39
Intentional End
Chapter 7
Saturday Midmorning
September 8
Bobby found a jar of applesauce in the cupboard and ate that for breakfast. He called Carmel Ridge and spoke first with the nurse and then with his mother. The nurse said Mrs. Goren had had a restful night, but was tired and preferred not to dress today. She hadn't eaten her breakfast, but had sipped a cup of coffee. Bobby thought his mother sounded tired but seemed cheerful.
Afterward, Bobby slouched on the sofa and stretched out his legs so that his feet rested on the upholstered wing chair across from him. His right hand sat tucked inside his left armpit and he chewed on his left thumb. Where is she? He needed to do something to find her. Maeve! He would call Malcolm's wife.
"Hello?" her voice was soft and cautious.
"Maeve, it's Bobby Goren."
"Yes, Bobby! Have you learned something?"
"No, no, not yet. Listen, I'm in Evanston. Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere?"
"Angus is napping and I don't want to disturb him. Can you come here?"
"Yes, where are you?"
The address was nine blocks west of Gleason's apartment. Fifteen minutes later, Bobby climbed the steps to the front porch and Maeve met him at the door.
"Bobby, come in," she said with her hand out.
"Thanks for seeing me," he took her hand and pressed it between his.
"Come, I've put on a pot of coffee. Do you drink coffee?" She led him down the center hall to the kitchen in the back of the house.
Maeve's youthful appearance stunned Bobby; she looked like a co-ed. She indicated that he sit and poured him a cup, then one for herself and then she sat. The pair was silent a moment and then he said, "Tell me what the agents told you."
For the next forty minutes, Bobby and Maeve shared their notification tales. While Bobby had been forceful in his reaction to learning of his wife's abduction, Maeve had responded fearfully; neither had had a contact since the initial meeting.
"Do you have a plan?" Maeve asked him.
Bobby was silent a moment and replied sadly, "No, nothing. I tried investigating online and got nowhere." Suddenly he looked up, "Have you been in Malcolm's office at the university?"
"No. Why?"
"Do you have a key?"
"No, the university is quite strict about keys being out and about. Why do you want to get into his office? What are you looking for?"
"I don't know. I tried to get into Gleason's office, but that Gestapo witch out front wouldn't let me in. Then, she sent me to the Dean's office but he's out with a heart attack and the Associate Dean is away at a conference." He watched Maeve look toward the door and smile.
"There's my big boy!" Angus stood in the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing his left eye. "Come here, Gussie. I want you to meet a friend of Daddy's."
Bobby turned and saw a blond version of the child his mother had described. The toddler bore a mass of wheat-coloured curls upon his head. He stood shyly looking from his mother to the stranger sitting in his daddy's chair.
"Hi Angus," Bobby smiled and said softly, waggling his fingers at the child in greeting.
"Gus, did you go potty?" The boy just stared at Bobby. "Excuse me whilst I attend to him." Maeve rose and crossed to the child who raised his arms to be carried. "Come now, be a big boy and walk." She took his hand and the pair headed back down the hallway.
Bobby's mind flashed to a time when his mother had taken him by the hand just as Maeve had taken her son's hand. His mother was a good, loving mother before her illness. Even afterward, in her lucid moments, she was a good mother. Bobby worried about her, sensing her days were few. His eyes welled and he set his arm along the top edge of the chair back and squeezed his eyes with his fingers.
The Conway kitchen was cozy and homey. He looked at the booster chair sitting against the wall, the sippy cup on the counter, the zippered snack bag of animal crackers on the table. He imagined himself and Gleason having a house, and a child. This is what I've always wanted, he thought – a normal, healthy wife in a house with children. God, he missed Gleason. He hitched a sob and finished his coffee.
Bobby stood and set his cup in the sink. He was standing, looking out the window at the swing set in the backyard when Maeve returned with her son in her arms.
"I should be going," he said.
She said nothing, not wanting him to leave; it was so nice to have someone to talk with. Maeve, like Gleason, had no real friends.
"All right. Gus, say 'bye-bye' to Mr. Goren." The child spun his head away and laid it upon her shoulder, setting his thumb in his mouth. Maeve stroked his back and rocked.
"He's a good looking boy," Bobby said with a smile.
Maeve reddened a bit and said, "Thank you; he's the spitting image of his father. He has regressed so, however." Bobby saw her eyes fill and he set a hand on her upper arm.
"They will come back, Maeve. Soon, I promise."
She nodded and they turned, Bobby following her to the door. He stepped onto the porch, turned and said, "I'll call you before I leave tomorrow. Do you need anything now? Can I do anything for you?"
She looked at this kind, strong man and whispered, "Find his father."
Bobby nodded and left.
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Again, he drove aimlessly, his mind empty. It was nearly one and he was starving so he headed for the same restaurant he ate at yesterday. Afterward, Bobby drove around again and found himself pulling into the parking lot of the grocery Gleason and he frequented. He walked in and headed for the liquor department.
Bobby started drinking at four and spent the evening sitting in the darkening apartment finishing nearly the whole bottle of scotch. Hours later, he woke on the sofa having to pee and then made his way to the bed. Bobby fell across it and was immediately asleep.
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"Gleason you're going to have to push hard this time," the doctor said, looking up from where he sat on a stool at the foot of the labour bed.
"Honey push," Bobby told her, wiping her forehead with his hand.
Gleason was exhausted after ten hours of hard labour. "I, I don't think I can do this," she panted and then growled and grimaced as another powerful contraction took hold.
"Push! Come on, Gleason, push. Push hard, don't stop!" the doctor coaxed her.
"Oh, gaw-aw-awd!" she cried and tried to push, her head and shoulders curling up off the bed. Gleason squeezed Bobby's hand until he thought it would break. The contraction ended and Gleason fell back against the bed, panting and gasping.
"I laboured like that with you, Bobby," his mother said from the corner. When did she get here? "Frank was easy, he was nice and slim, still is. Even for a first delivery, he was easy. Not you, though, you were so big, you still are. You laid like a cork stuck inside me for hours. Hours! I can't tell you how long it took you to be born. You tore me apart. Jesus, I suffered with you."
Gleason's cry pulled his attention back to his wife as another contraction gripped her. "Glea–, Honey push."
She sucked great gulps of air and whispered, "I, I canna –," and her head lolled to one side, her hand limp around his.
"Honey?!"
"Son-of-a-bitch! Call a code! Someone start compressions! We have to take this baby now! Move!"
Bobby backed away, watching the people work to save his wife and baby. Suddenly his mother was at his side with her arms crossed, "She's going to die, you know. She and this baby of yours, they're both going to die. You'll always be alone, Bobby. Always be alone."
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Bobby shot awake, gasping and crying. Gleason! She was in labour, and having a hard time, and his mother was there . . . the dream tattered and blew away.
Bobby's sobs slowed. God, his head pounded and he felt nauseous. Suddenly, he bolted for the toilet.
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Sunday Midday
September 9
He drove from JFK straight to Carmel Ridge. His mother lay asleep in her bed, breathing through the cannula in her nose.
"Mr. Goren, Dr. Shinto would like to see you. I'll tell him you are here," the nurse told him as she stepped to his side.
Bobby nodded to her and dragged over the chair. His mother did not look good at all.
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