Twenty Four Weeks - Episode 20 - "Thirty One" (PG)

by James David Denisson

and makes a little room for me.

  And so we sit, quietly for a while, soaking what warmth we can out of the sun.

  "Can I let you in on a little secret?" Elise says finally.

  "Sure."

  "Not many people know this."

  "Okay."

  "We all think that we know someone, but in the end what we see is just an iceberg."

  "An iceberg?"

  "So much more is below the surface."

  "Ah."

  "You can never know another person, not fully. And just when you think you're close they surprise you. Mostly they're good surprises."

  "But sometimes not so good."

  "You get it."

  "You're not telling me anything I don't know already."

  She shrugs. "Did you know that Grant hasn't been well for a while?"

  "You mentioned he'd had a heart attack before."

  "The one that killed him was his third."

  "Really?"

  "It was the second one that did the damage though. He never quite got over that one. He was supposed to retire after the Maine seminar, spend the rest of his life in quiet contemplation with Mary in this very garden. And then you came along."

  If she's accusing me of anything she's keeping it out of her voice. She says it like it's a fact, simply a step in a chain of events. And here I am, a step, one of many, leading to his third and fatal heart attack.

  "I was his last case," I say quietly, like it's an honour and not a curse.

  "You and your wife. His last lost cause."

  "Damn," I say.

  Elise puts a finger to her lips. "Listen," she says.

  I hear nothing but the far away drone of cars. But I think that's the point. There is something in the nothing.

  "The world," she says, "moves on without us. It will keep on moving after we're gone. That gives us some comfort, don't you think?"

  "How so?"

  "The pain from our mistakes don't last forever."

  "I hope that's right." And I do. I still feel the ache from what has been done to me and what I have done. I still yearn for my hurting wife and my still-born son and his sister I have not met. It would be comforting to know that one day all of that pain and striving will dissolve away, leaving only the love and the hope and the joy. I want that more than anything I have ever wanted. Peace. Deep peace. The kind that infects the soul. I just don't know how to get it. I'm not sure anyone does.

  As if she's reading my mind, Elise says: "Grant wasn't perfect, you know?"

  "None of us are."

  "I mean, he made mistakes too - the kind of mistakes that he's being trying to make up for all his life."

  I nod but I say nothing.

  "You know he was married before."

  "I heard that, in the eulogy."

  "What they didn't say was how that first marriage ended."

  "Should you be telling me this?" I ask her.

  "I said it was a little secret. The fact is, it's no secret at all. He kept nothing hidden. He would have told you this himself at some point."

  "If he hadn't... you know... died," I say pointedly.

  "Yes. That did put a halt to things. But, what I'm saying is that how many of us can say that we have no secrets, that we don't hide something."

  "Not many."

  She nods. "Well, he never made it a secret that he was to blame for his first marriage's failure. He cheated on his first wife." She laughs a little. "I like the way that we use words to diminish their importance of what they're supposed to represent. 'Cheated' makes it sound like it was all a game and he cut corners. I could have said 'affair', but that's just another word, like it was just something that he did. No, Grant dishonoured his wife, his marriage, his vows."

  "That's..." I can't find the words.

  "...terrible," she finishes for me. "Yes, it is. It's terrible. It's horrible. It's the worst betrayal. But she forgave him, but he couldn't forgive himself. He took a look inside and didn't like what he saw. In the end it was too much. But he found love again, with my sister."

  "And he never..."

  "...cheated on her? No. He saw the worst side of himself and vowed to repent from it. You know what repent means?"

  I nod.

  "And then he devoted himself to helping other people. And you were his last couple."

  "Why? Why did he choose me?"

  "Who can know now, now that he's gone? Perhaps he was drawn to the pain in you. Perhaps he was given a nudge from the Almighty? But he did, and here you are."

  "Here I am," I say with a sigh. "In limbo. With Grant gone I'm adrift. There's no one I can talk to."

  Elise places a hand on my shoulder. "Everything works itself out in the end, Judd. You should know that by now." She shivers. "I think that's enough air for me. I'm freezing."

  I help Quinn back into my car and join her, in front of the wheel. I start the engine and wait for the heater to make the cabin hospitable.

  "Where to next?" I ask her.

  "Back to the city," she tells me. "I'll tell you where."

  "Can you give me a clue?"

  "Need to know," she says.

  As we drive back into the traffic I'm thinking about what Elise said. Quinn is quiet. I don't know what she talked with Mary about and she's not saying. Mary has been her mentor for the past few months, and now with Grant gone and our counselling in a stasis, Quinn feels she needs her more than ever, and I guess that Mary herself needs some distraction from her grief.

  I wonder what drew Grant to me on that day nearly five months ago. Was it my pain that he saw? Did he see some mad hope in me, just starting to germinate from the seed of forgiveness? Did he feel that he had one last hopeless cause to breathe life into, and that Quinn and I were worthy?

  The truth is, after everything, I still don't feel worthy. I've failed too many times, fallen over and over again. I've squandered love, betrayed trust, stifled grief and love. And I suspect that Quinn feels the same way. So, after all that, why us?

  But then, why not us? If no one is special, if we're all just particles of dust that's just happened to stick together somehow in some crazy dance, made of the same stuff, then all of us are equal in our need. No one is too far away. No one is too far gone. No one is lost beyond all help. Unless, of course, they don't want it. Unless they're too caught up in their self-destructiveness to reach out and take it. So, if we're all deserving, then why not the Altmans? Why can't we take our share of hope and joy and happiness?

  Quinn consults a map on her phone, leads me through the streets in a direction that I have never been. It's an interesting analogy of my life right now. This wonderful, beautiful woman is taking me into uncharted territory. I am going to be a father in two months, and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. I wouldn't be here if a lot of things hadn't happened.

  She has me park on the street like ours. Tall apartments rise on both sides, blotting out the afternoon sun. The sidewalk is broken by shadows and naked trees. Mail boxes and parked cars wear a thin layer of white.

  "Here we are," she says, looking across the street and up.

  "Where are we exactly?" I ask her.

  "We're visiting some friends."

  "No one I'm friends with lives around here," I point out.

  "New friends."

  I knock on the faded, wooden door. It has the numbers three-oh-two in screwed on letters upon it. I can hear music behind, muffled. It opens and the man I met at pregnancy classes is behind it. He smiles and puts out a hand.

  "Judd," he says. Now I'm trying frantically to remember his name. I didn't think I needed to until right at that moment.

  Quinn leans in behind me and places her lips next to my ear and whispers: "Ted."

  "Ted," I say. He knows that I've been fed the answer to an unspoken question but he doesn't seem to mind. I do remember his wife's name: Sarah. Her name is Sarah.

  "Come in," he says warmly.

  Whatever apprehension I had when I first arrived was short lived. Ted and Sarah
seem to have a gift at putting people at ease. I guess Quinn has that too, she's always been good with people. I'm not. I'm wary of strangers. I'm slow to trust. And it appears that I'm easy to fool as well, but I'm not dwelling on that.

  We have cake and coffee, and we talk, mostly about our babies. The women start to talk about labour and breastfeeding and other things that I have no interest in hearing. Ted takes me out onto the fire escape and we stare over the neighbourhood in the fading afternoon light. The days are getting shorter and colder. We are wearing our thick coats against the chill.

  Ted looks back through the window at Sarah and Quinn. "Don't you just get scared right out of your mind about all this?"

  "Every damn day," I tell him with a straight face.

  "You're not fooling me. You're cool about it all."

  "I'm good at hiding it. I've had a lot of practice."

  He laughs a little. "If only I could be like you."

  "Don't wish that," I say sharply. "I've had a terrible year, and that's why I'm where I am now."

  "Things are okay with you now, though, right?"

  I nod. "Now they are. You wouldn't believe what I've been through." Suddenly I wondering what I'm saying and who I'm saying it to.

  He shrugs. "It's not a bed of roses for everyone, that's for sure. Hey, can I tell you something?"

  "I suppose. But, we don't really know each other, right?"

  "Sure. It's just... We've only just moved here and I don't know anyone. I'm short on friends, if you know what I mean?"

  "I've been there."

  He sighs. "I've done something really bad."

  I raise my brows, but I stay silent.

  "And it's killing me. I haven't told anyone, not even Sarah, and if she finds out, that'll be the end of us."

  "It's that kind of bad, is it?" I ask him.

  He nods sadly. "I didn't mean it to happen. And when it did, I just got