pieces of egg that overhung the biscuit. He didn’t feel the need to talk further with the woman, and apparently she didn’t either. That’s what was nice about Flynnie’s. When he finished he put his napkin, paper plate and cup in the trash barrel and stopped by the old man.
“How you doin’ Pop?” he said in a loud voice. Blinking, the man looked up at him, cream cheese stuck to his lips, and smiled an eager hello. “Well, take care now,” Sam yelled. “See you again.” The man’s eyes sparkled and he nodded good bye.
As soon as he turned his back to the man and his daughter, Sam stopped smiling. Holding the railing, he carefully went down the wooden stairs feeling each step in his groin, then headed up the sand covered sidewalk toward the street that would take him home. The three blocks to the beach, and now the three blocks back, were tiring him more than he thought they would. He wondered how long it would take to feel well again, or would he feel this weak and vulnerable for the rest of his life?
When he passed the Fair Winds Boat Sales Sam looked behind it at the salt marsh hoping to see something that would disperse the lingering image of the old man who’d sat next to him. He tried to picture red-winged black birds hanging on the tips of tall reeds, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. Instead he pictured Kathleen sitting beside him on Flynnie’s deck while he slobbered over a bagel with cream cheese.
At his door, he picked up the Boston Globe and, heading for the back deck, happened to look in the living room mirror. He saw hair poked up on one side of his head because he’d forgotten to comb it when he got up. Stubble covered sagging, sad cheeks that hung loosely around a turned down mouth. Bags like small boats carried half closed eyes. “I look like shit!” he said disgustedly. With energy he didn’t know he had, he marched into the bathroom, took a shower and shaved. He got dressed in clean clothes, made the bed, put his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, went to the kitchen and washed the dishes left over from the family cookout the day before. That done, he vacuumed the house. Although totally exhausted, he finished with a feeling of satisfaction, having proved he had a long way to go before he’d be the old man on Flynnie’s deck.
Rachel called later that morning saying she and Art had an extra ticket for a Saturday matinee at the Huntington Theater. She invited him to join them, and he accepted readily.
“They’re doing a revival of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. Are you familiar with it?”
“I haven’t read it since college, but I’d like to go.”
“Afterward we have dinner even though it’s early. That way we avoid the late afternoon traffic jams. We want you to be our guest.”
That afternoon he found a book he vaguely remembered seeing on one of Sarah’s bookshelves, a Modern Library Book of Six Plays By Henrik Ibsen. On the fly leaf were the words, “Sarah Hart, Wellesley, 1959”. He had no trouble finding A Doll’s House because the page was turned down. What a coincidence he thought and began reading the play. After three or four pages he remembered the plot. A young couple, Nora and Torvald, are locked in a society that expects wives to be child-like and husbands to be the boss. Then Nora decides her life is superficial and leaves both her husband and her children.
“Sounds depressing but it’ll be nice to get out,” Sam said aloud.
The next morning he got up at seven feeling more like his old self. He started the coffee maker and sat down at his computer. In the center at the top of the blank screen he typed, “WHAT IF . .” With fingers poised over the key board, he stared at the words. A minute elapsed and he began twirling his chair from side to side, ending in the direction of his window where a leaden sky portended a gloomy day. He went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Half way back to the study he got an idea and hurried to the computer. He typed, A man is digging in the dirt floor of his historic Marblehead home when the shovel clangs against a rock floor. Prying aside one of the rocks . . Sam pursed his lips. “. . one of the rocks — what?” he said aloud. “The shovel disappears into a gaping hole. Hmm. Not bad.” He typed it in. Then what? He gets a flash light and looks into the hole. “Makes sense,” he said aloud, and added that to the screen.
The phone went off like a bomb destroying the modicum of creativity Sam had been able to muster. He looked at it and considered letting the answering machine pick up. At the second ring he figured it must be bad news if someone was calling this early, so after the third ring he lifted the receiver.
“Sam, it’s Teresa.” He nodded — it’s bad news. “I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I’ve got no one else to turn to.”
With a slight tone of irritation, he asked, “What’s up?”
“I’m coming over. You’ve got to take Jimmy while I go to the hospital.”
“Good grief, Teresa, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Twenty minutes later her battered Honda pulled into his driveway. She ran to the door, with Jimmy, pale and frightened, tagging behind. A towel wrapped around her left elbow was beginning to leak blood. Sam hustled her to the kitchen and had her sit in a chair next to the sink.
Calmly and efficiently he unwrapped the towel revealing several cuts on her left arm.
“It hurts like holy hell,” she said, wincing with pain. “I think the elbow’s broken, too. I can hardly move my arm.”
“You’re right, we’re going to the hospital.” He took a clean towel and rewrapped the wound, then made a sling from the cloth tie of his bathrobe. She put her head down on her right arm and lay against the edge of the sink. Her short-sleeved blouse was splattered with blood, her hair was uncombed and tears had smeared her eye makeup. Jimmy stood stiffly in the corner, rigid with fear. Sam got dressed and drove them to Salem Hospital.
On the way, she said, “I’m not going back. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do, but I’m not going back.” Sam had never heard her so determined.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said.
“Was it my son?”
“Yes.”
They parked at the Emergency Room entrance and Sam helped her through the revolving door to the office of the triage nurse. While he took a seat in the waiting room, Jimmy watched the nurse remove the towel from his mother’s arm. Seeing her eyes squeezed shut with pain was more than he could bear and he came to sit close by his grandfather. An orderly arrived and transferred Teresa to a wheel chair, taking her down a passageway toward a swinging door. Just before she disappeared, she turned to wave. Jimmy, still in shock, waved back. Sam talked to the triage nurse.
“The elbow appears to be broken,” she said, “and there’s some glass in her arm. If they need to put in a pin, she’ll be here overnight. For now you can wait here and I’ll tell you as soon as I know something.”
Sam thanked her and sat down with Jimmy. The boy was staring vacantly at the door through which his mom had gone. “Are you okay?” Sam asked.
“Uh huh,” the boy said softly.
“Did your dad hurt you?”
“No.” Then turning to his grandfather, “Can I have a Coke?”
“I’ll see if I can find one,” Sam said. The attendant by the door said he could get a Coke in the cafeteria on the first floor. Sam motioned to Jimmy and the two of them went to the elevator. They found the cafeteria and bought two Cokes.
“I wanna drink it upstairs,” Jimmy said. “Maybe Mom won’t have to stay.”
They went back to the waiting room and sat for an hour before the nurse motioned Sam to her office. “They’re going to have to operate. It’s the little bone at the tip of the elbow. They’ll have to put in a pin to hold it in place. She’ll stay overnight so they can be sure there’s no infection.”
“When can we see her?” Sam asked.
“Come back the middle of the afternoon. She’ll be out of recovery and in a room by then.”
Sam took Jimmy to Pickering Wharf in Salem Harbor where they had lunch in a restaurant overlooking the small marina. Jimmy hardly spoke and Sam didn’t push him. The boy watched boats maneuver in the narrow channel as they entered or departed from their slips, but took only a few bites of his hamburger. When they finished they walked around the historic buildings restored and maintained by the Park Service until a sudden shower drove them back to the car.
“Can we see Mom now?” Jimmy asked.
Sam looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. “Let’s try.”
They had to wait until three-thirty. Jimmy entered the room cautiously, stopping to look first at a woman in the bed by the door who was asleep, then on to his mom’s bed. Teresa, pale and groggy, greeted her son with a wan smile.
“Come here,” she said. “Gimme a kiss.” He went to her and bending over the bed, kissed her forehead. “I’m okay now,” she said. “They fixed up my arm and I’ll be able to go home tomorrow.” Jimmy nodded but said nothing.
Sam put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Would you mind sitting on the chair by the nurses’ station for a few minutes? I want to talk to your mom.” He lead the boy out to the chair and asked the nurse to keep her eye on him for a couple of minutes. She smiled and came around the counter, taking a seat in the chair next to him. As Sam left, she was telling him about her boy who was Jimmy’s age.
“What happened?” Sam asked after pulling up a chair by Teresa’s bed.
She took a few deep breaths, closed her eyes and began talking. “It started yesterday. In the middle of the afternoon he called from the job he was on. Said he wanted to take me out for dinner at the 99. I was floored. First time he’s done that in a year. Said he wanted to celebrate.” She stopped to take a few breaths. “He arrived home in a brand new Ford pickup, red, with those little doors that open into a back seat. He was excited as a kid. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing buying a new truck. We can’t afford a truck. He says everything's going to be different. He’s not going back to teaching. He’s going to stay with carpentering. We got to the 99 and had a couple of drinks. He couldn’t stop talking about the truck and how everything was going to be better. When the waitress asked how we wanted our steaks, I said rare, but when it came it was well done. He gets into this big thing with the waitress telling her to take it back. I say, forget it, I’ll eat it the way it is. He yells at me to keep quiet. A minute later the manager’s there and the two of ‘em start. I got fed up and walked out. Russell stormed after me with the manager yelling at him to pay his bill. Russell told him to go . . to go fuck himself.”
She opened her eyes to look at Sam, then closed them again. “We went home, got Jimmy from a neighbor and I went to bed. Russell couldn’t leave it alone. Now he’s yelling at me for being ungrateful and for not supporting his decision to quit teaching. It musta been one-thirty before he shut up and came to bed.”
She rested for half a minute, then went on. “This morning when he was going out the door, I stopped him — stood in his way, which I probably shouldn’t have done — and pleaded with him to take the truck back.” She opened her eyes and looked at Sam. “No, I never should’ve stood in his way. He told me to move and when I started to cry, he grabbed my shoulders with both hands and threw me aside. I knocked over a glass which broke on the floor and I fell on it with my elbow. When I went down I almost knocked the monitor off its pedestal. I was screaming with pain and yelling at him to be careful of the computer. So he yells, ‘I’m sick and tired of your goddam computer,’ and picks up the monitor, lifts it over his head, and smashes it on the floor.” She was silent for moment. “Then he left and I called you.”
Sam sat up straight, put his hands behind his head and let out a long breath. Oh God, oh God, oh God, he said to himself.
“I have to have my arm in this sling for at least two weeks. That means I can’t do the bookkeeping for my clients. What am I saying? I can’t do it anyway. The computer’s smashed.”
Sam couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt sorry for her, but he wanted it to be her problem, not his.
“I can’t go to my folks. I’d be admitting defeat and I’ve fought them so long over marrying Russell. And I’m not going home. I can’t live with this temper of his.” She rubbed the tears from her eyes with her good hand and looked up at Sam. “He’s getting worse.”
Sam‘s expression must have showed his hopelessness, because she said, “I’m sorry to put this on you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said faking a smile. “I’ll figure something out. What about Jimmy tonight?”
“Oh God, Sam, don’t let Russell take him home. I don’t know what he might do.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t.” He looked at her for a moment then asked, “Do you want to press charges against him? He did assault you.”
She shook her head. “If I do that he might lose his job. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll take Jimmy home with me and keep him there. Tomorrow I’ll come and get you and we’ll figure something out.”
Jimmy, frightened, kissed his mom good bye and Sam took him to his house. All the way home Sam was terrified his son would come to the house and demand to take Jimmy. If he did, and he was as wild as he’d been that morning, he could hurt them both seriously. Sam considered going to a motel, or to Kathleen’s, or even to the police, but with each passing minute he was drawing closer to home. When he rounded his corner he saw the bright red pickup sitting in the driveway behind Teresa’s old Honda. “Oh Christ no!” he said. “Lock the doors on that side of the car Jimmy and whatever your dad says, don’t open the doors. Okay?”
“Okay.” His voice quavered. They locked the doors, and Sam parked at the curb with the engine running. Russ was sitting on the front steps. When he saw them he walked toward the car.
“Where’s Teresa?” he asked, his voice subdued. Sweat soaked the rim of his Red Sox cap and made large blotches under the arms of his black tee shirt.
“What’d you do to her Russ? She’s hurt.”
“Roll the window down so I can hear you.”
“No. You’ll hear me from here.”
“Where is she?” He leaned his hands against the roof of the car and brought his face down close to the glass.
“She’s in the hospital. You put her there.”
“I didn’t. She tripped and fell.”
“No. You threw her down and then you smashed the computer. She’s not coming home unless you stop this craziness.”
“Look, Dad, this isn’t your problem. Come on Jimmy, we’re going home.” The boy’s face froze with terror.
“He’s staying with me until you get yourself under control. For God’s sake, Russ. Don’t you see? You’re losing your family. You can lose your job. If you don’t get yourself straightened around, I’ll get you charged with assault and battery. I’ll do it myself. To my own son. You’re scaring us, Russ.”
Russ looked at him a long time then pushed himself away from the window. “I’m sorry,” he said dispassionately, and slowly walked to his truck and drove away.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but he and Jimmy waited in the car for another five minutes before going into the house. Jimmy followed close behind his grandfather as he went through the house locking doors and windows. With the cordless phone never out of arm’s reach, Sam made himself a drink and poured a coke for Jimmy. Together they watched cartoons on TV until it was time for dinner. Sam scrambled eggs for the two of them and they ate in front of the TV. That night they slept in the same bed.
I don’t want this, Sam thought. I want them all to go away and leave me alone. He looked at Jimmy who had fallen asleep beside him. “You poor little guy,” he whispered. “What a screwed up family you live in.”.