The Opposite of Love (16 page)

“It’s unexpected,” he said.

“I heard a report on the lunchtime news saying a cop was shot.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“A mother always knows.”

James looked around the room. It was a private room with a bathroom in the corner.

“I need to go,” he said, leaning up in the bed.

“No, no, no. You can’t get up.”

James shot his mother a look of irritation. Really? She was here ten minutes and telling him what to do?

“Your leg, you can’t walk.” James raised his eyebrows at her. “Just let me get the nurse.”

The nurse came in with a bedpan and—James was relieved to see—without his mother. The shifting of his own weight was enough to make tears spring to his eyes, and the nurse gave him more pain meds once he’d done his business.

“How long until I can go home?” he asked.

“That’s really up to the doctor, but you’ll be here at least until tomorrow. Do you have someone who can look after you once you’re home?”

James thought of Melanie. Surely she’d be willing to let him convalesce at her place for a few days, after all, she worked from home so it would be just a matter of letting him lay on the sofa, feeding and watering him once in a while. He liked the idea of it, in fact. Letting her take care of him. But why wasn’t she here yet? Had Lennox forgotten to call her?

The nurse washed the bedpan in the bathroom and left him alone, but as soon as she exited, his mother came back in.

“Can you see if you can find my phone?” he asked.

His mother rummaged through the bureau and brought him his cell phone. There were a dozen text messages, mostly from coworkers, people wishing him well, promising to stop by on Saturday to see him. No Melanie.

“Has anyone else been by to see me?” he asked.

“Just your boss, I think it was. Said his name was Lennox.”

“No one else?”

“No, but some flowers came.”

The bouquet of white lilies sat on the side table to the right of the bed where he couldn’t see it. His mother moved them to the rolling tray next to the bed and pulled the card out. “Want me to read it?” she asked.

James put out his hand and she gave him the envelope. He opened it, read the words: Get well soon. Melanie.

So she knew. And she didn’t come. She sent flowers. He didn’t even know if this was her own handwriting.

“Who are they from?” his mother asked.

James shook his head. “No one.”

“You have to
go see him,” said Sarah.

“I can’t,” Melanie said. “You know I can’t.”

“This is different. He’s hurt, probably traumatized.”

Sarah had excused Melanie from the birth of both her children; hospitals still caused her anxiety, and her fear surged at the mere mention.

Sarah continued, “I had Richard and Mom with me in the hospital. I was fine. Who’s with James right now? Is he alone?”

“I don’t know.”             

“How badly is he hurt?”

Melanie shrugged. “They said it wasn’t serious, but who knows.”

Sarah grunted and stood up from the sofa. “Where’s your laptop?”

“Office.”

Sarah returned a few minutes later, stood with her arms crossed. “According to the news reports, it was an accidental shooting. He was shot in the leg by another cop. He’s going to be fine.”

“Then why do I need to go?”

“For moral support, Mel.” Sarah’s voice was rising, the frustration mounting. “What are you afraid of?”

“That he’ll die.”

“And if he doesn’t? And you weren’t there when he needed you? How do you think that will affect your relationship?”

“I can explain it to him. I’ll tell him about Dad.”

“Do that now. Go to the hospital and explain why you didn’t come sooner.”

Melanie shook her head. “I just can’t. I’ll make it up to him somehow.”

Sarah sighed, sat back down on the sofa. “If you get the chance.” They sat in silence for a while, then Sarah looked over at Melanie. “Don’t move.”

Melanie froze. “Is there something on me?” she said.

“No, no. Just look down at your hands.”

She was sitting cross-legged with her hands in her lap, both fists closed. “Ok…?”

“See how your hands are closed?”

“So?”

“It’s an extension of your personality. You draw inward. You close your shell like a clam. A clam can’t survive forever that way; eventually it’ll have to open up to eat. For you, it’s not a matter of life and death, but it is a matter of living versus existing.”

“If you start quoting Buddha, you’re leaving.”

“Ok, ok. All I’m saying is just to be aware.”

“Got it. Wine?”

“Tea. You may need to drive to…”

Melanie ignored this and went to the kitchen. She returned with two glasses of cabernet. Sarah shook her head as she accepted hers with resignation.

They sat in silence for a while and Melanie tried to visualize the hands of her family. Her sisters’ hands, her mother’s, even her father’s giant mitts. She could visualize all their mannerisms, down to the way they sat watching TV.

“It seems like all I can remember is open hands. All of you, even Dad. So this is just me?”

Sarah nodded.

“Why are you guys like that and I’m not?”

“In Jen’s case, she’s just an open-hearted person. For me and Mom and Dad, once you have a child, your hands are always open.”

The phrasing jolted Melanie. It just occurred to her that Sarah had changed teams, leaving her and Jen when she became a parent. And it had happened without Melanie even noticing, with the birth of her first child.

“Go see him. Just for a few minutes.”

Melanie opened and closed her hands. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Suspect is a
six-foot-tall Caucasian male, late thirties, wearing a …”

…heading south on Seven Hills, carrying a bouquet of white lilies…

James opened his eyes to an episode of Cops Reloaded on the TV. Other than that, the house was quiet. He switched it off and glanced around the living room. The coffee table had been cleared off except for his pain meds and a glass of water. James popped a pill and struggled to get off the couch in the least painful way possible, then limped to the bathroom holding the wall for support. As he urinated, he noticed that the toilet was clean. In fact, the whole place looked like it had been dusted and polished, with the exception of the carpet which still looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in weeks. It occurred to him how things get dirty so slowly, so that you hardly notice it. But when they’re clean again, it’s all at once, and shocking.

When he came out of the bathroom he heard her calling his name. Rather than answering he simply limped back to the living room and gently arranged himself on the sofa again. She bombarded him with questions he didn’t answer, then launched into a narrative he didn’t hear.

“I hope it’s ok that I took some cash out of your wallet. You were out of food and you need to eat. Of course I just got the basics—some bread, eggs, cheese, and even some bacon. I remember how much you liked bacon on everything. There’s not much to drink besides water and beer but if you want me to go back out and get something else I can do that…”

A word slipped through the droning buzz of her voice and registered with James.

“Beer,” he said.

“Do you think you should be drinking with your medication? There’s some water there on the table if you’re thirsty. I made sure you had your pills close when I went to the store. You were sleeping pretty heavily but I didn’t want you to wake up and not have them and be in pain—”

“Beer.”

His mother brought him a beer and sat on the chair facing the sofa while he drank it. James studied her. Her cropped grayish pants that probably used to be black. Her plain yellow t-shirt, her nails at differing lengths, but clean. Her hair pulled back into a bun, small strands jutting out from her temples, her face a deep brown and wrinkled. How old was she? Sixty? She looked old.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” he asked.

“I’m not busy at all. I can stay as long as you need me. I’d be happy to in fact. I want to know how you’ve been and—”

“No. I mean do you have a home, do you have a place to live.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands. “You want me to leave.”

The day had been a kaleidoscope of gray. It had stopped raining but the sky was still a dirty, undulating grimness when he and his mother left the hospital in a cab to his place. A damp must greeted them at the door and James realized how little time he’d been spending at his own house. His mother helped him onto the couch, and even in his mental fog, he was ashamed and angry for accepting her help, her shoulder underneath his armpit, her very touch.

Now the pain was easing and he looked past his mother and out the window at the sky where the ombre effect faded to black at the edge of the horizon.

“Let me make you a sandwich,” she said, springing toward the kitchen.

“Mom, no.” He lifted his right leg to prop himself up and groaned, both at the pain and at the disgust; how easily the word “Mom” rolled off his tongue.

His mother paused at the edge of the living room, looked back at him. “I’ll be right back.”

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d seen in the bathroom that the bandage was showing blood and would need to be changed soon, and the thought of his mother seeing him in his boxers was unfathomable, but he knew he couldn’t do it himself. The right Vicodin-to-lucidity balance to accomplish such a task was one he hadn’t mastered yet. In fact, he was erring on the side of the meds.

When James had dozed off to sleep, Lopez had been stomping through his mind like a storm trooper. The look on his face when he pulled the trigger. Of course he told Lennox that Lopez had meant to shoot the dog, but had he? If it had been an inch to the right, James would have a broken leg. A couple feet north, dead. James hadn’t heard a word from his own partner since the incident. Would the son of a bitch actually shoot him on purpose? All these years on the force and close calls and disaster avoided, and he gets shot by another cop? Intentional shooting or not, Lopez was a fucking lunatic, and there was no way James was going near him, at work or otherwise. It was time to make a change.

Melanie stood
on the porch facing the street and listened. A dog was barking a few houses down. A little boy rode by on a bicycle. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t know what she’d say to him.

She heard the doorbell chime inside the house and braced herself. Not sure who she’d expected to answer the door, she found herself speechless when a woman stood before her asking how she could help.

Melanie went from surprise, to dismissal (this woman was no threat to her), to recognition (I know this person), to surprise again (James’ mother!). “Oh, you’re…” she started.

“James’ mom, yes.”

“What a pleasure. Mrs. Perolo, is it?” Melanie went into ultra-courtesy mode showing the same respect for this woman as she would for a billionaire client. James’ mother matched her tone and posture almost immediately.

“Yes, but you can call me Connie.”

“Connie, I’m Melanie. I’m a friend of James.” Melanie wondered if he was within earshot, curious to know how he’d feel about use of the word ‘friend.’

“I remember you dear, from the policeman’s ball.”

“Yes, of course.” Melanie recalled how awful James had been to this woman and was anxious to get off the subject. “Good to see you again. I was told James was sent home. Is it possible to see him?”

“Of course, come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I’m sure the company will do him good.”

Melanie followed Connie to the living room where James lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“I was just making him a sandwich. Can I get you anything? I’m afraid there is only water and beer to drink.”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Connie left them alone and Melanie bent over the sofa to kiss James’ forehead, then sat rather awkwardly in a chair across from him, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He looked directly at her for the first time since she’d walked in the room, studying her for a long time. Then he leaned his head back, closed his eyes and said, “Been better. The drugs help.”

“It’s good to see you,” Melanie said. “I was worried.”

James’ eyes shot open and his brow furrowed. “Worried? From appearances I would’ve thought you had no idea what happened. Except for the flowers, that is. Such a nice… gesture.”

“Your boss called me, so yes, I found out yesterday. I couldn’t come to the hospital to see you though. But I’m here now.”

“You couldn’t come to the hospital why?”

Melanie had intended to tell him why, but in the moment, she was feeling attacked, and therefore defensive. “Would it have made a difference?”