PART XXI
It was the hardest letter she'd ever had to write, but had reasoned that this was the only way to do it. Too much crackled in the air between them when they spoke and she had too much at stake now to risk sliding into recrimination and accusation.
She tried to imagine him opening the letter, to see his face as he read. He'd moved on so far, overtaken her way back. And really, they'd travelled together for such a short time and so seldom in step. She'd stumbled often and when he'd paused to help her up she'd always shaken him off. She wondered now about how much she'd held him back, how much she'd hurt him. Well, they were on different roads now alright and she wanted to wish him Godspeed on his. She'd no longer be travelling with him; he'd hit the highway while she continued to negotiate the back roads, still taking frequent wrong turns. Time to let go once and for all.
And if I can stop thinking in these preposterous clichés I might even manage to say what I want to say.
The paper stared blankly up at her from the table. She picked up her pen and began to write.
"Dear Richard,"
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9.30 am February 14th. Carter sat on the El feeling slightly nauseous. He knew before hearing them that greetings today would be artificially cheerful, that they would sigh with relief when he passed them by, would have been hoping that they were not to share his shift or have to work alongside him. He didn't blame them.
That morning he'd braved the breakfast table, sat out his grandmother's studied unconcern, thought about trying to take the day off. To do what? It was at this point that he made up his mind to go in to work, get through the day by one means or another. It had to be done. If the endless hours of therapy had taught him nothing else it had taught him that.
He thought of those who would not be there today. Mark, Benton, Cleo, Malucci, Jeannie, Carol. And Lucy. Everything changes. Even me, he thought.
Abby, Kerry, Romano, Luka. Still there. Luka. How many days like this every year had he got through, those around him insensible to his suffering? Three birthdays; three deaths; a wedding anniversary. Good God, his year must be like an obstacle course. He remembered what Luka had said to him. "Danijella, Jasna, Marko; they can't live, care, love. I have to do it for them." Well Lucy had wanted to be a doctor, had wanted it with a passion. She couldn't do it now; he would have to do it for her.
He was right of course. Those who remembered smiled too brightly, spoke too cheerfully, even Kerry. Never mind. They cared; it was more than they had done for Luka. Himself included. If the concern of others had sometimes felt like too great a weight to carry he decided now to simply relax under its pressure. He understood why Luka's past was something he had guarded. The concern of others. "Are you OK?" It had become a mantra, and one he had learned to loath.
He looked up at the board. He could do this.
"In 14 hours it will be February 15th" said a voice in his ear. A hand rested lightly on his shoulder for a moment and then Luka went on his way.
14 hours. And counting. He could do this.
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"In like a lion, out like a lamb." The old saw was half right at least. "In like a lion, stayed like a lion, almost certain to go out like a lion" was nearer the mark for this March. It would be April in two days time. Spring and new starts.
More new starts How many new starts could a gal take?
Her apartment gleamed. Three boxes of stuff for Goodwill stood by the door. This was a good feeling. The newly made curtains lay draped over the couch, and only now did she stop to wonder how she'd hang them single handed. She'd enlisted the help of the neighbour's husband to take down the old ones, but she knew them to be out. She could wait 'til they got back from their trip tomorrow. She didn't want to wait; she'd made new curtains. She wanted to hang them.
Where was Luka when you needed him.
He was at home. She knew this because she'd checked the ER's schedule as she checked it every week. Saturday. He'd be visiting his old ladies this evening. Maybe he'd call in on his way if she asked him. Friends did that sort of thing, right? Good friends?
She'd been aware of a change in him. He'd stopped avoiding her, stopped rigging his shifts. He sought her out. Told her about the grandmothers, invited her to dinner. She went. His calmness unnerved her, who was far from calm. She had to get past this.
He'd told her that he loved her. And he did, of that she was sure. I can do this. I can be his friend. In the end it doesn't really matter what he feels for me, she told herself. I love him and here he still is. It's good enough. And, if they were loving at cross purposes, well, it was still loving and an unlooked for treasure for her.
"What are you doing?"
"Spring cleaning. Some of us do it in the spring."
"You never did it before in your life."
"You don't think so?"
"No."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
"So they say. You made these yourself?"
"Yes."
"Really."
"Really. Again with the not believing me!"
"Of course I believe you."
"No you don't."
"No, no I do. I just didn't know you could sew."
"That's not sewing."
"No?"
"No. Just straight seams is all."
"Pass the other one. Your mother sews."
"Yeah. That's real sewing. Tailoring. She made my dresses when I was little. She sometimes made them out of our bed sheets or curtains which was - interesting."
This was different, she realised. She could talk about her mother without embarrassment, without the need to cover her shame with wise cracks.
"My mother didn't sew. And she was a terrible cook."
"Really?"
"Really"
"Doesn't seem to have stunted your growth any."
"My father cooks."
"You never mentioned your mother before."
"I was 14 when she died."
"What happened?"
"Ovarian cancer. She was 42." Luka stepped down.
"Is that why you wanted to be a doctor?"
He laughed a little at that. "That's what you'd think, isn't it. No, I decided that when I was 10 years old. Actually my grandmother had me marked for the priesthood."
"A priest? You?"
"Younger son. Why are you laughing?"
"I can't see it. No, no, actually I think I can, you know. The uniform would suit you."
"Uniform?" he asked, his voice rising on a note of incredulity.
"Yeah, the long black - dress --- thing - what is it - "
"Soutane."
"If you say so."
"Dress thing." He repeated, levelly.
"You knew what I meant, though."
"Well, I think maybe the church had a lucky escape."
"Nah, you'd have been good. I think you'd be good at whatever you decided to do." There was a moment's silence. Abby wanted very much to kiss him then. "Coffee?"
"Sure."
"And," she said, her voice raised over the sound of running water, "you'd have been good for business. The girls would have been queuing up for absolution."
"So how are the grandmothers?
"Persistent."
"What?"
"I keep getting invited to engagement parties."
"Ah."
"And weddings. It's like they're reminding me that stocks are running low."
"You'd better grab one while you can. Sounds like they're going fast."
"Actually no, there seems to be an endless supply of them."
"Maybe" Abby laughed "they're coming on one side, going around back and coming back on again. Or are they shipping them out from the old country for you?"
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I'd pay folding money to see it."
"Well, as luck would have it I'm invited to a wedding next Saturday -"
"No!"
" - yes, I am. You could come along."
"Will there be dancing?"
"Certainly."
"And I'll be expected to join in?"
"Of course. And don't count on one of them dying this time to get you out of it." Abby's shock at this remark must have shown on her face.
"Ah, come on, Abby, Rosa loved a joke."
"Yeah, well, she was pretty fond of you."
"Sure, you have a smart mouth now, but wait until they get you onto that dance floor. It'll be my turn to laugh then."
"Bring it on, Kovac."
It was the hardest letter she'd ever had to write, but had reasoned that this was the only way to do it. Too much crackled in the air between them when they spoke and she had too much at stake now to risk sliding into recrimination and accusation.
She tried to imagine him opening the letter, to see his face as he read. He'd moved on so far, overtaken her way back. And really, they'd travelled together for such a short time and so seldom in step. She'd stumbled often and when he'd paused to help her up she'd always shaken him off. She wondered now about how much she'd held him back, how much she'd hurt him. Well, they were on different roads now alright and she wanted to wish him Godspeed on his. She'd no longer be travelling with him; he'd hit the highway while she continued to negotiate the back roads, still taking frequent wrong turns. Time to let go once and for all.
And if I can stop thinking in these preposterous clichés I might even manage to say what I want to say.
The paper stared blankly up at her from the table. She picked up her pen and began to write.
"Dear Richard,"
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
9.30 am February 14th. Carter sat on the El feeling slightly nauseous. He knew before hearing them that greetings today would be artificially cheerful, that they would sigh with relief when he passed them by, would have been hoping that they were not to share his shift or have to work alongside him. He didn't blame them.
That morning he'd braved the breakfast table, sat out his grandmother's studied unconcern, thought about trying to take the day off. To do what? It was at this point that he made up his mind to go in to work, get through the day by one means or another. It had to be done. If the endless hours of therapy had taught him nothing else it had taught him that.
He thought of those who would not be there today. Mark, Benton, Cleo, Malucci, Jeannie, Carol. And Lucy. Everything changes. Even me, he thought.
Abby, Kerry, Romano, Luka. Still there. Luka. How many days like this every year had he got through, those around him insensible to his suffering? Three birthdays; three deaths; a wedding anniversary. Good God, his year must be like an obstacle course. He remembered what Luka had said to him. "Danijella, Jasna, Marko; they can't live, care, love. I have to do it for them." Well Lucy had wanted to be a doctor, had wanted it with a passion. She couldn't do it now; he would have to do it for her.
He was right of course. Those who remembered smiled too brightly, spoke too cheerfully, even Kerry. Never mind. They cared; it was more than they had done for Luka. Himself included. If the concern of others had sometimes felt like too great a weight to carry he decided now to simply relax under its pressure. He understood why Luka's past was something he had guarded. The concern of others. "Are you OK?" It had become a mantra, and one he had learned to loath.
He looked up at the board. He could do this.
"In 14 hours it will be February 15th" said a voice in his ear. A hand rested lightly on his shoulder for a moment and then Luka went on his way.
14 hours. And counting. He could do this.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
"In like a lion, out like a lamb." The old saw was half right at least. "In like a lion, stayed like a lion, almost certain to go out like a lion" was nearer the mark for this March. It would be April in two days time. Spring and new starts.
More new starts How many new starts could a gal take?
Her apartment gleamed. Three boxes of stuff for Goodwill stood by the door. This was a good feeling. The newly made curtains lay draped over the couch, and only now did she stop to wonder how she'd hang them single handed. She'd enlisted the help of the neighbour's husband to take down the old ones, but she knew them to be out. She could wait 'til they got back from their trip tomorrow. She didn't want to wait; she'd made new curtains. She wanted to hang them.
Where was Luka when you needed him.
He was at home. She knew this because she'd checked the ER's schedule as she checked it every week. Saturday. He'd be visiting his old ladies this evening. Maybe he'd call in on his way if she asked him. Friends did that sort of thing, right? Good friends?
She'd been aware of a change in him. He'd stopped avoiding her, stopped rigging his shifts. He sought her out. Told her about the grandmothers, invited her to dinner. She went. His calmness unnerved her, who was far from calm. She had to get past this.
He'd told her that he loved her. And he did, of that she was sure. I can do this. I can be his friend. In the end it doesn't really matter what he feels for me, she told herself. I love him and here he still is. It's good enough. And, if they were loving at cross purposes, well, it was still loving and an unlooked for treasure for her.
"What are you doing?"
"Spring cleaning. Some of us do it in the spring."
"You never did it before in your life."
"You don't think so?"
"No."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
"So they say. You made these yourself?"
"Yes."
"Really."
"Really. Again with the not believing me!"
"Of course I believe you."
"No you don't."
"No, no I do. I just didn't know you could sew."
"That's not sewing."
"No?"
"No. Just straight seams is all."
"Pass the other one. Your mother sews."
"Yeah. That's real sewing. Tailoring. She made my dresses when I was little. She sometimes made them out of our bed sheets or curtains which was - interesting."
This was different, she realised. She could talk about her mother without embarrassment, without the need to cover her shame with wise cracks.
"My mother didn't sew. And she was a terrible cook."
"Really?"
"Really"
"Doesn't seem to have stunted your growth any."
"My father cooks."
"You never mentioned your mother before."
"I was 14 when she died."
"What happened?"
"Ovarian cancer. She was 42." Luka stepped down.
"Is that why you wanted to be a doctor?"
He laughed a little at that. "That's what you'd think, isn't it. No, I decided that when I was 10 years old. Actually my grandmother had me marked for the priesthood."
"A priest? You?"
"Younger son. Why are you laughing?"
"I can't see it. No, no, actually I think I can, you know. The uniform would suit you."
"Uniform?" he asked, his voice rising on a note of incredulity.
"Yeah, the long black - dress --- thing - what is it - "
"Soutane."
"If you say so."
"Dress thing." He repeated, levelly.
"You knew what I meant, though."
"Well, I think maybe the church had a lucky escape."
"Nah, you'd have been good. I think you'd be good at whatever you decided to do." There was a moment's silence. Abby wanted very much to kiss him then. "Coffee?"
"Sure."
"And," she said, her voice raised over the sound of running water, "you'd have been good for business. The girls would have been queuing up for absolution."
"So how are the grandmothers?
"Persistent."
"What?"
"I keep getting invited to engagement parties."
"Ah."
"And weddings. It's like they're reminding me that stocks are running low."
"You'd better grab one while you can. Sounds like they're going fast."
"Actually no, there seems to be an endless supply of them."
"Maybe" Abby laughed "they're coming on one side, going around back and coming back on again. Or are they shipping them out from the old country for you?"
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I'd pay folding money to see it."
"Well, as luck would have it I'm invited to a wedding next Saturday -"
"No!"
" - yes, I am. You could come along."
"Will there be dancing?"
"Certainly."
"And I'll be expected to join in?"
"Of course. And don't count on one of them dying this time to get you out of it." Abby's shock at this remark must have shown on her face.
"Ah, come on, Abby, Rosa loved a joke."
"Yeah, well, she was pretty fond of you."
"Sure, you have a smart mouth now, but wait until they get you onto that dance floor. It'll be my turn to laugh then."
"Bring it on, Kovac."