by Susan Wilson
That first night, he lay awake, listening to the sounds of the house, listening to the creak of the floorboards as Francesca walked to her closet, to the click of her lamp being shut off. The pipes banged a little as the furnace kicked on. He’d left his door ajar, just enough that Pax could push his way into the small bedroom and climb in with him. Because the door stays open, he can hear it when Francesca leaves her bed to go downstairs to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and he lies there, half-dozing until he hears her return. Within a few nights, he’s gotten used to being up here, accustomed to the sound of another warm, breathing person within calling distance.
Chapter Forty-seven
Pax approves of Keller’s new sleeping situation. It is so much easier to keep track of all the inhabitants of the house when two of them are nearly side by side and the third just below them. He can sit at the top of the stairs and hear everything that is going on in the house. So Pax hears Keller’s restless shifting on the army cot. He hears the sleepless sighs of Francesca and his acute ears pick up the barely audible sound of Rick’s dry eyes blinking. Outside, the late-fall wind scurries the leaves against the rough surface of the sidewalk and moans through the naked branches of the oak tree in the front yard. Sometimes his hackles rise at these sounds, a purely involuntary response to the domestic unrest.
Eventually, they all sleep and he is free to climb in with Keller. But first Pax checks in with Rick, testing the air for any distress. Then Pax stands for a moment just outside of Francesca’s firmly shut bedroom door. He never scratches for admittance, simply makes sure that the noises from within are those of a sleeping human. Satisfied, Pax pushes the other bedroom door open and noses Keller into moving over. Keller reaches for the dog in his sleep, spooning him like they once did in bombed-out cellars and foxholes. The dog heaves a sigh. Things are not quite as they had been. The routines are the same, his duties the same. But there is an undercurrent that the dog feels deep in his bones; like the scent of winter in the air, the season in this house is changing.
Chapter Forty-eight
They’re going to make him leave his room for dinner. Rick is trying hard to not make a big fuss about it. After all, it is Thanksgiving, and the smells coming from the kitchen are a visceral reminder of much happier days. Francesca’s cousin Sid and his rather snooty wife, Clarissa, are coming. Keller will make it an odd number at the table. Rick has sussed him out on whether the man wants to spend a national holiday “on the job,” but Keller assured Rick that he’ll be there to help. It was a bit awkward, but it had to be asked. “You’ll eat with them, of course, won’t you?” Rick knew that Keller usually ate by himself in his garage room. Now that he’s moved upstairs to sleep, Rick really doesn’t know where Keller is eating, just that he still keeps out of this room at dinnertime, leaving Francesca and him alone. As if they have something important to say to one another. As if they needed marital privacy.
“I’ll eat with you.” And then, as if what he just said might be misunderstood as giving Rick a free pass to stay in his room, Keller added, “In the dining room.”
* * *
Keller is a good carpenter and the widening of the door into the dining room looks like it has always been a wheelchair-wide archway. The landlord will have no complaints that their tenancy ruined his property.
Sid Crawford comments on the changes as soon as he and his heavily pregnant wife come in the front door. “You know, you ought to see if the landlord would be interested in selling the place to you. I mean, with the GI Bill and all, you can get a low-cost mortgage and do whatever you want to the place.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever considered making this a permanent home,” Francesca calls from the kitchen, showing off her powers of carrying on two conversations at the same time. “I think we want something bigger, don’t you, Rick?” She’s clearly thrilled to have him out of his room; with every sentence she speaks, she bounces her thoughts over to him, as if he is some guest needing inclusion in the conversation, not a man fully capable of putting in his two cents.
“We’ve really never talked about it. We’re fine as we are.” Rick sips from the glass of eggnog in his left hand. Francesca has been liberal with the rum.
“For now, maybe. But you have to admit it’s a bit tight.” Francesca is like a jack-in-the-box, popping her head out from the kitchen and then ducking back in. Or a turtle. Clarissa is in there with her, stirring or peeling something. She greeted Rick with a quick hello and shrugged off her mink into Keller’s hands, as if he were a butler, then disappeared into the kitchen. Rick thinks the sight of him bothers her. Frankly, the sight of her bothers him, but he can’t quite admit to himself that it’s because she’s expecting. If things had been different, that might have been Francesca, twice over. Unfair, uncalled for, and stupid, but that’s the thought that teases in the back of his mind. How can Francesca stand to be around her?
It is a bit tight with four upright adults and a man in a wheelchair, plus a big dog hovering around, hoping that someone will forget that he’s not allowed to be fed from the table. Already he’s vacuumed up the spillage inevitable in the preparation of enough food for a platoon. Rick suddenly feels a strange wistfulness about the Thanksgivings he and his platoon endured. A can of C rations and a round of personal memories of Thanksgiving coming from the war-weary company. Not close enough to a USO station to get the better meal; and yet, those little stories of mom’s fiasco with a pumpkin pie or dad’s mishap with a carving knife, of the world’s best stuffing and the biggest turkey in the land were as much a true Thanksgiving as any he’d ever had.
Keller is quiet; maybe he’s thinking of his Thanksgivings past.
They’ve given Rick the head of the table. Tradition, or is it because that’s the best place for his chair? Keller asked him earlier if he thought he might want to sit in a regular chair. The dining room chair with the arms is the one they call the ‘captain’s’ chair, and, presumably, he might not fall out of that one, but the shift from wheelchair to dining room chair would be ugly, so Rick shook his head no. If Clarissa is discomforted by the sight of a man like him in a wheelchair, she’d be more uncomfortable watching the process of moving him from one place to another.
Francesca sits at the opposite end, the kitchen end. Keller, useful, to his right; Clarissa to his left, and Sid beside Clarissa, next to Francesca. Pax is remanded to a corner, but that doesn’t stop him from watching everyone with the avidity of a hungry wolf. Francesca has outdone herself. The table looks wonderful, all their wedding china trotted out for the occasion, pieces he’s never actually seen in use. New tablecloth, new napkins. Candles. In the bright sunlight of a pristine November day, they flicker pale and unnecessary but cheerful. The turkey is delivered ceremoniously and they fold their hands as they were taught to do in Sunday school for grace. Rick simply fists his existing hand and stares at it. No one says anything for a moment, and Rick suddenly realizes that they are waiting for him, as host, to intone the prayer. “For what we are about to receive may we be grateful.” The gathering choruses a ready amen and the serving bowls begin to fly.
Like the master of the house, Keller removes the blessed bird and takes it back into the kitchen to carve it. Rick tries not to let the bitter reminder of his disability spoil this day. It would have been worse to have Sid do the honors. At least Keller doesn’t act out of pity, but utility. Keller returns with two platters. One has whole slices of white and dark. One has small pieces of cut-up turkey. This one, he puts next to Rick’s left hand.
The conversation wends its way around the topics of their Iowa family and friends, the rate of inflation, and the latest headlines. Keller is politely asked about his college class; Clarissa talks at length about her layette for the baby due next month, oblivious to Francesca’s sudden disappearance into the kitchen on some trumped-up desire for more cranberry sauce.
Sid wants to buy a new car and is thinking of getting a Studebaker. What does Rick think of them?
“I al
ways liked their line of personnel carriers.” Rick has a dainty arrangement of meat and mashed potato firmly on the tines of his fork. Somehow he’s managed to do it without thinking about it.
“Well, I’m thinking of something a little more, um, family-size.”
“The Starlight?” Keller hasn’t offered much until the subject of cars came up.
“I think so. I like the styling of the trunk. Lots of room for luggage.”
“Sid thinks that we should drive out to Iowa for Christmas, but I think that it’ll be too hard with a new baby.” Clarissa rests her hand demonstratively on her belly.
“Babies are good travelers; after all, don’t they sleep all the time.”
“Sid, my darling cousin, I don’t think you have any idea what babies do.” Francesca gets up from the table to replenish the squash bowl. Keller follows her, empty platter in hand.
Rick gathers another forkful, but not quite as neatly, and the clump falls back to his plate.
“So, Rick, giving any thought to getting a new hand?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You know, a hook. A guy in my building has one. Uses it like a tool.”
“Sid, we haven’t thought about such things.” Francesca is in the room, half-full squash bowl in her hand. “We’re not ready.”
“It’s okay, Fran. No, Sid, no one has suggested that a replacement is an option.” Rick sets his fork down carefully.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just asking.” Sid reaches for another dinner roll. “Just thought you might be thinking about it, that it might help to get you back on your feet.”
“If you haven’t noticed, a hook won’t do that for me. Or, do you mean getting back into the ball game? I don’t think a hook will help me do that, either.” He’s gobsmacked, more shocked than furious. Sid speaks of things he knows nothing about. If he thinks that Rick’s life will ever go back to normal just because he’s got a hook attached to the stump of his pitching arm, he’s nuts.
“Mr. Stanton’s wound isn’t properly healed. A prosthesis isn’t possible right now.” Keller sets the turkey platter down in front of Sid. “When it is, I’m sure he’ll be open to the idea.”
“Keller, that’s not your business, either.” Rick pushes himself away from the table with his good hand. “I’m feeling a little tired. Would you please take me back to my room.”
“Actually, I won’t. There’s a mince pie coming in here with your name on it.” Keller’s smile is supposed to make the whole exchange look like a comedy routine. Rick is left pushed away from the table, and he has to get himself back close enough to enjoy that pie.
* * *
Sid and Clarissa hung on long enough to finish their dessert before Clarissa claimed weariness and they left. Sid clapped Rick on the shoulder on the way out. “It will get better.” In the interest of family harmony, Rick allowed that as a clichéd and weak apology for Sid’s ignorance. “I know. Time.”
“Well, that went well.” Francesca leans against the closed front door and rolls her eyes heavenward.
Rick reaches out with his good hand and takes hers. “Yes, it did. It was terrific.”
She smiles down on him, squeezes his fingers, and then heads into the dining room to repair the damage.
Rick digs deep in the little pouch they keep attached to his wheelchair for his pens and pencils and crossword puzzle books. Amazingly, he’s adapted to left-handed writing fairly well. His fingers find the twenty little white pills in his collection, hidden in that handy little pouch.
Chapter Forty-nine
Sid’s incredibly insensitive remark about the “hook” really fried me. Sid was always one of those guys who speaks first and thinks second. For such a smart guy, he could really put his foot in it. At the same time, he was right. We were taking Rick’s recovery at his pace. Why wouldn’t Sid think that Rick was ready for the next phase of his recovery? I hadn’t confided in Sid that Rick wasn’t making much progress, partly because I think that I really didn’t see it that way. Nowadays, they call it “enabling.” Back then, we were just trying our best. I was trying hard to focus on small improvements, and getting Rick into the dining room for Thanksgiving was a big one. And into the parlor for Christmas was the best present I got that year.
Our house was so tiny that Pax very nearly took the tree down with his tail twice. Rick’s parents had come for the Christmas holiday, and because I couldn’t offer them a bed, they ended up driving from Connecticut and back in the same day. Maybe we did need to think about a bigger place, a place of our own. This was a stopgap measure, and even with Keller’s improvements, it was inadequate for the long term. What was scary was that I had no idea how we would pay for it, GI Bill or no. Even with Rick’s benefits, we were just scraping by. I needed to go to work, or Rick needed to get better enough so that he could. It might not be baseball, but he had a degree in accounting, and you didn’t need two arms and functioning legs for that. But you did need to leave your bedroom. You did need to feel good. The other alternative: go back to Iowa.
The suggestion had come from my father during his Christmas phone call. “We miss you; I wish that you could be here. Why don’t you think about coming home?”
“We need the VA here, Dad.”
“We have hospitals. We could set you two up on the first floor of the house.”
I promised to think about it and hung up. Rick was already back in his room; Keller was doing the dishes. Pax came out of Rick’s room and nuzzled me until I got up from the little chair beside the telephone. “What do you want, Paxy?”
He pushed his big head against my waist. I swear he had overheard my conversation and was offering me a hug. “What do you think? Want to go to Mount Joy?” I rested my cheek against his skull.
I leaned against the doorjamb and looked into the kitchen, where Keller was busy scrubbing the roasting pan. His back was to me, but I knew he could see my reflection in the window over the sink, because he raised one sudsy hand and waved. What would Keller do if we moved to Iowa? Would Keller even consider such a move? It would put back on the table the thing that we had, with our arrangement, taken off: whom Pax most belonged to.
“Need some help?” I asked.
“You’ve done the brunt of it today. Why don’t you go relax?” He flipped a dish towel over his shoulder and reached for the next pan. “Or take Pax out for a walk around the block. He’s been in most of the day.”
“I’ll wait for you to be done. We can both take him.” Rick wouldn’t miss us, not for the fifteen minutes it would take to speed around the block in the cold. I went in and checked before we bundled up. My husband was sitting up in bed, a novel propped against the table over his bed, but his eyes were closed. I lifted the book, carefully sliding in the bookmark, and rolled the table aside. How could I ever have thought that he might one day be able to hold down a job when a day sitting up in his wheelchair knocked him out?
* * *
With the winter solstice past, there was a discernible light left in the sky as we walked out of the house. Pax was off leash, and he led us down the deserted street. Christmas tree lights sparkled in the front windows of every house we passed. Above our heads, a single star appeared, and Keller pointed it out.
“Star light, star bright…” I began the childhood rhyme, expecting Keller to join in. He didn’t, and it was another reminder of the hard life he’d had as a kid. He didn’t know about wishing on a star till I told him about it.
“Looks like I’ve been missing a lot of wishing opportunities.”
“Guess you’d better make up for it now, before another star appears.”
I was a little ahead of him, a footstep or so. The end of the block was a stone’s throw away. I felt his hand in its thick glove touch my shoulder, and I paused. Pax, always aware of us, also paused, sniffed, decided all was well, and forged on ahead.
“Are you supposed to say your wish out loud?” Keller asked.
I was facing him now;
the lingering light had gone and it was full dark, but the streetlight cast our shadows behind us. “No. Never. A wish spoken out loud will never come true.”
“I see. Well then, I won’t say it.” It was the strangest thing, how he closed his eyes and held his breath as if he wasn’t wishing, but praying. Then he opened his eyes and laughed out loud. “Okay. How long does it take? For a wish to come true?”
“Keller, it’s just a silly tradition. I swear you’re falling for it.” I gave him a playful shove with both hands on his chest.
“I am. Falling.” As if to neutralize his oddly plaintive remark, Keller grabbed me, playfully wrapping his arms around me and rocking me from side to side, as if he was going to toss me in a snowbank. I laughed and struggled to get loose. My younger brother, Kenny, might have finished the job, landing me in a snowbank and then rubbing my face in it for good measure. Keller just suddenly let me go and called Pax back to his side.
We walked back to the house, laughing like little kids, with Pax romping up and down the snow heaped along the edge of the sidewalk.
Chapter Fifty
Another letter from Miss Jacobs, and Keller knows that it won’t bear good news. Good news will keep and bad news won’t go away, so he leaves the unopened envelope in his back pocket, until he forgets that it’s there. There is so much else to think about. Rick is running a low temperature. Just low enough that they decide to wait and see if he comes down with a cold, or if it will eventually rise high enough that the question of a new infection will come into play. There has been so much activity, so many people in the house, that Keller is fairly comfortable with the idea that Rick is just run down a little and open to the common cold—given his rather isolated existence, he has no resistance—and not something more sinister like a bladder infection.