And Yesterday Is Gone

by Dolores Durando

  “That’s too long.”

  “Three days? I haven’t a thing to wear that fits…”

  We had breakfast in Reno the next morning. Her dress was a little longer in the back, but it didn’t matter. She’s got great legs.

  A commercial wedding chapel with canned music didn’t seem right to me. We wanted a church wedding.

  On the very outskirts of town I found a little brick church with a steeple and belfry. Beside it was a cottage with peeling white paint competing with a climbing rose that reached for the roof.

  I knocked.

  A white-haired lady answered with a smile and a welcoming, “Come in—it’s hot in the sun.”

  We explained our mission. A twinkle in her eye suggested an explanation was unnecessary.

  “Please sit down. I believe the man you’re looking for is in the garden.”

  She called from the back door. “Dear, there are some folks here who would like to talk to you.”

  He appeared promptly, holding two roses in one hand, pruning shears in the other. Listening to our request, he said, “I’ll need to tidy up a bit.” Handing one rose to his wife and the other to Rica, he excused himself.

  When he reappeared, his hair was neatly combed; instead of pruning shears, he held a Bible. As we took refuge from the world in the holiness of the sanctuary, a great peace prevailed. Soft light filtered through two stained-glass windows, casting a rosy glow throughout. The wooden pews were our silent witnesses.

  We were not surprised to see the minister’s wife seated at the organ. I could almost hear the choir singing Ma’s favorite song, “Amazing Grace.”

  The music, a lovely complement, was a backdrop for the ceremony that was short and heartfelt. Never had I heard such beautiful words.

  Rica extended her finger to accept my class ring and I smiled to myself seeing her slyly insert a tissue under the band to secure it.

  When the magic phrase was spoken, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” I thought my heart would burst, and looked to see Rica’s radiant tear-stained face as she held it up to be kissed.

  The minister prayed for God’s blessing on our union as we sat in the peaceful quiet of the rose garden.

  The table before us was set with lemonade and freshly baked tea cakes. And so we celebrated our nuptials.

  The document tied with a white ribbon was made out to Steven and Rica McAllister and it never left her hand all the way home.

  That night as we lay in each other’s arms, her black hair tangled across my chest, her body molded to my every contour, I knew that she had been made for me. I gave my fervent thanks to God who had given me my ace of spades again.

  • • •

  I invaded my savings and spent my raise before it was in my hand. Spent it lavishly on a five-day honeymoon in a luxurious suite eighteen floors above the clattering machines, shrieking winners, losers’ despair and, of course, the eternal optimists.

  The penthouse above us was an elaborate suite of rooms that sheltered in utmost privacy the really big-time spenders—those who lost or won thousands on the turn of a card. Little did they know that I was the winner and she was warm in my arms—my ace of spades.

  We luxuriated in the splendor of these rooms.

  Propped up among the pillows, I was almost intimidated by this huge piece of furniture that seemed to cover half an acre. I had slept in a twin bed all of my life.

  We loved and played like children. Sometimes we slept.

  The first ring of the phone brought room service that spoiled us with extravagant choices. We tried everything on the menu. Rica’s “flu” seemed to have succumbed to the lobster.

  I think about the third day, sated with love and good food, we talked and thought about our future. Rica called her mother—there were tears, of both delight and disappointment. I was too selfish to share my happiness just yet.

  We decided to find larger accommodations after the baby was born—a place with a yard.

  Rica was excited and thrilled about her pregnancy and as she chattered, I tuned in on, “…we really shouldn’t spoil an only child. I think at least two more children, don’t you?”

  Still trying to assimilate the sudden knowledge that I was going to be a father and that someone would be calling me “Daddy” in the very near future, I was apprehensive. But my courage prevailed and I said, “Well, we may as well get started.”

  On the fifth day we shopped, and my love now wore a gold band with a two-carat diamond on the finger on which I had always kept a watchful eye. We decided a plain gold band would mark me as unavailable.

  The trouble-free red truck, whose odometer read close to a hundred fifty thousand miles, had not a dent and was rewarded only by new tires and periodic oil changes. It had transported me faithfully to the work that I loved, and now carried the three of us back to reality.

  Thinking of Ma, I laughed and remembered her threat of surgery with the chicken knife. I thought I was safe now, and in an enviable position with a good salary—and a marriage certificate.

  Depositing Rica in the apartment, I drove to collect my few belongings from the little housekeeping room above the garage.

  It seemed unbelievable that nearly four years had passed since Ma had found that room so close to the university where I had learned my ABCs from the indomitable Mrs. Dowd.

  Upon opening the door, the flashing red light on the message machine could not be ignored.

  “Where are you? Call,” came Ma’s usual salutation.

  “Dammit to hell, pick up the phone,” were Sis’ irate words.

  J.W.’s gruff voice, “Got a good one for you. Call.”

  Call? Hadn’t he just given me a good one? The truck’s engine hadn’t even cooled and he wanted me to call?

  Juan’s disappointed voice: “Thought you were coming for dinner. You missed a good one. Call.”

  Dr. Teddy’s urgent voice: “Steve, Steve, call.”

  Instantly I knew that Juan had called Rica’s mother when he hadn’t found Rica at the apartment, and her mother had told him what I had wanted to tell him in my own words.

  The dark premonition that had been hiding in the deep subconscious of my mind came flooding to the surface with Dr. Teddy’s voice. Instinctively I knew then that when Juan learned the door was closed and locked with no key, he would know the anguish, the frantic denial that I had known when he had told me, “They’ve set the date.”

  But I had found the key that he would never find.

  I had wanted to be with him to say the words—but what words? What could I say? Not the words that he prayed to hear, but I could cement what had always been his—my love and respect that would sustain our friendship forever.

  My fingers dialed, but the phone clattered to the floor. Dialing again, there was no answer. Finally, on the third try, Mrs. Mackey’s strained voice directed, “Dr. Teddy said to tell you Saint Francis Hospital. Intensive care.”

  I stopped for Rica and as we sped through the traffic, she sobbed. The tears falling down my face finally turned to cold sweat as I begged God for my brother’s life.

  We found Dr. Teddy at the nursing station, her usual composure hovering on the precipice.

  “Sara?” Rica asked.

  Dr. Teddy nodded to the sign on the door that read “No admittance.” “She’s hardly been out of there for three days. Dr. Myers is with him, too.”

  My eyes asked what my tongue couldn’t articulate.

  “He was in an accident three days ago. Internal injuries, lacerations, concussion. A terrible loss of blood. Hasn’t been conscious.”

  Dr. Teddy paused, the words choked out, her shoulders shaking.

  “He has a rare blood type and we can’t find a match, so he’s hanging by a thread. It will take Sara with him if he goes.”

  Something flared in my brain. Remembering a long-forgotten argument with Sis when she had said, “You are so weird, you even have weird blood…” followed by Ma’s quick remonstration, “Sis!”

  Ho
w would she know? But she and Ma talked about a lot of things to which I wasn’t privy.

  “Test me, Dr. Teddy. Please.”

  “We’ve tested so many, and checked all the other hospitals. That blood type seems nonexistent. The odds are astronomical, but let’s try.” She nodded to a nurse.

  Turning to Dr. Teddy as she walked unsteadily with us, I took her hand and drew her close. Speaking with absolute surety, I said, “Mine will be a match.”

  As the needle slipped painlessly into my vein, I knew in my heart that God had heard my prayer.

  It seemed to me that we waited a lifetime with only a murmur of voices in that quiet room. Waiting for the results of the test that could determine life or death for Juan.

  Rica sat with her arms around Sara, with Dr. Teddy chafing her cold hands. I stood at the window gazing at the horizon with unseeing eyes.

  The door opened and an exuberant voice seemed to shake the walls. “It’s a match, it’s a match. A perfect match.”

  Turning, I saw this huge man. The ebony black of his smiling face shone above the white jacket that stretched across his massive shoulders. It was Alfie. I stood speechless.

  Dr. Teddy stood, holding Sara, who was sobbing uncontrollably. “Thank God, thank God.”

  Rica slumped back in her chair exhausted.

  The doctor stood before them, his deep voice explaining, “Now he has a fighting chance. The next couple of days should give us the answer. It will be a long journey, but he’ll make it.” He gave Sara a comforting pat. “Get some food into this one. Where’s the donor?”

  Dr. Teddy’s nod turned him to me and as our eyes made contact, his incredulous booming voice cried, “Cowboy!” as he wrapped me in a bear hug. That voice that had so softly sung me back to life tethered me to reality in another time.

  Dr. Teddy’s discreet cough interrupted. “Obviously introductions aren’t necessary. Steve, we’ll take care of Rica for you. Thank you, Dr. Myers. I know you’ll keep us informed.”

  “Of course, Dr. Hassé.”

  “C’mon, Steve. It is Steve, isn’t it? We’ve got work to do.”

  With his arm around my shoulder, we hastened to start the procedure that would restore my brother, my friend.

  For two more days, Juan lay comatose, attached to a machine whose tentacles brought the nutrients that preserved his life. His lashes were black against the pallor of his face; his head was swathed in layers of gauze.

  Time blurred as Sara and I kept our vigil while my lifeblood flowed into his broken body.

  “What happened?” I hardly dared to ask, not wanting to know.

  In a hushed voice, Sara told me. At breakneck speed, Juan had fled down the great hill as if to escape the irrevocable knowledge. Somewhere, miles away on the coast highway, he had veered from the road and smashed into an abutment at the end of a bridge. A smear of silver paint crushed into the cement was all that marked his passage.

  She would not look at me as she whispered, “There were no skid marks.”

  I closed my eyes as if to blind myself to that unbearable understanding.

  We were there when he regained consciousness for the first time in five days. His eyes focused on my face with a steady gaze. Holding my breath, I knew instinctively that with that look, he was trying to free himself, trying to accept the inevitable.

  His head turned to Mamá Sara. I was happy for him. At last he would have peace of mind. Yet it seemed that I’d lost almost a physical part of myself. That feeling clung to me as my feet carried me down the long corridor.

  Rica had been at the hospital daily, but our time had been strained and interrupted. Both Dr. Teddy and Sara had urged me to go home, but I could not bear to leave until I knew that Juan was going to live. The stress had taken its toll on all of us.

  Then the magic words were given with a beaming smile; the words that reduced all of us to tears: “I believe he’s out of the danger zone. He’ll make it now, but it will be a slow process. His vital signs are good and he’s breathing on his own.”

  Alfie clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go have a cup of coffee.”

  With a quick nod to Dr. Teddy and Sara, he turned, my feet following as though they had grown wings.

  Our coffee break lasted over two hours as we reminisced. He told me that he’d never heard my last name, only known that I had really gone home. He had wondered about me many times.

  I filled him in, telling him of my work at the Bay City Chronicle, my new promotion, my marriage. I wanted him to know that his faith in me was justified. Then I told him how Ma’s washing machine had eaten my marijuana stash—it seemed so long ago.

  “What?” Laughing, he asked, “The shoe salesman didn’t get it?”

  As we rose to leave, he leaned in to say good-bye and give me a hug. But I grabbed his hand and hung on saying as clearly as possible while choking, “You saved my sanity and jolted me back to the real world with your big-foot-up-my-ass method of encouragement. Made me know that I could justify my existence and leave a mark on the world. And I love you for it, Dr. Myers. I am so proud of you. You’ve earned the right to wear that white jacket and you look damned good in it, I might add.”

  His eyes brimmed with tears, but he smiled. “Love you, too, Cowboy. We’ve come a long way together and we’re not there yet.”

  And so we parted. I went home to my wife. She let me know that the honeymoon was just beginning.

  Later, when I had found the strength to lift the phone, I tried to reach Ma. A recorded message informed me that the phone had been disconnected. That brought my head out of the clouds.

  Knowing that they hadn’t planned to leave until after the baby was born, I worried and decided to make a quick trip to the farm. Then, too, Ma should know about our marriage.

  Recalling her instant assessment of Rica when she had surprised us in the chicken coop on that visit months ago, I was more than a little apprehensive.

  Just as Rica and I were preparing to leave, the phone rang. That damn phone.

  It was my boss.

  “I’ll call you back, J.W….”

  “Wait, wait, hotshot. There’s a telegram here for you.”

  My heart sank, envisioning a problem with Sis’ pregnancy. Rushing down to the office, I was ripping it open even as he was handing it to me.

  Ma’s terse message: “Call 887-4143.”

  “Ma. Where in hell are you? What’s wrong? How’s Sis?”

  “Calm down, Stevie. Nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing much. Tim broke his arm in two places and Sis is spoon-feeding the big sissy marine. We’re in Fort Worth—Texas, of course. Got a nice little three- bedroom house…”

  “Ma” I interrupted. “I’ve got a new phone number. Got a pencil?”

  In the pause that followed, my mind tried frantically to find an easy way to break the news. With my usual tact, I blurted, “I’m married, Ma.”

  “Married?” her shocked voice asked. “You’re married? Not to Juan’s girlfriend, I hope. That hussy.”

  Absolving me, of course, of any responsibility.

  “Easy now. You’re talking about my wife. Your new daughter. We’ve loved each other for a long time, Ma.”

  Then came a prolonged silence while she digested the news.

  “Ma, say something. This phone call is costing me money.”

  “Our address is seventy-seven eighty-four Alamo Drive. When can you come visit? Sis liked her so guess I must have missed something.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I love you, Ma.”

  I was sweating when I hung up.

  CHAPTER 33

  One week later, the phone rang. Ma’s voice was jubilant. “It’s a boy, eight pounds, ten ounces.” Then the phone was held close to the peevish complaint of a baby.

  “See how smart he is. Already he can say ‘Uncle Stevie’ plain as day.”

  After congratulations to Sis, I made my own announcement.

  “Well, Ma, get lots of practice with diapers. Rica is expecting in a
few months.”

  Sis’ voice came from the background. “Wow! That old rooster must have told him the secret down there in the chicken coop.”

  Ma’s snort of laughter told me she was happy.

  Her original lack of enthusiasm was matched by Rica’s mother at our first meeting. It was obvious that a newspaperman and a Reno wedding were not what she had envisioned for her only daughter. She did, however, thaw out somewhat when she learned that the rent would be taken care of.

  Rica and her father were happily reunited. His welcome was considerably warmer as his eyes fastened on the unmistakable mound of her belly and the hand that lay upon it with the sparkling wedding band.

  • • •

  Juan’s homecoming was a joyous celebration. With our arms around each other’s shoulders, no words were needed.

  The tears that Sara shed were tears of gratitude and spoke for all of us. Happiness reigned at the big house.

  Juan healed on the side presented to the world, but I knew the scars on his heart were permanent. The courage he displayed when he stood between me and his father’s knife was the same he now presented to the world when he resumed a life newly empty of hope, but accepting at last the ghost of his dreams.

  He was painting again, and one of his previous oils had sold for an amount that made my eyes grow big. He was definitely one of the big-time, sought-after painters and Rica was his favorite model.

  As her pregnancy advanced, he said she grew more beautiful. He captured her radiance on canvas. Always he was available to drive her to appointments or spend time with her when I was on assignment on the other side of town. Their close association reminded me of Sis and me, but without the bickering.

  “How wonderful,” a spoiled Rica laughed, “to have a brother so available and the Dr. Teddy, the best obstetrician in San Francisco.”

  • • •

  Before I had the chance to tell J.W. of my marriage, I was summoned to his office. Scowling at me from under those bushy white eyebrows, he reproached me with “Married, huh? I had to read it in my own newspaper?” He rose and shook my hand, adding, “Maybe that will settle you down.”

  Sensing his good mood, I took a deep breath and asked that I not be sent out of town for the months of January and February.