by Robyn Carr
“Reason number three—excessive speed. Now, I know it’s hard to trust the government. Hell, I don’t trust the government, so why should you? But here’s what I know from traffic school—the speed limits are established based on population, road conditions, usage, equipment, weather equations and a bunch of other silly little things. They take all kinds of possibilities into account, things like—you have this quiet suburban street that very few cars travel, hardly any parking on the street, no school in the neighborhood, road is smooth and wide, kind of a ghost town street, and the limit is set at twenty-five. And who are we kidding? Twenty-five?”
A new picture came up on the screen—a diagram. The road, a few nicely spaced houses, some trees and driveways and a red arrow aiming for a stick man and a trash can. “At twenty-five miles an hour on this street you can put on the brakes and stop before running into Mr. Miller, who is just putting out his trash.” A new diagram came up. There were two red arrows. One went right over Mr. Miller and the other went right into a tree. “At forty miles an hour, if you apply your brakes the second you see Mr. Miller, you will not stop in time. If you swerve to avoid him, you’ll hit the tree head-on. Someone is going to die.”
The audience was silent. A third diagram came up—it showed all the same things, but a police car was added, and that car was on the far left of the screen at the very beginning of the arrow. “This guy is going to stop you if you’re doing forty. He’s a cop. He’ll save your life, Mr. Miller’s life and get his Christmas bonus.
“I could show you a diagram for every road and vehicle possibility—like the empty freeway, the deserted street or the mountain or desert road that is completely vacant, where there’s no Mr. Miller or no Preacher Smith in his wobbly old pickup and there would appear to be no reason on earth for that speed limit.”
He limped across the stage again. “Sometimes it might seem there is no logical reason for a speed limit of any kind. Except that at certain speeds the average person stands a better-than-average chance of losing control of the vehicle and having an accident. Now, where’s a guy, or girl, with a really great car going to find out what it can do? I mean, if you can’t even pick a safe, deserted road to have a little fun, then where can you give it a good test? The speedway. Every big city has one. If you can’t locate one, call the police department and ask. They’ll direct you to a safe speedway where you can work it out.
“And there you have it, plain and simple. The three things that will get me my Christmas bonus—you’re speeding, or distracted or impaired and I see it. I get to pull you over and make my quota.” He was quiet for a meaningful moment. “You get to live.”
And then Oscar was on the screen again.
“I told you Oscar is my best friend. I’m almost thirty-five and he’s sixty now. Fifteen years ago when I was a Seahawks tight end at the age of twenty and he was a factory worker, we were on the road at the same time. I was testing how fast that Ferrari could get around the mountain curves and he was going home after work. I was on a good road and had a clear path. I was going pretty fast but that car was hugging the road like magic. It was an unpopulated area—hardly anyone on the road and no houses in sight. And then Oscar drove through a stop sign because he’d fallen asleep. He’d worked a double shift and he was toast. He was doing about twenty-five and I was doing about eighty—but I was in total control. Except for one small thing—by the time I saw his car and slammed on the brakes and skidded and lost control, I T-boned him.
“Here’s the irony. I got a speeding ticket. I didn’t cause the accident—I had the right of way. But my excessive speed combined with his impaired driving put him in a wheelchair and cost me my football career and an inch or so off one leg.”
A new picture came up on the screen. It was a shot of Seth and Oscar separated by a chess board. “I really grieved the football. I wasn’t happy about how many rods and pins were put in my leg. It hurt to even look at Oscar—he was a family man and he wasn’t ever going to get better. But I think the hardest part was my own family and what it did to them. They were so supportive while I worked my way through several surgeries and years of physical therapy. But we were all changed—me and Oscar and all our families and friends. And I think that’s when my father stopped being proud of me.” He gave the kids a moment to absorb his message.
“Now I have one question for you. And be as honest as you can. Am I gonna get my Christmas bonus this year?”
“No!” they yelled.
“Well, damn. I knew it was a mistake to give you the inside tips. Thanks for letting me have the stage for a little while. Drive your best!”
* * *
Iris had to wipe the tears from her eyes. What a showman Seth was. He had obviously taken the lift out of his shoe so that his limp was more pronounced. He was magnificent and how she loved him.
She looked at her watch. It wasn’t yet four and last bell had sounded. There were still some athletic practices and after-school clubs going on, but the school had quieted down quite a bit. She tidied up her desk, locked things up and left for the day.
She parked in her carport and walked across the yard. Gwen was busy in her kitchen as always but invited Iris in anyway, offering her a cup of coffee. “I’m going to pass. I discovered something at work today that I wanted to tell you about. Did you know that Seth has done some high school assemblies in the past few years?”
“He mentioned something about drivers’ education or something of the sort....”
“Has he told you about it?” Iris asked.
“No details. But I didn’t ask. I thought it must just be the usual thing.”
“He’s extraordinary,” Iris said. “I guess if he really wanted you to know about this he would’ve told you himself.”
“But he told you?” Gwen asked.
“Yes and no. He told me as soon as he got to town that he wanted to help with programs directed at teens and asked if we could work together on some stuff, assemblies and that sort of thing. We weren’t seeing each other yet and I told him to put together a proposal for me. Today I was looking through a list of recommended videos and there was one of Seth at one of the high schools. Not in Thunder Point, but having seen the video, I have to convince him to appear for our student body. He’s wonderful. And I know his story will be meaningful to the kids. The video is public, but I suspect he didn’t think anyone would point it out to you. Certainly not me. But, Gwen, you should see it. It’s short. Fifteen or twenty minutes. And so moving.”
“Then yes, I want to see it. Can you help me find it?”
“Sure. Where’s your computer?”
“In my sewing room. I only use it to look up recipes, patterns, pay the bills, that sort of thing. I don’t have fun on it like some of my friends.”
“Come on. I’ll find it for you.”
They went together to Gwen’s sewing room. Iris sat down at the old computer and, of course, had to update some of the software to show the video. “I’ll leave you to it, Gwen. I’m going to go home.”
“Are you going to tell Seth what you did, showing me the movie?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m not going to start keeping things from him now. I don’t know how he’ll react. In fact, I never expected something like this. I think it’s important.” She gave Gwen a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”
* * *
Norm shuffled in the door a little earlier than usual, a little grouchier than usual.
“Oh, good, you’re home before dinner. There’s something I have to show you. It’s about Seth and it’s important.”
“After dinner, Gwen,” he said. “I got some mean heartburn today.”
“When did that come on? What did you eat?”
“It was a couple hours after lunch. I didn’t eat bad. I just had Stu’s pulled-pork sandwich, which wasn’t as bad as usual. And I felt
fine.”
“Is it food poisoning?”
“I don’t feel that kind of sick. It’s just heartburn.”
“I’ll get you an antacid.”
“I hate that shit,” he grumbled, sitting in his favorite chair.
“Do you like heartburn?” she asked, skittering off to the kitchen. She brought back the pink jar and a spoon, poured it, aimed it at his mouth.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yes,” she said, the spoon steady and unrelenting. “Do as I say. I have to show you a video on the computer. Seth is in it.”
He opened his mouth, swallowed and made a great many shudders and melodramatic faces. Gwen ignored him. When she returned after putting away the medicine Norm was even grumpier. “Put it on the TV,” he said.
“I can’t. It’s on the YouTube. Iris showed it to me and now I have to show it to you. Right now.”
“Jesus,” he grumbled, holding his belly as he got to his feet. “You just live to make my life difficult.”
“You live to make your own life difficult. If you’d ever go to the doctor you might find out how to stop having heartburn and headaches and all your other twitches and complaints.”
“I went to the doctor for that insurance.”
“Nineteen years ago!” she said.
“It wasn’t that long.”
“Sit down. I’m putting it on for you. Just make no more noise or complaints and watch this because this is our youngest son and it’s important.”
“He get an award or something?” Norm asked.
“Not that I know of,” Gwen said. “Surely not from you! Just watch.”
“I mean to tell you, that medicine shit does not work a bit!” he griped.
“I’ll go make you something to drink. You watch.”
He groaned, but he watched. Gwen went to the kitchen and made him a very watered-down brandy to settle his stomach, but she didn’t hurry back with it. In fact, she checked her watch and crept close to the door to her sewing room and listened to Seth’s voice on the computer. She could hear Norm make the occasional sound—murmur, grunt, groan. Only Norm would expect a spoonful of medicine to work in sixty seconds.
By the sound on the computer, the video was almost over. She wondered if it would reach Norm the way it had her. She’d had tears on her cheeks. She’d told Norm years ago that if he didn’t talk to his sons, let them know how much he treasured them, he’d live to regret it. But Norm didn’t listen to his wife.
Well, to be fair, he had listened to her a few times and actually surprised her. She got breast cancer and was pretty sick from the chemo and was frankly astonished at how concerned and doting Norm was. It wasn’t as though he did all that much talking, especially never betraying how he felt, but he was there. Every time she rolled over in bed he was awake asking her if she needed the bathroom, a drink of water, a painkiller, anything. That was one of those times she knew how much he really loved her. But when she passed the crisis he stopped being so attentive. Which was all right, she supposed. He’d given himself away.
She’d long ago accepted that they were never going to be the romantic couple they’d been so many years ago. She could live with that. He still kissed her good-night, turned over his paycheck, thanked her for breakfast and told her if dinner was good. That should probably be enough at their ages. But she hoped she died first. She thought Norm was going to be a pain in the ass to take care of and thought it unlikely he’d be able take real good care of her when she became a withering old woman.
“Gwen,” he said from the sewing room. She thought his voice sounded strangled with tears.
She rushed back to the kitchen, grabbed the diluted brandy and rushed back to the sewing room.
Norm was bent over in his chair, his hands on his chest, his face completely white. “Gwen, I can’t stand up,” he said in a strained whisper. “Call Seth.”
She bent over him for a closer look. “Norm! What is it?”
“It’s in my gut, my chest, my back—I can’t sit up. I gotta...I gotta see Seth before... I have to talk to Seth.”
He’d broken out in a sweat, his forehead completely damp. His hands were shaking. He pinched his eyes closed. “Oh, Norm! Are you having a heart attack?”
It took him a second to respond because his breath was short. “I might be,” he finally growled out.
Gwen ran to the kitchen and dialed 911. Then she ran back to the sewing room to be with her husband while he died.
Eighteen
Seth was standing outside the deputy’s office, talking with Steve Pritkus. Steve had just arrived for the night shift. Both their radios started chattering at the same time. Paramedics were en route to an address for a possible coronary.
Seth and Pritkus looked at each other suddenly. They both knew it was the Sileski address.
“Go, go, go,” Pritkus said. “I’ll see if Doc Grant is still in the office and bring him!”
Seth jumped in his squad car and ran the lights and siren the short drive to his parents’ house. He pulled in their drive, all the way up and onto the grass so he wouldn’t be blocking paramedics, and ran into the house.
“Mom? Dad?”
“In here, Seth,” Gwen called.
He followed her voice into the sewing room, finding Norm bent over in the chair, shaking, weak, white-faced, sweating. He got down on one knee. “Paramedics on the way, Dad, and we’re looking for Doc Grant. Don’t panic.”
“I ain’t,” Norm said weakly. “If I don’t make it, send your mother on a cruise.”
“You can send her on a cruise. Don’t talk now.” Seth held his father’s hand.
The next sound he heard was Iris, running into the house. “Oh, my God, Gwen, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“He’s having a heart attack,” she said.
“We don’t know that yet,” Seth said. “But we need medical.”
Right after that, Scott Grant showed up, a little less panicked but none the less moving at a pretty fast clip. He shooed Seth out of the way, got on one knee, immediately gave Norm an aspirin and took his blood pressure. He fished a small tablet out of a vial and instructed Norm to hold it under his tongue. He asked questions about the pain, looked in his eyes, ears, nose, taking his pulse and temperature, checking the blood pressure again, asked about the pain again.
“I did this,” Iris said, tears streaming. “This is my fault!”
“What are you talking about?” Seth asked.
“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Gwen said. “He came home from work with the pains and I gave him an antacid before he watched the movie.”
“What movie?” Seth asked.
“I found your assembly presentation online and I showed your mother,” Iris said.
“And I showed your father,” Gwen said.
“And he had a heart attack,” Iris cried. “Oh, Seth, will you ever forgive me? I do things like that—just make decisions and then... God, I’m so sorry!”
“You found that video and showed my parents?”
“I know, I’m a very bad person. I should have asked you! And now look what I’ve done!”
“No, darling,” Gwen said again. “He came home with the heart attack.”
“Why did you do that?” Seth asked Iris.
“Because you were so brilliant. Because it was important for your parents to see. Because they’d be so proud of you and all you’ve done with your life!”
“Iris, what if you find something online that’s embarrassing and humiliating and gives me a heart attack?” Seth asked.
Scott got to his feet, stethoscope around his neck. “I don’t think there’s any heart attack. I’m not real sure of the condition of his heart since he hasn’t been a regular patient. His blood pressure is high at the moment,
no doubt due to severe gastric distress and the pain. But I think what you gave him is a giant gallbladder attack. He says he’s had indigestion before and had a big, fatty pork sandwich for lunch. And the whites of his eyes are taking on a jaundiced hue.”
“Iris, you gave my father a gallbladder attack,” Seth said.
“Oh, Seth, do you hate me?” she asked, tears running down her cheeks.
He just laughed. “I love you, Iris. But you’re a runaway train.”
The paramedics arrived, talked to Dr. Grant and they unanimously decided on transport to Pacific Hospital. Scott called the E.R. An IV was started. Norm quietly asked Scott if Seth could ride in the ambulance.
“Don’t you want your wife to ride with you?” Scott asked.
“I’ll take her and follow,” Iris said. “Seth, go with your dad.”
“I’ll go,” he said. Then he looked at his mother. “Mom, make sure you turn off the stove.”
It was a pretty tight fit in the back of that ambulance but before they were out of town, Norm was much more comfortable thanks to a little pain medication. With Seth on one side of him and a young paramedic on the other side monitoring his blood pressure, Norm closed his eyes and his breathing relaxed.
Norm opened his eyes and looked at Seth. “If I die I want you to sue Stu for that sandwich.”
“It’s pretty unlikely you’re going to die, Dad,” Seth said. “I think animal fat is pretty famous for causing gallbladder attacks.”
“He doesn’t have any warnings posted,” Norm said. “Sue him!”
“We’ll talk about that when you’re feeling better.”
“I could die, you know. It’s one thing to get a gallbladder attack when you’re thirty but at my age...”