May We Be Forgiven Part 5

Nathaniel gets home first; the car pulls into the driveway, and he climbs out, dragging an enormous duffel bag behind him.

With one hand on Tessie's collar, I hold the kitchen door open. The dog is relieved to see the boy.

"Hi," I say.

He doesn't answer. He puts his bag down and talks to the dog. "What is going on around here, Tessie?" he says, mussing her ears. "What is it, girl? It's madness!"

He turns to me. "Can I give her a biscuit?"

"Sure," I say, not expecting to be asked. "Give her a cookie, give her two. Are you hungry? Do you want a sandwich?"

Without waiting for an answer, I take things out of the refrigerator and pile them on the table: bread, cheese, turkey, mustard, mayo, tomatoes, cornichons, the same things Jane and I were snacking on all last week. I get him a plate, a knife and fork and napkin.

"Aren't you having anything?" he asks, after he's built his sandwich and is about to sink in.

"I'm not hungry."

"Do we have any cream soda?" he asks. It seems odd at a time like this to ask for something so specific. Digging around in the fridge, I find, on the bottom shelf, in the back, a six-pack of Dr. Brown's. I take out two.

Ashley arrives with only a small My Little Pony rolling suitcase that's clearly a holdover from her childhood.

She is immediately down on her knees with the dog. "Tessie," she says. "Oh, Tessie."

"Would you like a sandwich?"

"A gla.s.s of milk," she says.

I pour one for her.

She sips. "It's on the edge," she says.

I nod.

"The milk, it's going bad," she says.

"Oh," I say. "We'll get some more."

There is silence.

"Is Dad coming home?" Ashley asks, and I don't quite know what to say.

"No," I offer.

"Where is our car?" Nate asks.

"I don't know if your mother mentioned it, but this whole thing started when your father had an accident. The car is in the shop, but I've got mine. Do you want to go to the hospital?"

The children nod. They've not gone upstairs. They've done nothing but pet the dog.

As we head out, I feel a flash of childhood memory, my uncle Leon pushing me out the door, his knuckles digging into my back, my bones taking the knuckle with a great impression, fear and dependency. It still hurts.

I hold the door for the children. "Take your time," I say.

At the hospital, walking from the car across the parking lot, Ashley slips her hand into mine.

"What is it going to be like?" Nate asks.

"Your mother is in Intensive Care, so it's very bright. She's hooked up to a lot of equipment; there's a machine helping her to breathe, and she's got an IV in her arm which gives her medicines and food. Her head is bandaged from the surgery, and she looks a little like a racc.o.o.n-she's got two black eyes."

"My father punched her in the eyes?" Nathaniel asks.

"It's bruising from the surgery."

In the elevator Ashley squeezes my hand so hard it hurts; she squeezes the whole way down the hall and into the ICU.

Jane's mother bursts into tears when the children come in.

"Stop, you're scaring them," her husband says.

"Too many, too many, too many," the nurse says, shooing people out.

The children are left alone with their mother Jane's parents stand in the hall, glaring at me. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h," the father says.

"Let's get some coffee," he says to his wife.

I press myself to the gla.s.s. Ashley takes her mother's hand. I imagine it warm, even though it is limp; she rubs her cheek and face with it, stroking herself, giving herself her mother's affection. Nathaniel stands next to her, crying and then stopping himself from crying. A little later, when Ashley's head is on her mother's stomach, she looks up smiling and points to her mother's stomach. "It gurgled," she says, through the gla.s.s, as though a gurgle is a sign of improvement.

When the nurse needs to do something to Jane, I take the children to the cafeteria.

"What happens next?" Nathaniel asks, as he's eating a second lunch.

"You should spend as much time with your mom as you want, let her know you love her, and know how much she loves you."

When Ashley excuses herself to go to the bathroom, Nathaniel leans over.

"Did you f.u.c.k my mother?"

I don't answer.

"She was into you; she used to tease my father by talking about you."

Again, I say nothing.

"Where is Dad?" Ashley asks when she gets back to the table.

"He's here."

"This hospital?" Nate asks.

I nod. "Do you want to see him?"

"Should we see him?" Ashley asks.

"Entirely up to you."

"I need to think he's dead," Nate says. "That's the only way I can make sense of it. He did this and then turned the gun on himself."

"There was no gun," I say.

"You know what I mean. Why didn't you stop him, why didn't you kill him?" Nate asks.

Why didn't I?

All too familiar with the hospital layout, I lead the children to the Emergency Room. George is parked in a back hallway, bound to a chair, slumped like he's been sleeping for days, his face roughened with stubble.

"Either we sedate him or he's out of control," the nurse remarks, spotting me.

"These are the children," I say, "Ashley and Nathaniel."

"He ate a good lunch, and we're awaiting his disposition," the nurse says, slightly more chipper.

"Is that like his mood?" Ashley asks.

"It's paperwork telling us where he'll go from here," the nurse says.

George opens his eyes.

"The children are here," I say.

"Hi, Dad," Ashley says. Nathaniel says nothing.

"Sorry," George says.

There is an awkward silence. We all stare at the floor, at the patterns in the linoleum.

"George, I've been meaning to ask you, there's a cat who scratches at the kitchen door, gray, with green eyes and a dab of white on the tail. It's gotten into the house a couple of times. And it looks like no one feeds it, so I bought some kibble."

"That's m.u.f.fin," George says. "Our cat."

"Since when do you have a cat?"

"Years. Her litter box is in the guest bathroom-you'd better clean it."

"She likes canned food," Ashley says, softly.

"What were you thinking?" Nathaniel asks his father.

"No idea," George says. "What day is it?"

We go back to Intensive Care. The doctor is there. "She's recovering well from the procedure itself," he says.

"Of course she is, she's a good girl," her father says.

"There's still no sign of activity. Have you thought about organ donation?" the doctor asks.

"Would that help her? A donation?" Jane's father asks.

"He means Mom being a donor," Nate clarifies.

"Don't you have to be dead to do that?" Jane's mother asks.

"Something to keep in mind. We'll know more soon," the doctor says.

"We can stay if you want, or we can go and come back after dinner," I say to the children.

"Let's take a break," Ashley says.

I take them to the mall. "Is this where you usually go? Is this what you do with your mother?" I buy them sneakers and frozen yogurt. The mall is uncomfortably empty; it's a weekday, no one is there.

"Why are you being so nice?" Nathaniel asks.

I say nothing.

"It sucks. It all sucks," he says. Back in the car, Nate asks, "Can you take me for a ride?"

"Where?"

"I want to get out of here."

"Do you have a bike? Maybe when we get home you can go for a ride. It's certainly warm enough out."

"I'm not asking if I can go for a ride," he says. "I'm asking you to take me on a ride." There's a pause. "I took some pills."

"What do you mean, 'pills'?"

"Not too many, but enough."

"Enough to kill yourself?"

"No, to calm down. I'm a wreck."

"Where did you get them?"

"From the medicine cabinet at home."

"How did you know which ones to take?"

Nate stares at me as if to say, I may be dumb but I'm not stupid.