Even So

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Even So Page 22

by Lauren B. Davis


  Sister Eileen

  Eileen sat in her somewhat battered Toyota in the parking lot. She closed her eyes and prayed. This is the last one I want to deal with, okay? I thought we were through with this. Years ago, when forgiving the people who had harmed her seemed both essential and yet impossible, she had felt the way she did now. It had taken a very long time for her to let go of the anger and disgust toward the priest who had done to her what he had done, and to her aunt, who had facilitated it. It had taken a long time to let go of her father’s drunken carelessness and occasional violence, of her mother’s inability to shield her children … all the usual and unusual pains of a life. She thought of the day she’d sat by the ocean, written the name of each of the people she needed to release on rocks she’d found on the shore and then hurled them into the waves, shouting, “I don’t want them anymore! Take them back!” And that, the ritualization of so many months, years, even, of working with her spiritual director, of prayer, of meditation, had freed her. And yet, here she was with another messy, careless, selfish person. Another glitteringly beautiful soul hidden under the mire of misplaced desire and narcissism.

  Eileen did not want to forgive Angela. And yet, that was what God required. And so, she sighed, and so, she and Angela would walk this path together. But, let’s be clear, God, I’m not happy about this and although I recognize things come around and around again in different form, just to make sure everyone’s growing as they should, I think this sucks. Last time. Make it the last time.

  What to do first? She didn’t want to leave Angela alone for too long, since she recognized the woman’s precarious state of mind, but she had needed to get out of there for a little while. She needed to centre herself. She had been shocked, and she didn’t shock easily. It was a combination of things. The drunken accident was a shock, but that might have been predicted. She had not, however, considered Angela someone who would leave a man lying in the street, with or without a wheelchair. Oh, she was in more spiritual trouble than Eileen had thought. She was also somewhat surprised Angela had chosen to call her. But she knew she shouldn’t be. That was surely the hand of God reaching down in a last-ditch (although, of course, there was never really a last-ditch when it came to God) attempt to bring Angela home, back to the place of her soul’s healing.

  Fine.

  First things first. She had to check on George Clarence.

  AFTER LEARNING WHAT floor of the hospital George was on, Eileen stopped at the nurses’ desk to see what she could find out before seeing him. The head nurse didn’t want to say much at first, but when Eileen explained who she was, and that she knew George from the Pantry, that he was a member of her community, she relaxed a little.

  “You people doing some all right work down there,” the short, round woman said. “I know people come to you. You don’t get all preachy and holier-than-thou like some of those folks who give out food at the soup kitchen do. Coming in from Princeton, thinking people should be grateful.” She snorted. “Like they don’t think they could ever end up in the line.”

  “You never know what’s going on with people, do you?” said Eileen. “And George? How’s he doing?”

  “You know what he was doing out there that night? He was going to the corner store for cereal, for Froot Loops. His sister, you know his sister?”

  “Darlene, yes. I know her.”

  “I guess she with some cousin for the time being. Anyway, she don’t like to eat much and when she gets her mind set, well, you know, she’s special like. So that night all she wants is Froot Loops and George going to get them when he gets hit. The accident fractured his pelvis, broke his left femur, left arm, and three ribs.”

  “That sounds terribly serious.”

  “Not good. And there were complications due to his previous injuries and problems with blood flow. A blood clot developed in his leg.”

  “Oh, no.” Eileen’s heart fell to her stomach.

  “Yeah. They had to amputate.”

  Tears sprang to the nun’s eyes. And she reached out to the counter to steady herself.

  The nurse patted her hand. “Won’t make much difference, really, you know. And I think he gonna be fine, given some time, you know. You go on and see him. Just know he on some pretty good pain meds.”

  George was in a private room. White walls, linoleum floor that had seen better days, brown veneer closet and shelving, a television on a metal arm, a fake-leather recliner, a window overlooking the parking lot, the various pings and dings and ringing phones, busy hallways and ubiquitous smell of disinfectant … in short, a hospital room in an older hospital.

  He lay on his back with his head tilted to face the window, the bed raised slightly. The television was on, turned to a news program, but the sound was low. He was a thin man. His curly salt-and-pepper hair was flattened on one side. An IV line was taped to the back of his right hand, a white clothes-peg-like device monitored his heartbeat, and an oxygen line ran into his nostrils. One arm was in a cast and rested on a pillow by his side. A tent had been placed over the lower part of his body. His chest was bare, and bright white bandages swaddled his ribs. Various tags and wires were affixed around his heart and sides. A bag containing fluids and pain meds hung on a silver stand next to the bed. Would those drugs cause more problems in the future? Possibly. A computer screen on a metal table reacted to his heart rate and other vitals.

  There seemed to be more equipment than man.

  “Hello, Mr. Clarence? George?”

  He turned his head to her, the whites of his eyes reddish, the lower lids dropping slightly. There was a crust in the corner of his mouth. He licked his lips. “Can you pass me that water there?” he asked.

  She picked up the blue plastic water glass with the straw and handed it to him. He shook his hands slightly, and she took this to mean she should put the straw in his mouth, which she did. He drank long and deep.

  “Thanks. Who you? I know you, right?”

  “I’m Sister Eileen. I work at the Pantry.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “I look like I got anything to do but lie here?” His eyebrow twitched.

  He must have been handsome once, Eileen thought. Those cheekbones, that strong jaw. The shadow remained, but time and care and pain had had their way with him.

  “I’m so sorry for what’s happened to you.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks. Bitch left me in the street to die like a damn dog.”

  “That must have been horrible.”

  “And I bet even if they find that woman, she be white, so she don’t do time.”

  “Tell me what you need, George. Tell me how I can help you.”

  “You want to help? You see Darlene’s okay, right? And maybe see we don’t lose our place. Hard to find a place got a working elevator around here like I need, and we lose that, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

  “Where is Darlene now?”

  George’s eyes had closed, but they fluttered open again. “Damn, man, these drugs. See why people like ’em. What you say?”

  “Where is Darlene? The nurse said she was with a cousin.”

  “Yeah, but that ain’t so good. Tiffany don’t like her all that much and Darlene need her routines right. She don’t do change so good. She be okay on her own in the apartment, if somebody bring in food for her, check in. She just sit in front of the television or read. She like to read. But she can take care of herself. Keep herself clean and dressed and all like that. Don’t bother anyone. Just don’t like to eat but certain things.”

  “Like Froot Loops?” Eileen smiled.

  “That be Tuesday food. Ran out. My bad.”

  He was starting to doze again.

  “George? George? If you can tell me the address where she is, and what her food preferences are, I will try to get her back into the apartment, and I’ll see to it someone comes by two or three times a day to make sure she’s all right until you come home.”

  She had to wake h
im up twice, but finally she got the information she needed, and he trusted her with the keys to the apartment.

  “I’ll leave you now to get your rest. I’ll come back tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “Always good to see you, Sister.” And with that he was asleep.

  Eileen stepped out into the hall. A policeman was talking to the same nurse she’d spoken with.

  “What’s she doing here?” he was asking. A large man, the kind who kept hitching up his pants, who kept his hand on his gun.

  “She say she know him. She’s okay. She’s the nun who runs that Our Daily Bread Pantry.”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  “Good afternoon, Officer,” said Eileen.

  “Sister.” He turned to her, looked down. “I’m Detective Danburg. What do you know about what happened to that guy?”

  “I know he was the victim of a hit and run and that he needs support.”

  “You going to support him, are you?”

  Eileen could see in his face that he was not a man who had much respect or affection for the Church. A lapsed Catholic? Many police were. And since the abuse scandals in the church had become public knowledge, and along with the decades-long cover-up, ensuring law enforcement weren’t informed, well … she understood why so many felt the way they did.

  “I’m going to try,” she said.

  “Well, good for you. That’s just great. You know,” he widened his stance and folded his arms, “It’s my experience that people like you know a lot about what’s going on in the community.”

  Eileen thought it best to ignore the “people like you” remark.

  He continued. “Know anything about who hit him? Left him lying in the street?”

  She had been expecting the question, but still, her heart beat a little erratically. “It’s awful, isn’t it? Hard to imagine anyone doing something like that.”

  “So, you don’t have any idea who might have done it?” He was practically sneering at her. He had good instincts this one. Pity.

  “Bad things happen in Trenton, Detective. I see it all the time, as I know you do. But we’re both trying to help, in our way, aren’t we?”

  “Sister, do you know who hit Mr. Clarence?”

  “Detective, honestly.” She sighed. Oh, these men with power. Priests and police. “I certainly know that whoever did such a thing must be in terrible pain.”

  “Where were you Wednesday night?”

  “I was at home. I live with several other Sisters. You’re welcome to talk to them, if you like.”

  “I think I might just do that. Why don’t you write down your information for me, Sister?”

  “Of course.” Eileen took the paper and pen the nurse, with a slightly embarrassed look on her face, her lips pursed in disapproval, passed across the counter. She wrote down her cellphone number, as well as her address and the names of her housemates. Handing it to him, she looked at his name badge. “There you go, Detective Danberg. Call anytime. Come by for coffee. We’d love to get to know you.”

  “Or maybe you’ll come down to the station for a little chat.”

  “Whatever you like. And now, forgive me, but I have to run. I want to arrange someone to help with Mr. Clarence’s sister’s living arrangements.”

  As she walked away, she felt the police officer’s eyes on her.

  This was going to be tricky. She would not lie, and so at a certain point, if it came to that, she was simply going to have to refuse to answer questions. She sighed. Oh, God. This is a fine pickle you’ve gotten me into.

  And yet, even so, as she stepped onto the elevator and then through the cool, institutional entrance and back to her car, she felt the peace descend. It had been Eileen’s experience that life was only truly difficult when you didn’t surrender to it. Once one discerned which path contributed to the highest good for all, including the self, and committed to it, things became simple. She supposed there were a number of things the police might do to try and persuade her to reveal Angela’s name to them, if they did believe she knew more than she was telling them, and she thought they might. They might threaten her with withholding information, with impeding an investigation. Whatever the right terms were. But they could not compel her to speak. She would have the right to remain silent, and she would use that if she must.

  Oh, she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Angela was in charge there, however.

  One thing at a time. She sat in her car, called the Pantry and talked to Caroline. She started explaining that George Clarence had been in a hit and run, but Caroline broke in and said she’d already heard. George was a known figure around town, both at the soup kitchen and the Pantry and other social service places.

  “He’s going to need help caring for his sister.” She relayed what George had told her. “Can I leave this with you, Caroline?” She gave her the address and phone number where Darlene was staying. “You’ll have to go gently. Darlene is very capable, but this has been traumatic for her.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out and get her home. Any idea how long George will be in hospital?”

  “Well, I think it will be some time. The amputation’s one thing. But the pelvis, the ribs, the arm … he can’t use his wheelchair until he’s much better. They may transfer him to a rehab, but I don’t think it’s going to be quick, even if there are no complications.”

  “Yikes. All right. I’m on it. Are you coming in?”

  “Not today.”

  There was a short silence. “Are you okay? Related stuff?”

  “I’m fine. Could use your prayers.”

  “Praying. Bless you, Sister Eileen. With you in spirit.”

  “Bless you, Caroline.”

  ANGELA OPENED THE DOOR so quickly Eileen wondered if she’d been standing by the door, waiting.

  “Did you see him?”

  “Yes. I saw him.” Eileen urged Angela back into the room so she could close the door. “He’s pretty banged up, and they had to amputate his leg.”

  Angela groaned. “Oh, God.”

  Eileen rubbed her arm. “He’s going to be okay. I believe that, but it’s going to be a long and, I suspect, difficult journey. We’re sorting out help for his sister.”

  “His sister?”

  “I told you, she’s autistic. She’ll need someone to keep an eye on her until George is home again.”

  “I can help with that.”

  Eileen’s heart leapt. This was, perhaps, the first step. “Would you?”

  “I’ll hire a caregiver. Sure. I can do that anonymously.”

  “Ah, well, that might be useful, yes. Sorry. For a moment there I thought you were offering to be the caregiver yourself.”

  “I would, but I don’t know anything about that sort of thing, autism, you know?”

  “Of course. Come, sit.”

  They sat on the bed together. Eileen said, “Did you manage to pray?”

  Angela dropped her eyes and plucked at a thread on the bedspread. “Yes, I mean, I think I did, but my head’s just going around and round. I thought about calling Philip.”

  “And?”

  “I can’t. What’s the point? Especially now. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”

  “You don’t want to stay here, do you? In this hotel?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought.” She got up and went to the window. She looked into the parking lot. “I might leave. Just go.”

  “What about going to a meeting? Did you think about that?”

  “I’m not going to a meeting.”

  “That’s certainly your decision to make, but I am sorry. I think it would do you good.”

  “Not now.”

  Eileen let the silence build, knowing Angela would interpret it in ways that might reveal what she was thinking. A moment. Another. Angela’s shoulders rose and twitched as though she was shadow-boxing in a dream.

  Finally, she said, “Do you know an apartment for rent, anything like that?”

  Good,
thought Eileen, she isn’t planning on skipping out at least.

  “I think we can find you something, but do you want to live in Trenton? Most of the people I know are in Trenton.”

  “I don’t care, really. Or, maybe I do. Maybe I don’t feel like I belong in Princeton any more. Maybe I never did. Maybe this has happened just to show me that.”

  “You think God would hurt George in order to teach you something?”

  “You’re the one always telling me how everything’s connected, how everything happens for a reason.”

  “I believe what I’ve said is that God will make good come from all things, even from something awful. I don’t actually believe that old saw about everything happening for a reason, or rather I do, but sometimes the reason is that we’ve made really crappy decisions.”

  Angela made a sound, a little snort, that might be interpreted as a chuckle.

  “I guess that sounded pretty self-centred, didn’t it?”

  “Maybe just a tad.”

  Angela began massaging her temples. “Look. I can’t think straight. I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what to do. Where to go. Who to talk to. I just need some time to figure it out. A place. Somewhere safe. Will you help me?”

  “Yes. But you have to enter into this with me. You have to be committed to healing, to figuring out why you ended up here, and what the best way out is, what your new life, your resurrection, if you will, will be. You have to be as committed as I am. Because let’s be clear, Angela, you can’t go on the way you have been — not if you want to be whole.”

  “I’m never going to be happy, am I? I just have to accept that, I guess. I’ve ruined everything. My life, that man’s life, probably my son’s life. Philip’s.” She put her hands over her eyes. “I feel like I’m suffocating.” She moaned.

  “God wants you to be happy. He wants more for you than you can imagine. And I want that for you, as well. So. Here’s who I can be for you. You’re not going to change immediately, not perfectly; no one does. But I will ride hard on you. I will affirm you. I will call you out when you’re not being your best self. I will walk through the pain with you and accompany you as long as you tell me you want it, and as long as I see you doing the work. That means, I’m afraid, going to meetings and praying and doing journal work and being accountable for what you’ve done, Angela.”

 

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