ODD NUMBERS

by M. Grace Bernardin

  “Do you think it’s really true, mom?” Alex asked.

  “Do I think what’s true?”

  “The part about him being the son of God and taking everybody’s sins on himself?”

  “I don’t know. It seems like kind of a cruel God to ask human sacrifice of his own son. I studied just enough anthropology in college to know that these ancient cultures were obsessed with this whole of idea of sacrifice to appease the gods. They felt like somebody had to pay for evil. Now Jesus may have been a delusional psychotic for all we know, but still there’s no doubt that he truly believed he was the one chosen by God to pay for everyone else’s crimes.

  “I don’t know if I ever told you this,” Allison continued, “but I went to a Christian youth camp when I was about your age.”

  “Oh, yeah! Did you like it?”

  “No. I was so homesick! I felt like my parents, your mamaw and papaw, just sent me there to get me out of their hair for a week. I thought everybody there were a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites who were trying to brainwash us.” Alex looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the bed pulling on a loose thread and gave his mother a chuckle, then with a quick flip of his long bangs he went back to his thread.

  “But I do remember one thing this counselor said. He said Jesus had plenty of opportunities to escape or defend himself but he didn’t. He walked right into it. I don’t know if that’s true or not but I remember he tried to prove it from the bible. For some reason I remember that. It’s about the only thing I remember from that summer besides being miserable.”

  “So even if he was a complete psycho, I guess he had guts.”

  “I guess so. But you know…” Allison stopped herself before she said anymore.

  “What?” She saw the last hint of youthful idealism in that inquisitive glance of his. Alex wasn’t completely jaded. He still believed in super heroes, and she couldn’t squelch that little bit of innocence that she saw glimmering within. She just couldn’t infect him with the contagion of her cynicism, not yet anyhow. The world would do it soon enough.

  “Oh, nothing,” Allison said thinking that there were plenty of psychos out there with guts; terrorists for example, delusional maniacs willing to die for their fanatical beliefs. But Jesus didn’t seem to belong in that category. His martyrdom seemed more the tragic death of the hopeless romantic. Of course, it’s what happens to all romantics eventually, Allison thought. But why tell Alex? Why ruin this off guard moment when he dared to let that youthful trusting naiveté leak through?

  The TV was still on mute. A thoughtful silent pause followed. The light from the TV flashed varying degrees of brightness throughout the darkened room, but neither one of them was looking at the screen. It was strange, this silence. Silence wasn’t tolerated for very long in their house. Noise, no matter how much of an irritant to the nerves, was preferable to the deafening sounds of contempt or distance that invariably shouted their way through the silence.

  The reflective moment didn’t last long. It became awkward. Normally, she would just get up and make a hasty exit, but instead she decided to take a chance. She thanked Alex for sharing the program with her, reached out and touched his arm. He didn’t pull his arm away. His head was still down, still working at that loose thread. She thought she saw the trace of a smile from behind the curtain of those long bangs. He mumbled something in acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly audible but at least it wasn’t a surly grunt this time. Allison excused herself and left the room.

  *****

  Allison was still looking at the crucifix on the wall of the ICU room when she realized she was crying. Not just crying, but sobbing and shaking. She put her hand over her mouth to stop any audible cry from escaping. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. So many emotions stirring the tears, as if everything ever left unwept for was being brought to the surface. The crucifix on the wall, some sort of cathartic trigger, the source from which all the tears flowed.

  A psycho but a brave one. Deluded enough to die like that. A romantic hero to be pitied. A lunatic in love. No one ever loved me that much. No one ever will. Bleeding. Suffering. Bearing heavy burdens. Fool to believe that anyone ever would. No knight in shining armor coming to save me. So why do I want so desperately to believe… in fantasies…in fairy tales?

  Gasping. Dying. Heart literally breaking. Could I ever love that much? To the point where I’d be willing give up everything? Rejected. Degraded. Mocked Spat upon. What would I have to give up? My dreams? My identity? My dignity? Wouldn’t that just make me a doormat? Yet why is it I don’t see weakness when I look at him? I see strength. I don’t see groveling or cringing. I see courage. It’s not self-loathing I see. It’s self-forgetfulness. Total selflessness. The hero who runs into the burning building to save another. Have I ever come close to loving like that? If only I could forget myself. My pride. My image. My control. Could I ever just relinquish it all and trust that it wouldn’t be in vain?

  Betrayed by those he loved. So what makes me hate Vicky so much? Is it because I fear that Frank loved her more than me and always has? I fear he still loves her. Not Vicky now, of course, but her memory. He’s in love with a memory and I can’t compete. Why can’t I just let it go? Let him be free? Let her be free? I can’t love like that because I’m in the way. Father forgive them for they know not what they do.

  “I can’t forgive,” Allison squeezed the words out softly in a half whisper drenched with tears. “But I want to ‘cause I’m so tired of carrying it around. Will you forgive them for me?” She said on her knees at Vicky’s bedside, the words spoken to the cross on the wall, the image of a God she wasn’t sure if she believed in; her rational side struggling, telling her she’s talking to no one but herself. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt like someone heard.

  The emotions began to subside a little and reasoning returned. Allison reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, wiped her face, and looked at her watch.

  “Oh, my gosh! My lunch break’s over.” She started to stand up but her sore ribs made it difficult to move quickly. She had pushed it by trying to jump to her feet and slouching over the bed as she knelt and prayed. A pain in her torso caused her to let out an audible moan and clutch her ribs. Again she was reminded of her injury. She remained on her knees and carefully scooted up toward the head of the bed, closer to Vicky. She was as close to her face as she could get without interfering with tubes and medical equipment. Vicky continued to stare in a half daze toward the other wall with the crucifix on it.

  “We really are a pair, aren’t we?” Allison said chuckling back a few remaining tears, her hand supporting her aching side as she tried to kneel up a little straighter. Yes, they were both wounded; a link in their humanity. Something Allison could hold onto.

  “Excuse me, Vicky, I have to cough and breathe now, lest my lungs collapse.” Allison turned her head to force out a painful cough. She inhaled and exhaled, slowly and deeply, thinking about what a gift an effortless breath of air is and how much it’s taken for granted until something happens, like a broken rib. Her eyes landed again on the crucifix, on the extended ribcage and the wide open arms. He was struggling to breathe right along with her… and Vicky.

  “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do before I leave. Vicky, I don’t know if you can hear me or not but I have to tell you something. You remember that hope chest you got from your grandmother? The one you used as a coffee table back at Camelot. I know where it is. Sally has it now. She bought it from an antique dealer. Do you remember Sally?”

  It was a moment of surprise for Allison, almost joy when Vicky slowly turned her head and looked at her. It was a look of dawning realization, like someone coming out from under hypnosis or some amnesic state.

  “You remember don’t you? There’s something still in that hope chest, Vicky. I’m sure it’s something from your grandmother and we’d open it if we could but we don’t have a key. We could break the lock but Sally was told it could damage the chest if we tried. I
don’t expect you have any idea where the key is so I’m asking your permission to contact Sally and break that lock. Whatever’s in there belongs to you. I know your grandmother would want you to have it. My God, you should have something, Vicky, even if you have no where to take it. Let me do something for you. Let me… Oh, geez, I can’t stop crying… please let me help.” The tears came again.

  Vicky stirred a little. She was becoming more alert, more aware of her surroundings. Her eyes were becoming clearer, enough for Allison to begin to recognize the person that she once knew. Vicky reached out and touched Allison’s hand, almost as if Vicky was trying to comfort her.

  The nurse came in and instantly the feel of the room changed as Allison quickly fumbled to get her psychological armor on and her emotional shield up.

  “Excuse me. I was just leaving,” Allison said, clearing her throat, blotting, and wiping the last of the tears from her face. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “It’s all right,” the nurse said in a chirpy voice that sounded so strangely out of place. “I just need to get in there and get her vitals.”

  “I need to move, don’t I?”

  “You’re fine. I’ll go around to the other side.” The nurse began walking around to the other side of the bed then suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Well, look at this,” she said. “She’s awake and responding to our voices. Look at the way she’s looking at you. She recognizes you.”

  “I know. She’s really come around just in the past few minutes.”

  “You feeling better, Vicky? Look at you, you’re smiling,” the nurse said. “That Neomycin must be working.”

  Allison tried to rise to her feet without drawing too much attention to herself.

  “You need help getting up, honey?” the nurse said to Allison.

  “No, I’m good,” Allison said bracing herself on the bed for leverage, but trying not to push down too hard for fear of disrupting Vicky. “I tried to get up too fast earlier. I keep forgetting I got a cracked rib.” Allison rose with great effort, having to acquiesce and let the nurse help. Once she was standing, she realized everything from her knees down to the bottom of her feet were asleep. She would have to stand there smiling at the nurse while nonchalantly wiggling her legs and feet until the pins and needles stopped sticking her.

  “You know we’re still trying to notify her next of kin,” the nurse said running a digital thermometer across Vicky’s forehead.

  “Yes, I heard that.”

  “So far, no luck. Since you seem to be the closest she has to any family, I was wondering if we could give you her personal belongings for safe-keeping.”

  “Uh, sure,” Allison said as she mentally marveled over the fact that so many things can change in just ten short minutes. This started out a quick obligatory visit, dreaded but nonetheless, something she was bound to do. Now, one quarter of an hour later, she had been named Vicky’s next of kin, responsible for the few worldly belongings she owned.

  “It’s not much of course,” the nurse said tightening the blood pressure cuff around Vicky’s arm. “Just the clothes on her back when she came, which are in pretty bad shape, and a necklace, well, I guess you’d call it that. It’s a chain with a key on it.”

  “A key?”

  “Yeah, a really old looking key.”

  The nurse stuck the plugs of the stethoscope in her ears and the small metal dial at the end in the crook of Vicky’s arm. Vicky flinched ever so slightly and Allison guessed it was because the metal dial was cold. She gave a slight smile to Vicky, and it seemed from her eyes that she tried to smile back. Allison caught herself feeling happy about it all; the fact that Vicky responded to something cold, the fact that she smiled and that life and awareness seemed to be returning to her eyes. And then Vicky did something really peculiar. She nodded her head. The nurse, who was busy monitoring Vicky’s blood pressure, didn’t see it. The nod was intended for Allison alone. She was trying to communicate with her, to tell her the key on the end of that chain was the one she was looking for and to proceed with her plans to open the hope chest.

  “Blood pressure’s coming back up,” the nurse said.

  Chapter 37

  As her self-appointed next of kin, Allison took Vicky’s personal belongings for safe-keeping and left behind phone numbers so the hospital staff could reach her. Not exactly self-appointed; not sure either just how this lot had fallen to her, but sure of one thing, it was something she had to do. A chance at redemption was all she could think as she left the hospital that afternoon and walked to the parking lot on unsteady legs like a newborn colt.

  The phone call came early the next morning. Vicky had rallied, the encephalopathy astonishingly reversing itself as quickly as it had come on. They called it amazing and said if she continued to show signs of stabilization, she would be moved out of ICU that day. That wasn’t all the news. They had finally reached Vicky’s only known next of kin, a cousin by the name of Robert Miner. He had lived in Oklahoma, but just as recently as the past month had moved back to Kentucky where he was originally from.

  Robert Miner. Robert Miner. The name’s so familiar. Allison turned the name over and over in her head all morning while getting ready for work. Finally it came to her while she was brushing her teeth… Chief Bobby. Of course! It’s gotta be Chief Bobby! But Vicky thought he was dead. Although she mentioned he had talked about moving to Oklahoma. Nobody but Vicky ever really believed he was dead. Allison recalled a conversation she had with Tim and Sally about Bobby’s sudden disappearance. Tim and Sally speculated that he must’ve gotten in some trouble with the law while down in Florida. Tim figured he was probably running drugs, got busted, and wanting to shield Vicky from any sort of tangle with the law, he never contacted her. But then there was something about a dream. Allison tried to remember. What was it?

  Bobby had appeared to her in a dream, but Vicky convinced herself it wasn’t a dream but rather his ghost. Allison remembered while styling her hair, the sound of the hair dryer serving as a sort of white noise to carry her memory back. He warned her. That was it! What did he warn her about? Gosh, Vicky was so superstitious. He told her to change her ways. And then he said goodbye to her. But they were so close. Surely he wouldn’t have just left town and moved to Oklahoma without telling her. That was Vicky’s reasoning for why he couldn’t possibly be alive. But then if he was protecting her he wouldn’t tell her he was leaving for good.

  How strange! Chief Bobby still alive! Vicky has one family member left. This is good news. I think it is. I hope it is. Anyway, Vicky will be so happy to see him. I wonder if she knows he’s still alive. Surely he’s at least tried to contact her over all these years.”

  With a flip of her head and a flick of the wrist that held the hair dryer, Allison’s thoughts turned to her children–to Kristen first who was downstairs eating breakfast and would soon be trudging back upstairs with all of her sound and fury and little girl drama. She would be needing help with her hair and Allison had made the mistake of promising to French braid it last night. Last year at this time she was so clingy and Allison would have given anything for a little space. Since then Kristie had backed off, and her insecurity was no longer expressed in that sweet vulnerable fashion but rather in the lamenting complaints of the budding ‘tween drama queen. How quickly they grow up and go from one stage to the next. Allison had a brief moment of angst where she longed for that affectionate little girl to come to her, throw her arms around her waist and hang on for dear life. She hadn’t seen her in months.

  Her thoughts turned to Alex who was still asleep. Allison puzzled over the fact that he could manage to continue sleeping through his radio alarm which blasted the sound of some wretched alternative grunge rock noise. She would have to try to get him up for school and that was always an ugly battle she dreaded fighting. He seemed even more tired and grouchy since the accident; though strangely enough there had also been little rays of light since then. She had been honest with him about Vicky, though she withheld t
he facts about Vicky’s relationship with his father, she did tell him that she was an old friend of her parents, and he had been intrigued with this poor demented woman responsible for his car accident ever since. Of course Frank had been angry that she told him. She figured Frank just didn’t want their son to know that they ever knew or associated with anyone like Vicky.

  Alex had asked about Vicky since then and even expressed an interest in going to visit her at the hospital. Of course she had been too sick. He seemed curiously engaged when Allison recounted the details of her visit and Vicky’s health the night before.

  Finally Allison thought about Matthew as she sprayed her hair into place and fumbled for her mascara brush in the vanity drawer. She wondered how her firstborn was fairing at college. He was still sleeping of course since his first class wasn’t until ten. She hoped he got enough sleep and didn’t drink last night. Was he eating right? He would be having his finals in a couple weeks. She felt the strain he was under as if she was going through it again herself. She suddenly wanted to text him or e-mail him. She hadn’t heard from him in a couple days. She would be glad when he came home for Christmas break. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make things up to him. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make it up to all the kids.

  Her thoughts back to Vicky as she popped open lipstick tube after lipstick tube looking for just the right shade to match her blouse. Of course she called Sally last night about the hope chest and they arranged to get together the following night. It was as soon as Sally could do it. Not soon enough for Allison who had this nagging fear that two days would be too late. Hopefully Vicky would continue to improve or at least stabilize. Allison would have to go see her today after work. So much to do today, she thought making a mental checklist as the inevitable sound of Kristen tromping up the stairs with her request, which was somewhere between a demand and a plea, for Mom to fix her hair.