Cheated By Death (14 page)

“I’m going to call for an ambulance,” he
said. “Your father needs to be in a hospital until we can stabilize
him.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Patty
asked.

Richard frowned. “I don’t foresee any great
improvement. Emphysema is a progressive illness.”

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“Let’s not anticipate anything. And we don’t
want to upset him. Can I use the phone?”

“It’s in the kitchen,” she said and pointed
the way.

Richard left us to make his call.

Patty’s face had gone pale. “I—I guess I’d
better go pack a bag for him.” Dazed, she nearly bumped into a
chair on her way out.

I turned, shoved my hands in my pockets and
stared out the window at the bleak sky. A dull ache of foreboding
settled in my gut. The air, stale with sickness, seemed to grow
heavy. We were going through the motions of prolonging the old
man’s life, though all of us knew the inevitable outcome.

Richard paused on his way to the bedroom. “Do
you want to see him?”

I shook my head, surprised at the fear
growing within me.

“He asked if you were here.”

I let out a long breath. “Then I guess I
better go in.”

I followed my brother down the hall to the
bedroom on the right. Crammed with dressers, night tables and a
double bed, the loud, old-fashioned floral wallpaper made the room
seem even smaller. A forty-watt bulb in the overhead light did
little to dispel the gloom.

The old man’s face was gray. He looked
ancient. Struggling for breath, he argued with Patty. “No, the blue
one. The blue one—” He pointed at a drawer.

“But, Dad, it’s got a hole in it,” she said
and showed him the pajama leg.

“Pack it,” he said.

Chet noticed Richard and me crowded in the
doorway, and sank back against the pillows that kept him propped
up. His breathing was a rattling wheeze. I took a few steps forward
and he reached out, waving me closer. I stopped short, unwilling to
touch him, but he leaned forward, clasped my forearm with a grip
that surprised me.

A tidal wave of pain, suffering, and regret
washed over me, stealing my breath. Panicked, I backed into Richard
at my heels. The old man’s failing condition yawned before me like
a black abyss. Richard lunged forward, breaking the connection.

Gasping, I turned aside, holding my arm as
though it had been scalded. Patty stared at me, her face a mix of
irritation and puzzlement. Richard covered for me, asking Chet how
he felt, and taking his pulse, but I saw in the old man’s troubled
eyes that even he knew something had passed between us.

“Jeffrey?” he wheezed.

I coughed, straightened, buried my hands in
my coat pockets. I had to clear my throat twice before I could
speak. “Yeah?”

“Sit here, boy.” Chet patted the edge of the
bed.

I threw Richard a wary look, but he only
shrugged.

I perched on the end of the mattress, as far
from my father as possible. The cat suddenly appeared, jumped up on
the old man’s lap, keeping a narrow gaze on me. Patty finished
stuffing clothes into the bag, slammed the drawer, and fled the
room.

“I’m supposed to see the lawyer tomorrow,”
the old man said, gasping.

“What for?” I asked.

“To add you to my will. It’s only right.
You’re my first born. You ought to get half—”

“No, Patty—she should get everything.”

He shook his head, determined. It wasn’t
worth arguing about. There was no way he’d make it to any
attorney’s office. Better to let him make his plans.

“Okay. Just take it easy.”

“I made a mistake, Jeffrey. I should’ve had
you come live with me when your mother died. I never forgot you,
boy. I always loved you. It just wasn’t meant to be. You understand
that, don’t you?”

“Sure . . . Dad.”

Of course I didn’t understand, but what was I
going to say to a dying man?

Richard collected his stethoscope and blood
pressure cuff, pretending he hadn’t heard the exchange. My father
scratched the cat’s head. Herschel purred loudly, greedily nuzzling
his hand.

Brisk footsteps announced the arrival of the
ambulance crew. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, I sprang to
my feet, and sidled past them.

Patty waited for me in the living room. She
looked at me with suspicion. “What happened to you in there?”

Embarrassed, I avoided her gaze. “It’s a long
story.”

She studied me like I was some kind of freak.
“Tell me some time, okay?”

“Later.” Yeah, right. Tell you my secrets? No
way.

Long, awkward minutes later, the paramedics
wheeled the gurney through the living room.

“We’ll follow in the car, Dad,” Patty said,
donning her jacket and grabbing her purse.

“Don’t forget to feed Herschel,” the old man
cried feebly as they whisked him through the door.

“
You don’t
like me much, do you?”
Patty asked, as I backed out the driveway.

“Why’d you say that?” I asked, feeling her
penetrating glare cut through me.

“Just the way you act around me.”

“It takes me a while to warm to people.”

“I guess I’m not surprised,” she said,
staring straight ahead. “What with the way you were brought up and
all.”

I kept my mouth shut—didn’t want to start an
argument. The silence that followed was unnerving. I wished Richard
hadn’t ridden in the ambulance with my dying father. I tuned the
radio to a rock station to fill the void.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency
entrance. I dropped Patty off before parking the car. Inside, a
nurse directed me to the waiting room. Patty knew the drill. She’d
grabbed the first empty chair, paging through out-of-date
magazines. Restless energy kept me on my feet, pacing.

I glanced at my watch. I’d already killed
more than an hour. I’d probably have to hang around until Patty was
ready to leave. Great. That meant I wouldn’t get online or finish
my darkroom work. I wondered if I should call Maggie, warn her I
might not make it for dinner.

The doors to the treatment rooms remained
closed. My father was in one of the sterile cubicles, probably
wired for sound and attached to IVs. I tried to think of anything
but that.

“Will you sit down?” Patty said. “You’re
making me jumpy.”

Reluctantly I took the seat beside her,
stared at nothing, and thought about death. Tried not to think
about death. Tried not to think.

“Is this Richard’s second or third marriage?”
Patty asked, thumbing through another magazine.

“What?” I asked, stunned by her question. Our
father was dying down the hall. Where the hell was her head?

“Was he married before?” she asked again.

“No. Why do you care?”

“I’m just making conversation.” She put the
magazine down, picked up another—and didn’t look at me. “How long
did they know each other before they got married?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ten years.”

She frowned. “She’s younger than him, isn’t
she?”

“Thirteen years.” Time to end her nosy
questions. “Brenda’s pregnant.”

Patty paused in her page-turning. “Oh.”

I glanced at the other worried faces around
me and remembered the hours I’d spent worrying when Richard was in
the hospital earlier that year.

Had I just admitted I cared about my father?
God knows I didn’t want to. But, yeah, I guess I did. Mourn the
lost years, Richard had said. Yes, I could do that at least.

I got up, found a coffee machine, bought
myself a cup and took my time drinking it. After a while, Patty
gave up on the magazines, and stared out the window at the cars in
the parking lot.

I was on my third cup when Richard
reappeared, his expression a mix of worry and compassion—a look
that made my stomach tighten. Instantly on her feet, Patty reached
for his hand, looked into his eyes with puppy-dog devotion. I felt
like a fifth wheel.

“We’re going to keep your father here at
least overnight,” he said.

“Is he going to die?” Patty asked.

Richard pointed to the chairs and we sat down
again. His voice was gentle. Patty kept hold of his hand.

“We can make him comfortable,” Richard said,
“but that’s about all. Have you thought about hospice care?”

“Yes, but . . . I thought we had more
time.”

“Now’s the time.”

“Does that mean he can’t stay here?”

“He can stay for a day or so—but he’ll need
constant care from now on. He’d prefer to be at home.”

Patty thought it over. She was remarkably
controlled. I’d known the man less than a week and I felt
panicked.

“What should we do?” I asked.

Patty looked at me, annoyed. “I’ll handle
it,” she said, all business. She looked up at Richard. “Will you
help?”

“Of course.” Richard rose. Patty followed,
and wound her arm around his.

“Thank you, Richard. I feel so much better
knowing you’re here for Daddy.” She closed her eyes, and rested her
head on his shoulder, a small smile of satisfaction on her
lips.

He patted her back, oblivious of her little
performance. He was made for the role of caregiver.

Me?

I wanted to hurl.

Cheerful Christmas
lights illuminated
the gloom on Maggie’s street. I’d forgotten Thanksgiving weekend
was traditional for holiday decorating. I promised Maggie I’d put
lights along the roof and around the windows of her house.
Buffalo’s unpredictable weather may have put an end to those plans.
If it snowed tomorrow, there’d be no holiday lights at Maggie’s
home this year. Yet another of my unfinished projects.

By the time Chet was admitted and moved into
his hospital room, it was already dark. I’d driven Patty home, then
dropped Richard back at the house. My gas gauge hovered near empty
and my reserve of civility was in just about the same
condition.

I pulled up Maggie’s driveway and wondered
what kind of reception I’d get, not that I needed to worry. Maggie
wasn’t a stickler for promptness and I’d already called to warn her
I’d be late. Still, it irked me that the best part of my weekend
had been disrupted by Patty and by my father’s illness. These
people hadn’t given a damn about me for decades—
decades
—and
now they were sucking me into a tragedy I didn’t deserve to
own.

Maggie must’ve heard my car pull up, for she
met me at the door. She eyed me, as though assessing my mood.
“Should I get out the bourbon?”

“Yeah. But I’ll only have one. I’ve got to
drive home later.”

“You won’t be staying tonight?” she said, and
took my coat, sounding disappointed.

“I’ve got to be home for the security guys
tomorrow morning. Besides, I want to be there in case Brenda and
Richard get more screwy calls tonight.”

“I’d want to be there, too,” she agreed. “But
you can’t blame me if I’m lonely.”

I’d almost forgotten her dog was at Richard’s
house. I gave her a smile. “What do you know, for once I have you
all to myself.” I took her in my arms and gave her a long, intense
kiss.

“Wow,” she said, coming up for air. “You’re
welcome any time.” She pulled away from my embrace. “Sit down and
I’ll bring you that drink.”

“Is dinner ruined?”

“It’s on hold. We can sit and talk for a few
minutes. It’ll give you a chance to unwind.” She disappeared into
the kitchen.

I settled on the couch, kicked off my shoes,
and stretched out my legs. Some new age piano CD played softly on
her stereo. Restful. Just what I needed after the emotional roller
coaster I’d been on all afternoon.

Maggie returned with my bourbon and soda and
a glass of wine for herself. She snuggled up beside me and I put my
arm around her. Maggie exudes an aura of peace that envelops me
like a soothing cocoon.

“Is your dad going to die?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. It’s like a nightmare. People I
didn’t even know a week ago are calling the shots, involving me in
stuff I never could have anticipated.”

“Your father, or Patty?”

“Patty,” I admitted. “Everything she
says—does—pisses me off. You should see the way she looks at
Richard. Like she’s got the hots for him.”

“He’s married.”

“That doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s a
bigot, too.” I told her what Patty had said about Brenda days
before. “I
don’t
like her. I never will.”

“You’re judging her too hard and too
fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some women fall in love with their doctors,”
she said, playing devil’s advocate.

“Richard’s not her doctor.”

“No, but he’s a genuinely nice man. And he’s
damn fine looking.” For a moment her expression was wistful, then
she caught herself, and hurriedly explained, “Not that you
aren’t.”

“Thanks,” I deadpanned. I thought about what
she said. “You could be right,” I admitted. “But her admiration of
him almost borders on incest.”

“He’s not
her
brother,” Maggie
reminded me.

I sipped my drink.

“You’re worrying too much about the long-term
impact Patty will have on you,” Maggie said. “Once your father’s .
. . gone,” she said gently, “she’ll go back to her old life, which
didn’t include you. She’ll probably find another boyfriend and
leave both you and Richard alone.”

“Since when are you such a prophet?”

She shrugged. “School of hard knocks.” She
took a sip of wine. “You and Richard aren’t like most
siblings.”

“How so?”

“You’re closer now than when you were growing
up. Me and my sisters were close—especially in our teens and early
twenties. We had so much in common—men; minimum-wage jobs; men. But
they both fell in love, married, and lived happily ever after. The
little house, the kids, dogs—the works.”

“It bothers you that you missed out on some
of that, doesn’t it?”

“They treat me differently,” she admitted.
“Like they’re members of some secret society I’ll never be a part
of, simply because I can’t have a child.”