Higher Power

by Dilloway, PT

  She supposed by now he could have already left Gull Island. His blindness gave her an advantage, though, since it left him with limited means of escape. She dashed into the living room for the telephone book and looked up the Islander Taxi Company. “Oh yeah, I remember Max. All our drivers love him. Doesn’t say much, but he’s a good tipper,” the dispatcher said.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Not for a couple weeks.”

  “Where did he have you take him?”

  “You a cop or something?”

  “I’m sort of like his parole officer. He’s missing and I need to find him. So, where did you take him?”

  “Let me check my records. I’ll call you back.” Lindsey looked over a map of the island while she waited for the dispatcher. At least she could rule out the cab company as a means of escape. He could still have taken a bus to the ferries going to Seattle. She found the numbers for the three ferry companies and called each one. None of them remembered a blind man wanting passage.

  Chances were good that Max was still on the island, unless he hitchhiked or bought passage on a fishing boat. In which case, she should call the police to get an APB out for him. As soon as she did so, all hope of dealing with this quietly went out the window. She might even lose her license when the board found out she’d misplaced a patient.

  The phone rang again and the cab dispatcher said, “I got the addresses you wanted.” She dictated a string of addresses, most of them in Fishtown, which Lindsey wrote down. She thanked the dispatcher and then ran out to her Explorer.

  She stopped at the first address, a house with ‘Winchell’ on the mailbox next to a burnt-out shell surrounded by yellow tape. Lindsey went up the front steps of the Winchell house and knocked on the door. A woman about Lindsey’s age and even heavier answered the door, clad in only a black bra and panties. “Who are you?” the woman said.

  “I’m Lindsey Perry. I’m looking for a man named Max Caldwell.” She held up a picture of Max taken from his files. “Have you seen him?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone like him. I wish I had. He’s cute.” The woman coughed up a wad of phlegm at Lindsey’s feet. “Let me check with Ma. Is this guy your husband or something?”

  “No, he’s a friend.”

  The woman shouted for her mother and then leaned against the doorway to scratch herself like a cat. “Is your name Sarah?” Lindsey asked.

  “No.”

  “Sorry, my mistake.” At least he didn’t come here to fuck this Winchell woman, unless she was lying. For all she knew, Max was hiding upstairs, waiting for the woman to come back and remove the bra and panties.

  “Cindy, can’t you put some clothes on?” an older woman’s voice said. Cindy spit another ball of phlegm before waddling into the living room. The old woman who came to the door squinted through bifocals for a moment before saying, “Oh, hello, I’m sorry about my daughter. Are you here to sell something? Why just yesterday I had this nice black woman at my door trying to sell me magazines. I told her I don’t have any use for more magazines. I got enough already. Before long they’re going to take over the house.”

  “Actually, I’m just looking for this man.”

  “I remember him. Such a nice boy. I think he and Cindy would get along like peas and carrots.”

  “Ma, quit trying to fix me up with every man who walks down the sidewalk!” Cindy shouted from the living room.

  “She’s a little shy,” Mrs. Winchell said.

  “I noticed.” Mrs. Winchell gave no sign of picking up on the sarcasm. “What did you and Max talk about?”

  “Let me think. Oh yes, he wanted to know about Sarah.”

  “Sarah?”

  “My neighbor. She lived next door until almost three months ago when her house burned down.”

  “What happened to Sarah? Did she die?”

  “No, I don’t think so, at least not that I know. I haven’t been to visit her in the hospital in a while, though. I can’t stand hospitals—”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lindsey said. She raced back to the SUV and spun it around in a U-turn. Along the way back to the hospital, she tried not to think about why Max would claim to have a relationship with a woman in a coma. Scientists withheld making judgments until they had all the facts. Just this once, she needed to act like a scientist.

  As soon as she burst through the front doors of the hospital, she asked the front desk if there was a patient named Sarah in a coma. The nurse gave her directions and Lindsey hurried down the corridor at the fastest, most dignified walk she could manage.

  A set of doors opened and she saw a black woman look up from a fashion magazine. “Dr. Perry, can I help you?”

  “You have a coma patient named Sarah Gladstone?”

  “Yes, she’s in that room over there.”

  “Has this man been to visit her?”

  “Max? He’s come by almost every day. Spends hours just sitting with her, keeping her company. Do you know him?”

  “He’s my patient. When was the last time he was here?”

  “Not for a few days.” The nurse put down the magazine and rubbed her jaw as she thought. “The last time he started acting a little strange. I told him visiting hours were over, but he didn’t want to leave. I thought I would have to call security to take him out of there.”

  “You haven’t seen him since then?”

  “No. Is Max in trouble?”

  “I’m afraid so. If you see him, let me know right away.” Lindsey took out a business card to give to the nurse. “Don’t tell anyone else, understand?”

  “No, of course not.” As Lindsey started towards the door to Sarah’s room, the nurse said, “I hope he’s not in too much trouble. He’s such a nice guy.”

  “I know.” Lindsey opened the door and gasped. Machines surrounded the woman lying in the bed and IV tubes dripped medication and nutrients into her system. The left side of Sarah’s face was a moonscape of angry red scar tissue. Her hair was cut so close Lindsey couldn’t see it until she leaned in for a better look. Then she collapsed into the chair next to the bed and put her head in her hands. She had no choice about what to do now.

  Chapter 27

  While Max paced from one end to the other backstage, his father sat calmly on a stool, browsing the program. Wainwright Hall, Max couldn’t believe it. It was nothing compared to Carnegie Hall or the concert houses in Europe, just a square brick building that held a couple hundred seats, but until his parents died, he’d often imagined playing here.

  His father had been a fixture at Wainwright Hall, giving recitals with his students several times a year. The night of a recital had always been a big deal for Max when he was little; Mom let him stay up past his bedtime so they could sit through the whole show. The other kids in the hall fell asleep before the conclusion of the first piece, but Max stayed awake through it all, held in a spell by the music.

  After Max lost his sight, he and Mom stopped coming to Wainwright Hall and Dad gave fewer public performances. When Max asked why, Dad said, “I want to focus on my most talented student. Someday it’ll be your turn on stage.”

  Someday had come at last. Max didn’t think he could go on. Sweat dripped off him in sheets, his knees quivered with every frantic step, and his stomach churned like an ocean during a hurricane. He couldn’t go out in front of hundreds of people like this. He’d never played before a crowd so large. The last time he had played to an audience had been in the rec room of Gull Island Psych to a bunch of lunatics on medication.

  Mom stopped his pacing to straighten his tie and wipe sweat from his forehead. “Don’t worry, honey, everything will be fine. This isn’t different from any other concert.”

  “Right.” Of course to them he had played in all the great houses of the world, accompanied by the finest orchestras. “It’s just coming home is a little harder than I thought.”

  Dad slapped him on the shoulder. “Nonsense. You’ll be great. And you’ll have me right across from you.�
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  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Then he saw Sarah hovering by the curtain. She was wearing a sleeveless blue gown that matched her eyes and with her hair pinned up, she looked like a movie star at the Oscars. She blushed and said, “I’m not sure what to say. The last time I saw anyone play the piano was this little jazz club in New Orleans—” She shook her head. “It’s not important. I’m sure you’re going to do great.”

  “I hope so.”

  She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “For luck,” she said. He wanted to kiss her back, a long passionate kiss, but he couldn’t in front of his parents. Sarah flashed him a knowing smile that promised such a kiss later, in private, before disappearing behind the curtain to take her seat.

  A stagehand told Max it was time to begin. “Here we go,” he said, mostly to himself, before walking out to the Steinway grand piano still hidden by the curtain. He took his seat at the bench, waggled his fingers to loosen up, and then arranged his feet on the pedals. He played the opening notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight” sonata as the curtain rose.

  With only a dim blue light illuminating Wainwright Hall, Max couldn’t see Sarah in the front row. She was there, watching him, as were his parents backstage. He closed his eyes, finding the keys just as Dad had instructed him after he went blind. His fingers knew where to go. He needed only to let his body flow with the music.

  As he started the fast-paced presto agitato, he no longer thought about all the eyes watching him. He slammed the final keys and then slumped over the piano to catch his breath. The audience’s polite applause soon grew in volume until it hurt Max’s ears. He took a sip of water before tapping the opening notes to the “Fur Elise,” the first piece Dad had taught him after he went blind. A second piano joined in, a spotlight coming to life to reveal Dad at an identical piano facing Max. Max hesitated, watching the look of concentration and peace on his father’s face. He wanted to just sit there and watch his father for hours, but then Dad looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. They continued the piece together in perfect unison, breezing through the “Fur Elise” and into the “Pathetique” sonata before the audience could applaud.

  When they finished, Max jumped off the bench to hug Dad. “I missed you,” Max said.

  “So did I,” Dad whispered into Max’s ear as the audience roared its approval. “Now, you think you can keep up with your old man?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  Max let Dad lead off the “Les Adieux” sonata, listening to the somber adagio that matched the look on Dad’s face. Max took over the andante espressivo, almost losing his place when he noticed Dad’s look of pride. They reunited for the furious vivacissimamente, both covered in sweat and out of breath by the end. Max turned to the audience, his eyes fixing on Sarah. She made sure her parents and Alicia weren’t watching before blowing him a kiss. He was grateful the curtain closed for intermission so the audience couldn’t see him blush.

  “They love you. I’m so proud of both of you,” Mom said. Dad kissed her the way Max wanted to kiss Sarah. Embarrassed, Max went over to one of the stagehands to make sure the preparations were ready for the surprise he’d arranged for Sarah. The stagehand assured him everything was in place.

  When the curtain went up after intermission, Max held a microphone to his lips. “You might not be aware of this, but this is the first time my father and I have played together in public. There’s one piece we’ve always wanted to play. It’s still in the experimental stage, so please bear with us.” Max handed the microphone to a stagehand and then turned back to the piano to begin.

  He and Dad had spent a week in secret meetings translating Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” to the piano. Max began the piece, using only his left hand on the low keys. As the haunting melody swelled—Barber’s figurative river gathering momentum—Dad joined in. At the climax, Max tapped a single high note and then let silence hang in the air. Dad finished the remainder of the piece. Afterwards, Dad smiled at Max, his look of satisfaction more important than the audience’s applause.

  They picked up the pace with the “Tempest” sonata. Max forgot about the crowd, even Sarah, focusing instead on his father. Dad played with all the intensity Max remembered as a child, pouring out torrential outbursts of emotion in the finale of the “Tempest” until Max thought he might pass out. In trying to match Dad, Max had never felt so close to the music or his father. When this was over, he promised himself to convince Dad to make their concerts a regular occurrence.

  They finished with the “Appassionata” sonata, ending the piece with a flourish. Then Wainwright Hall went dark. The audience got to its feet, some throwing roses onto the stage. When the spotlight came back up, Max stood with an arm around Dad. They bowed together to the crowd, waving their thanks. Dad gave Max’s hand a squeeze before walking offstage, leaving Max alone.

  He took the microphone again and waited for the crowd to settle down before speaking. “There’s one last piece I wanted to play tonight, one very special to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back home, a very long and winding road that brought me here, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be.” He cleared his throat and looked down at Sarah before continuing, “For this one I’ve invited a few friends to help me out.”

  Lights went on to reveal the Holy Redeemer choir behind Dad’s piano, Pastor Robbins at the head. Max sat down at his piano, his eyes remaining on Sarah as he began “The Long and Winding Road,” the song that in a strange way had brought them together at last. She looked horrified at first, but then her expression softened.

  The choir lent the old Beatles tune a heavenly aura that filled Wainwright Hall. As Max played and watched Sarah, he thought of the long and winding road that had brought him to her. He had lost everyone and everything that mattered to him, but now after twenty years he had his parents, his music, and his sight back and, more importantly, he had Sarah.

  She stared at him from the front row, her face a mixture of wonder and joy, like a child’s on Christmas morning. When their eyes met, she mouthed the words he’d been longing to hear. His fingers almost slipped off the keys, but then he collected himself and turned back to the piano to finish her song.

  Max finished to a rousing cheer from the audience. He bowed, blowing a kiss in Sarah’s direction before walking off the stage. The curtain closed behind him, the audience still applauding. Pastor Robbins rushed up to Max to shake his hand. “You played beautifully, Max.”

  “Thanks for all your help. I know it was kind of short notice. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

  “Nonsense. I’m glad to help.” The pastor squeezed Max’s shoulder and winked as he said, “I better get going. Your public awaits. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  Sarah rushed into his arms. He swept her around in a full circle before kissing her in the same way as his parents kissed at intermission.

  He led her away from everyone else, out an emergency exit and onto the loading platform behind Wainwright Hall. “I love you,” he said, giving voice to the words she’d mouthed to him. “I have since the moment I first saw you.”

  “I love you too, Max. You saved my life and—” She looked down at her feet before continuing, “You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She smiled and gave him a light slap on the cheek. “Of course it is.” She kissed him again. When she pulled back, she whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about our parents?”

  “We can make an excuse.” She led him inside, where Sarah’s parents were talking with Max’s. Sarah found Alicia and asked, “Can you tell our parents we had to go? We’ll catch up with them later.”

  Alicia looked at them strangely for a moment and then her mouth curved into a smile. “I get it. Sure, I’ll tell them. You kids have fun.”

  They took Max’s car back to Sarah’s house. Along the way, Max felt more nervous than before the concert. The Alberto Conte incident ran through his mi
nd again, but this was different. This wasn’t revenge or animal lust; this was love.

  “Are you sure your parents won’t come home?”

  “Not for a while. And if they do, so what? We’re adults.” She squeezed his hand before leading him upstairs. “You’ve done this before, right?”

  “Yes.”

  When they got to the bedroom, she reached up to take the pins out of her hair, and then shook it free, the ends touching his face. She turned around and said, “Could you help me with the zipper?”

  With a trembling hand, he unzipped her dress and watched it fall to the floor. Then he reached for the straps of her bra. When she turned back around, he saw her naked, perfect breasts. “Oh,” he said.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said and began loosening his bowtie. After discarding the bowtie, her hands went down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning it. She slipped off his shirt and jacket before bending down to unzip his pants while he stood there as stoic as a Buckingham palace guard. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not,” he said, standing before her naked for the first time. She took his hand and then eased him onto the bed.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” she whispered into his ear.

  As with the concert, he didn’t loosen up right away. The first time he heard her moan woke something within him. Not the primal rage he’d felt with Conte-as-Alicia. He felt a joy unlike anything he’d ever known before. This was the fulfillment of a desire he’d held ever since discovering Sarah on the beach. Everything he’d longed for and hoped for had come to pass. Here was Sarah, with him, loving him. There could be no greater feeling.

  After the first time, she lay next to him with her body pressed against his. “Max, will you stay the night?”

  “Your parents—”