Taft

by Ann Patchett

  "Thank you for letting me wait here," Fay said.

  "Any time, sweetheart." Mrs. Woodmoore put her arm back around Fay. "I've got half a mind to just keep this girl with me."

  Fay dipped her head down and touched it to Mrs. Woodmoore's shoulder, then just as quick she straightened up again. "I'd appreciate it if you could carry me home," she said to Wallace.

  "Sure," he said, and he opened up the door for her.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," I said. Poor Fay, I was thinking, but then I forgot. My neck was still numb and it gave my head the feeling of floating off someplace by itself.

  "I'm so glad," she said, standing in the doorway. "I'm happy that you're okay." Mrs. Woodmoore gave her one more kiss and then Fay turned around and left. Wallace nodded and followed her out.

  "Who was she again?" Marion said.

  I started to answer, but her mother jumped in. "That's Fay Taft," she said, watching her from the window. "She works for John in the bar."

  Mrs. Woodmoore told us good night and we all headed upstairs. Franklin was sleeping in Buddy's room with Ruth, which left Marion and me in the twin beds she and Ruth had slept in as girls. When Marion flipped the wall switch two ruffled lamps on two matching bedside tables lit up. Ruth had been right about the room. The frilly curtains and the rose covered wallpaper made me think of a clipped poodle. The more I looked at it, the fuzzier it got. Marion picked a stuffed tiger off one of the beds and threw it on the floor to pull back the spread. "This one's you," she said.

  I'd been in that room before.

  She took the two bottles out of their paper sack and handed me a couple of pills, then she went to the bathroom and got me a glass of water. "Take these. They'll be a little hard to swallow."

  "I don't have any pain."

  "Trust me, it's coming."

  I took the antibiotic and it went down like a baseball. As soon as it was past my tongue I knew I'd made a mistake. I started to cough and coughing made everything worse. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking, worn out from a pill. "I'm going to wait on this other one awhile," I said.

  Marion helped me out of my clothes like a nurse. "Put your arms out," she said, but my left arm didn't go out too well.

  "This going to be a problem?"

  "For a while is all. It's going to take some time for everything to come back." She kneeled on the floor and untied my shoes. I didn't like her doing that, but when I leaned over I felt a throbbing that made me straighten up again. "Just let me," she said.

  When I was sitting there in my underwear she put her hand behind my head and helped me lie down. "I'm going to be right here," she said, getting into the little bed next to mine. I didn't know if she was taking her clothes off or not. I couldn't turn my head to the side.

  Taft sleeps past one in the afternoon on Sunday. His wife has hung blankets over the curtains to keep the room extra dark. She unplugged both the phones and told the children, "No noise. Nothing." He hadn't gotten in from the lumberyard until after five in the morning. It seems as if it's been weeks since he's had any sort of real sleep. Even when he wakes up and looks at the clock and feels ashamed for having stayed in bed for so long, he's still tired. He could easily roll over and go back to sleep for another couple of hours, but he told Carl they'd get the deck finished today. A person can't spend his whole day in bed. Taft gets up and feels for his bathrobe in the dark.

  "What're you doing?" Taft's wife says when she sees him in the hall.

  "You shouldn't have let me sleep so late."

  "You've got to get some more rest," she says.

  "I want to get to work on that deck."

  "Oh, who cares about the deck. Take it easy for a change." She reaches up and rims her hand over his head. "Your hair's all funny."

  "Hair's not meant to be slept on for so long," he says. He puts his arms around her and squeezes her until she gives out a little yelp.

  "Stop that now," she says, laughing. "I'm on my way to church. I want to be sure they'll let me in."

  "Church?"

  "They're having a rummage sale. I was going to take the kids over so the house would be quiet."

  "Well, you better leave Carl. I want him to help me with the deck." Then Taft remembers Fay down at the lumberyard. He should think of a project to do with her now so the two of them can start spending more time together. That would be fair. Something with Carl, something with Fay.

  "All right," she says. "If you don't want to rest, I can't make you." She calls for Fay, who comes down the hall towards them. She's wearing denim shorts and a little sleeveless shirt that she's tied up at her waist. "Do you want to run over to church with Marjorie and me for a while and look at the rummage sale?"

  Normally she'd say no. Fay doesn't like going places with her mother, but she likes church. Her friends are there. "Sure."

  "How'd your date end up?" Taft says.

  "Boring till the very end. But I got home early, didn't I?" she says to her mother.

  "She did."

  "I've been thinking that there has to be a better way for me to spend Saturday nights," Fay says. "Maybe I should try to get a job at the lumberyard, see if I can't learn something about wood."

  "What are you talking about?" Taft's wife asks.

  But Fay just smiles. She likes having secrets from her mother. She likes the fact that this is something just between the two of them. "See you later, Daddy," she says.

  "You girls have fun."

  And then they're gone, off to find Marjorie.

  Taft checks Carl's room and when he doesn't find him there he goes to look in the garage. Carl's on his weight bench doing butterflies. It's the first time in sixteen years that Carl has gotten up before Taft.

  "You want to finish up that deck?" Taft says.

  Carl exhales, raises, inhales, lowers. "Sure thing," he says.

  "I'll just get cleaned up a little," Taft says.

  "I'm going to be done here in a minute." He's covered in sweat. Every muscle looks like it's straining. Taft wonders how much more he could do. Carl pushes his weights up again.

  "Take your time," Taft says. Taft walks down to the bathroom to shave. He turns on the water in the sink and brushes his teeth while he waits for it to get hot. He wishes he felt better. He doesn't have enough free time to not feel well for a day.

  Something was wrong when I woke up. I was lying in a river of sweat and the pain that was in my neck was pulling all the air out of the room. I was being shot over and over again. Every time my heart beat the gun went off. I heard it. I could feel myself shaking.

  "Marion?" I said, but it was hard to make the word. "Marion?"

  "I'm right here." She got out of her twin bed and came and knelt next to mine. She put her hand on my chest. It was so cool. It made me think of water. "You want that pill now?"

  It is something like indigestion, but he hasn't eaten anything since supper last night. Taft stands in front of the mirror, looking for what's wrong. He thinks the dark blue bathrobe makes him look pale. He opens the medicine chest and takes out a bottle of Rolaids. He has just gotten the lid off when it comes. The first wave hits him in the chest and knocks him back against the bathtub. He is lying on the rose colored bath mat, trying to catch his breath. It is being crushed out of him by something. Something is sitting on his chest. There is that pain he remembers, the one in his left arm that is going all the way up to his jaw. He feels it in his shoulder and neck. He waits for it to stop, but it isn't stopping. He slides over onto his side and lies on the floor. Everything is clear now, what he's done, what he should have done. He is more afraid than he could have thought possible. He calls out, not a name but a low, long sound. He calls until he can't anymore. There shouldn't be this much pain. Not for anything.

  Carl hears something. He has just come in from the garage.

  "Dad?"

  He can see him from the kitchen. That's the way the house is, everything in one straight line. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Carl sees Taft lying on th
e white tile floor, the bath mat pushed under one shoulder.

  "Dad?"

  Carl is running down the hall. He's only got on his gym shorts and tennis shoes now. He took off his shirt in the garage.

  I am there when he gets there. I am standing in the bathtub behind them.

  "Dad?"

  Carl takes Taft's head and shoulders and pulls them up into his lap. Taft is white and sweating. He is holding his left arm in his right.

  "Are you all right?" I say. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm going to call the hospital," Carl says. There is so much fear. He is petting his father's head wildly, over and over again.

  "Stay with me," Taft says.

  "I'll just be gone for one second."

  "Stay," Taft says. He is sure of it now. He is afraid to be alone.

  "I'll stay with him," I say. "Go on and call. Rim!"

  But Carl stays. He listens to his father. Taft is slipping.

  "Pinch his nose and open his mouth," I tell Carl from the bathtub. "Blow two deep breaths into his lungs. Give him oxygen."

  Carl is petting his father. He pulls the bath mat over Taft's chest. Carl's bare back is narrow and smooth as he leans over.

  "Straddle his chest. Put the heel of your hand two finger widths above the breastbone. Cover your hand with your other hand and push down fifteen times. Listen to me. I took a class. The doctor who owns the bar made me take a class before I could have the job. Two breaths, push fifteen times, two breaths, fifteen times. Do this, Carl. Listen."

  "Dad?"

  Taft's eyes are open. He is looking at Carl. He almost sees him. The blankets over the windows make the room too dark. It is impossible to get up now.

  "I'm going to call," Carl says. "I'll only be a second. I have to have some help."

  "Blow in his mouth," I say. I crouch down in the tub to be closer to them. I could reach out. I could touch his hair.

  "One second," Carl says. Taft doesn't answer and Carl slides his shoulders back onto the floor. He is holding his father's head in his hand, but he can't seem to put it down on the floor. The floor would be cold. His arms are weak from so much lifting. They tremble. He grabs a towel off the rack and rolls it into a sort of pillow which he puts under Taft's head. Then he runs to his parents' bedroom and dials 911 and waits and waits, but the phone is dead. He slams it down and runs into the kitchen. But that one is gone too. He doesn't think they might just be unplugged, that his mother unplugged them just this morning so his father could have a little rest. Carl runs back into the bathroom. Nothing has changed. "I'll just be a second," he says loudly, and he runs out the door to find somebody who can help.

  But Taft is dead. I know. I am there with him when it happens. The last thing he thought of was pain and it stays with him on his face. His eyes are open. He is looking for Carl to come back. I slide down into the bathtub and press my cheek against the cold white enamel. Outside I hear Carl yelling. It sounds like he's running around the house in circles. It sounds like he will never find anyone to bring him back inside.

  When I woke up, Marion was dressed and her bed was made. She was sitting on the made bed, reading a book. "Are you still alive?" she said.

  "I am."

  "It might be hard to talk for a while. Don't strain yourself." Marion looked like she got less sleep than I did. There was a black thumbprint under each of her eyes. "All night I was thinking about the neck," she told me. "Do you know what the chances are of somebody getting shot in the neck and coming out of it as well as you? Everything's in the neck. All the veins and nerves, the spinal cord and the spine. Christ, the spine. I can't believe you're even here."

  "I'm here."

  Marion put down her book and came and sat on the edge of my bed. She wiped my forehead off with a damp towel. "You had a bad night."

  "I know."

  "Reminded me of when Franklin was little and he'd get those awful flus. Remember that? Every time I'd think he was going to die. His fevers ran a hundred and three, a hundred and four."

  "I remember."

  "I think that's when I decided to go to nursing school. I thought a person couldn't have a child without knowing how to save his life all the time." She put her hand on my head and smiled at me. It was a comfort having her there. I'd known Marion for a long time.

  "You tell Franklin?"

  "I told him you had an accident. That you were upstairs sleeping. He wants to come up and see you, but I'm going to wait until that fever is down some. Better he sees you when you're more yourself." She picked up my glass of water from the bedside table and took a long drink. "One of these days you're going to have to tell me what all this was about," she said. "One day when you can talk and we have plenty of time. I want to know what happened."

  "Sure."

  "And that girl. You'll tell me about her too. I'd say it was none of my business, but the way you showed up here last night I figure I'm entitled."

  "Sure."

  She slid a pill out of each of the bottles. "I'm going to dope you up again," she said. "See if we can't get a jump on the pain this time." She wasn't asking me. She put her strong arm underneath my back and pulled me up so I could swallow. She held me there, propped up, while I took the pill. "They never teach you how to do these things in school. This is on-the-job stuff you're seeing here." She settled me back against the headboard so I was sitting up. "You're going to feel better soon, tomorrow, the day after. You'll be surprised. You get shot and it'll turn out to be nothing at all. When it's all over you'll be sitting in the bar saying, Hell, I take bullets as a pastime. When I see a bullet coming I jump in front of it." She took a paper sack off the dresser and took out some scissors and tape and gauze. "I'm going to change this dressing while I've got you sitting up. I've got some four-by-fours in here somewhere. Here we go." She held up a package for me to see. "You'd think that a man who had a child might not want to get shot. You'd think he might step to the side."

  "Listen."

  "I'm not listening because I don't want you talking. Just hold still. This shouldn't hurt."

  I felt the cool scissors slide inside the bandage and then I heard her snipping. All that hurt me was to see such pain on Marion's face.

  "You've got a hole in your neck," she said. She crumpled up the old bandages and put them in the bag. "I'm going to see if I can't clean this up a little. Just keep your head up, eyes straight ahead." I could feel her swabbing at me. She was trying her best not to let it hurt me and I was trying not to show her that it did. "Just a little bit of infection. It's not so bad. But you've got some blood here."

  "Don't tell me," I said. I'd wanted to say that last night at the doctor's.

  She smiled. "I don't blame you." She taped on a new set of pads and then wound gauze around my neck. "You look real sporty now. Like you're wearing an ascot." She picked up the trash and put it all back inside the bag. "It's something having you so quiet. If I said so, you'd have to sit there all day and listen to me. I would have shot you myself years ago if I knew that's what it would take to get you to listen to me."

  I started to laugh, but it hurt like hell.

  "Calm yourself or I'm going to get you a bigger pill."

  Mrs. Woodmoore came in carrying a tray. However sorry she was about my being hurt, you could tell she liked having someone sick in bed that she could take care of. "How's John Nickel this morning?"

  "Getting better," Marion said.

  "I made you a lunch of nothing you'd like," Mrs. Woodmoore said, putting the tray down on Marion's bed. "That's what she told me to do, Jell-O and broth, apple juice."

  "I'll give it to him," Marion said.

  "You get yourself downstairs and see your son. He wants to know what's going on up here. I'll make sure this one eats. We don't spend near enough time together, me and John. Everybody wants to know what's going on. Your father and your sister have been asking questions all morning. That nice young man Wallace came by with flowers. He says everybody at work is going to want to know."

 
"All right, all right, I'll go downstairs." Marion sighed and pushed herself up. When she got to the door she turned around and looked at me. This Marion wasn't so different from the old one, not when she was standing in her little girl's bedroom being nice. "Don't keep him up forever," she said. "Let that Demerol knock him out."

  "Just as long as it takes him to eat broth."

  It was nice outside. I could see out the window. The lilac bush had grown rangy and tall and was pressed up against the second-story glass. Mrs. Woodmoore never let her husband trim the lilac and now it had turned into a sort of tree. I had spent a lot of time in that back yard over the years. I knew those lilacs as well as I knew anything.

  Mrs. Woodmoore went and shut the door. "I've got to talk to you," she said. She put the tray in my lap and handed me the spoon. I couldn't look down very well, so she moved my hand so that it was right over the bowl. "That girl, Fay, she wanted me to tell you she wouldn't be coming over. She was afraid you'd think she didn't care about how you were doing. I told her you wouldn't think that."

  Fay not coming over? "Course not."

  "Quiet," she said, looking at the door. "Eat the soup. I don't want Marion knowing about this. Fay told me things last night. Poor baby, she was so upset. You could imagine she would be. She told me about it being her brother and about her being in love with you."

  I was trying to make sense of this, trying to picture Fay pouring out her heart to Marion's mother.

  "What you have to understand is that now her mother and her uncle and aunt, they're all going to know, about Carl's problems and her working in the bar. As soon as they found Carl it was all going to come out. Fay said she figured her uncle and aunt were probably looking for her last night. And I think it's only right that those people know what's going on with those children. It's too much of a burden for a young girl to be keeping so many secrets."

  I couldn't make sense of these names coming out of Mrs. Woodmoore's mouth.

  "Everything's got to be different now. It wasn't what she wanted, but people have to start thinking about what's best. She was thinking about what was best for you and your family, too. That shows real maturity in a girl her age. And I'll say it, she's right. Intended or not, she's brought you a lot of trouble. Just look at you here." She took the spoon from me and fed me some broth. I hadn't been eating at all. "You've got other things to take care of, much as you might like that girl. You're too smart a man to get caught up in something like that. Take a little of the Jell-O now, just so Marion can see you tried some."