Night of Miracles

by Elizabeth Berg

  Lucille closes her eyes. It’s one thing to lose the love of your life at eighty-three. It’s another to lose your mother when you’re just a little boy.

  But Lucille knows what to do. “I’ll call Tiny Dawson,” she tells Jason. “He’s my friend and he’s a very nice man and he has a truck and I know he’ll be glad to drive Link there.”

  “Oh, thank God. I’ll pay him.”

  “That’s what you think. You just try to pay Tiny for a favor.”

  An Invitation

  TINY IS IN HIS TRUCK, ready to go and pick up Lincoln, when his phone rings again. Lucille, he bets. “Almost there,” he says, answering. “Took a while to dig myself out.”

  Silence, and he realizes it might be a customer. “Best Taxi,” he says.

  “Tiny?”

  Monica! His heart moves into his throat and he is temporarily speechless.

  “Tiny?” she says again.

  “Hey, Monica. How are you?”

  “Well, I can’t move an inch out there! Have you been out?”

  “I am out.”

  “So you’re working today?”

  “Not really. Not yet. Got to do something else first.”

  “Well, could you…I’m sorry to ask, Tiny, I truly am, but I need to get to work. Polly’s in California, you know, and I’m the only one with keys to open up. And I cannot get my car out, the snow’s too deep and I think it’s iced in, besides. I can’t think of anyone else who might help. In return, I’ll give you breakfast on the house, whatever you want.”

  “I’ll come and get you. But I can’t stay for breakfast, I have to give someone else a ride somewhere. What’s your address?”

  “One forty-seven Laurel.”

  “One forty-seven Laurel? I been past your place a million times, and never even knew you lived there.”

  “Well, I do. I do, and, Tiny, I…”

  He waits, but she only adds, “I’ll be right at the window, looking out for you.”

  When he reaches her house, he sees her on the porch, a pretty woman dressed in a red coat. He looks in the rearview, wets his hand, and smooths down his hair.

  Monica climbs into his truck and snaps the safety belt. “Whew!” she says. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know people will be out and about soon, wanting their breakfasts. Sometimes on the worst weather days is when we have our best business.” She hands him a paper bag. “I put a little something in here. It’s just a muffin and an orange. And it’s a healthy muffin. I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

  “You don’t need to lose anything!” Tiny says. “You’re absolutely perfect the way you are!”

  Well, now he’s done it. Dan used to tell him, “If you want to chase a woman away, just heap praise on her. I’m telling you, they like the mean ones.” Tiny isn’t so sure about that. And anyway, it’s not his nature to treat anyone unkindly. Even in high school, he was known as a big softie who could drop you in one punch if he wanted to. But he never wanted to.

  When Tiny pulls into the parking lot, there are already two cars waiting.

  “See?” Monica says.

  “ ’Least your lot got plowed,” Tiny says.

  “Yeah, he’s good. Jack Bessel. You know him?”

  “I know him,” Tiny says. Old guy. No competition.

  “Thanks again,” Monica says. She puts her hand to the door handle, then turns to look at him. “Would you like to come back for a free lunch?”

  “Can’t, sorry,” Tiny says. He won’t be back by then.

  Monica is embarrassed, he can see it. Now she’s the one who’s been rejected. And he feels bad, so he says, “How about…” He clears his throat. “How about if we have dinner tonight?”

  He’s barely got the words out before she says yes. “Come over around seven,” she says. “I’ll make you dinner.”

  He watches her wave at a customer getting out of his car, watches her pull out the keys and open the restaurant. She turns back and waves at him with a kind of solemnity he can’t figure out. What a mysterious sex.

  He heads over to Lucille Howard’s house. She wants him to take this kid to Columbia. It will take a bit longer than usual, but he’ll do it. Of course he will. Kid’s mother is dying. What a thing. He wonders what he can talk about to take the kid’s mind off it. Nothing, that’s what.

  A Truck Ride

  HALFWAY TO COLUMBIA, THE SNOW has all but disappeared. Only a few flakes fly around wildly, seeming to want to make up in ferocity what is lacking in number. The ride thus far has been mostly silent. Now Tiny asks Lincoln, “You like sports?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not even baseball?”

  “It’s okay, I guess.”

  The kid is worrying a little hole in the knee of his jeans.

  “You keep picking at that thing, you’re going to feel a draft.”

  Lincoln folds his hands in his lap.

  “I’m just fooling with you,” Tiny says, and the kid says nothing.

  “You hungry?” he asks. “I got a muffin in here.”

  “No, I’m good.”

  Tiny looks over at him. Cute kid. “You worried?” he asks. Might as well see if he wants to talk about it.

  Lincoln looks back at him. “No.”

  Okay, then.

  After a while, Tiny says, “Hey, Lincoln. You know how to drive a stick shift?”

  “I don’t drive.”

  “That ain’t what I asked you.”

  “No, I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.”

  “Want me to teach you? We got another little while before we get there. If you want, I’ll teach you how to shift before we get there.”

  “Okay.” The kid tightens his mouth, holding back a grin, Tiny thinks.

  Well, now he’s done it. But next time they come to a stoplight, he’ll have the kid put the truck into first, then second. He’ll talk to him about clutches, about timing, about feeling things out so you know when it’s time to switch gears. Then, after the kid has shifted a few times, he’ll say, “Look at that, you’re a natural. I’ll have to get an application over to you right away so you can come and work for me.”

  Waiting

  IN THE HALL OUTSIDE ABBY’S room, Jason is talking to her doctor.

  “So it’s pretty much over?” he asks.

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “Right.”

  “It really is hard to say. I know that sounds like nothing, but it’s actually hopeful.”

  “She can’t even lift her hand.”

  “I know. She’s in tough shape, and it’s possible…I’m glad you called your son.”

  Jason offers a bitter laugh.

  “It might still work.”

  Jason nods, and the doctor walks away to join his team, who have kept a respectful and sorrowful distance.

  At the end of the hall, Jason sees Lincoln with a tall, overweight man. He walks over to meet them.

  “Tiny?”

  Tiny offers his hand. “Yes, sir. Brought you your son. And it was a pleasure.”

  “I’m so grateful. Thank you so much. I’d be very glad if I could pay you.”

  Tiny backs away, one hand held up. “Ain’t no need. We had a good time. Your son is now a champion shifter.”

  “A what?”

  “I taught him how to shift my truck.”

  “He drove?”

  “Nah, he just shifted a few times. But he’s got it.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I go in and see her?”

  “Let’s go together.” Jason nods goodbye to Tiny and starts down the hall. “I don’t want you to be alarmed, son. She looks a little wiped out.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lincol
n shrugs.

  When they push the door open to Abby’s room, she appears to be asleep, but Jason looks quickly to make sure her chest is rising and falling. She’s got a nasal cannula on to deliver oxygen and an IV set for a slow drip. Jason meant to tell Lincoln about the cannula, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

  He stands looking at his mother and Jason points to the cannula. “That’s giving her oxygen so that she can breathe a little better, that’s all that is.”

  Lincoln looks up at him, tears in his eyes. “She can’t breathe?”

  “No, no, she can breathe. This just helps.”

  Lincoln sits on the chair and removes his shoes. Then he climbs in bed beside his mother, who does not respond.

  Jason hopes no one comes in and tells Lincoln to get off the bed. Because he would have to kill that person.

  He sits in the chair and watches as Lincoln touches his mother’s hand, then holds it.

  “The puppy has a name,” he tells her.

  Nothing.

  Lincoln moves closer to Abby and closes his eyes. Jason watches them. Rubs his hands together. Watches.

  One Last Try

  IRIS RIPS UP THE CARD with the beautiful photo of the cardinal. She wrote to Ed again. She said things that didn’t quite express what she wanted, as usual. She looks at her watch. Half an hour before she has to leave to go to Lucille’s. Outside, she can hear the plows, and the sun is beginning to melt the snow that lies on her windowsill. She has time.

  She picks out another card, which shows a boulder in a field, and on it a single word is carved: KINDNESS. She starts to write on the card, then doesn’t. She’ll only rip it up, and that would be a shame.

  Her computer pings with a message, but it’s only an ad. She deletes it, then sits before her screen, thinking. She still knows his email address, unless he has changed it.

  She types his address in the bar, and on the subject line, puts: Please read.

  Down to the body of the email.

  Just do it.

  Do it.

  She goes to the kitchen for a glass of water, then approaches the desk chair as though sneaking up on it. She sits down. Thinks. Then she stops thinking and just begins typing.

  Dear Ed,

  I have written notes to you so many times, but I never mail them. I suppose I understand that you’re not exactly eager to hear from me, and I don’t blame you for that. But I hope you’ll bear with me while I try to explain some things to you. To unburden my heart, if you’ll excuse a little New Age talk one last time.

  In the days after I asked you for a divorce, I had to move away from any feelings for you, because I felt bound to do what I said I would do. I could only look in one direction. That day in court, I remember I showed you a new purse I’d gotten, as though we were still together. And you looked at it and said, “That’s really nice,” and I got a rush of feeling that made me think I was going to burst into tears and so I looked away from you and never looked at you again, even after it was all over and we were leaving the room, and then the building, together. I watched you walk to your car with your back so straight. I must have seemed so heartless to you, but I was overwhelmed with sorrow that I had hurt you so. The few times I saw you after that, with Kathleen, it seemed like you were racing along and I was glued to the earth. And that last time I saw you, and I saw that Kathleen was pregnant, well, that was what made me move from Boston. Which you might not even know. But I left Boston to live in a small town in Missouri. Mason, it’s called. You might remember that I always did kind of want to live in a small town.

  I want to say that it was not your fault, our divorce, it was both of ours. I am so very sorry for the pain you endured and I never got the chance to tell you that, and I guess I am writing now to ask your forgiveness. It would mean an awful lot to me if you could just tell me you forgive me.

  Iris’s throat begins to hurt, two parallel lines on either side.

  Finish.

  There was a selfishness in me when I was married to you and I still am not sure why. I could blame it on my youth, I suppose, but everything about that notion rings false. Rather, I think that it was that I was afraid of wanting something so much.

  You met my family, and you heard a lot of stories of my growing up. You know that it was a lonely place for me to be, when I lived at home. I had no allies in my siblings, we all lived in our own separate orbits. Every night, the four of us shut in our rooms, after having had a silent dinner with parents who were miserable with each other. I wanted something so bad. I was dying for something.

  And then I met you. And you were…Well, even, is what you were. Even and kind, and you’d go along with things, like the time we were driving somewhere and I told you I was surprised I’d never smoked, I always thought I might like to smoke and that I would have been a good smoker, whatever that meant, but you went into a store and got us a pack of Marlboros and we sat in the car and you lit two cigarettes like that guy in the old movie and then we tried to smoke but we began to cough and then to laugh and then we just threw the pack away.

  There are so many memories that are precious to me. You brought me a bird’s nest once, and whispered over it as though it were sacred, which, to me, it was. In our last years together, you made me dinner every Sunday night and I never told you how I relished the sounds of your cooking while I lay on the sofa and read. And I know I complimented you on the food, but I don’t think I ever thanked you for the regularity of your cooking, the way I could count on it.

  Oh, and that you could fix everything. That you would cover me with a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch. That you told me how an airplane flies, in great detail, over and over until I really got it. That you knew every member of the cabinet, that you knew your geography. That I don’t think I ever heard you yell, except the night after I told you I wanted out and then you yelled and wept and I remember I thought in that moment that someone should strike me down for making someone so otherwise gentle do that.

  It occurs to me that right about now you might be feeling creepy, thinking I’m trying to come back into your life. Please believe me when I tell you that I have never stopped loving you and doubt I ever will, but what I am trying to do is not get into your life, but to get you out of mine. In the nicest of ways.

  It would mean so much to me if you would write back to say that you forgive me. If appearances mean anything, I know that you’re happy, that you’ve moved on, and I doubt that I ever cross your mind.

  But I guess I’m asking you to see me in your mind’s eye and offer a simple yes. If you’d just send me back a message saying, Yes. Or maybe you could go all out and say, Yes, I forgive you.

  I’m not going to effectively rip this email up and delete it. I’m not going to re-read it, either. I’m just going to send it and hope—

  Well, you know what I really hope? I hope you are rich in love, now and forever….

  Iris

  She pushes Send. Then she goes into the Sent file and deletes her message.

  What will be, will be.

  She stands, and her legs seem weak to her. Then they are not, and she gathers up her things to go over to Lucille’s. She loves that old lady. She loves their business. Feeding people, making people happy.

  Quitsville

  PHIL IS BACK IN TOWN after a quick trip, and he’s on the way to Monica’s, expecting to spend the night with her. But Monica has something else in mind.

  “Phil,” she says, after letting him in the door. “Before you sit down, I want to tell you something.”

  “Aw, Christ,” he says. “Is this about the ring? I told you I’d get it. Give a guy some time.”

  “No, it’s not about the ring.”

  He smiles his killer smile. “Good. Good girl.”

  “Or maybe it is.”

  His smile fades and she can see he is
about to offer some other lame excuse.

  “I don’t want the ring,” she says.

  “Oh, yes you do.”

  The nerve!

  “Phil, you know, I thought you were someone else. I thought you might be the one for me, but nothing could be further from the truth. And so I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you anymore. I don’t want you coming here and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come into my restaurant anymore, either.”

  “I can go into that restaurant whenever I want.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Monica, what have you got stuck up your butt?”

  “Ew,” she says, quietly. And then, “Look, don’t let’s waste any more time on this. On us. We’re done.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I say so.”

  He stands looking at her. Then he says, “I never intended to get you a ring.”

  “I knew that.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Goodbye, Phil.”

  He starts to say something, thinks better of it, and then he is gone.

  Monica leans against the door, her heart pounding. For one moment, almost as an autonomic response, she starts to feel bad. But then the voice of her mother comes into her head, saying, “I’m right proud of you, honey.”

  Who’s the Boss?

  “WELL, YOU’RE JUST DOING EVERYTHING,” LUCILLE says.

  Iris looks over at her from the refrigerator, where she is putting away the groceries she shopped for before she came over.

  “I want to,” Iris says. “I like learning all this.”

  “You’ve learned a lot, and fast.”

  “Thanks!”

  Lucille looks like hell, and she huffs and puffs whenever she walks. Iris was so alarmed when she first arrived, she tried to get Lucille to go to bed. That went well: