He carried the guilt of his mistakes: the times he was a bad husband and father, his racism, his refusal to acknowledge his son’s homosexuality. He granted himself some absolution for making an effort to change in the past year and was more at peace with who he was now.
He counted the things he had to be thankful for: a good wife, a son who loved him despite ample reason not to. He was okay financially, due to his police pension and their frugal lifestyle, and he was still alive beyond the oncologists’ initial projections.
He slouched back, and the sun glinted off the gold medallion that hung at his chest. The flash caught him in the eye and disoriented him. He took the pendant in his hand and examined it. Saint Michael, the archangel, Moses said when he gave it to me. Spiritual warrior who fought evil and protected the innocent. Protector of cops. He let it fall back to hang on its chain.
He was strangely unsettled, and closed his eyes. Opening them again, he momentarily felt confused. Fucking cancer meds have me all screwed up. The cure is worse than the disease.
He attempted to return to watching the children play, and tried to remember why he’d come to the park. He was considering leaving when he saw a familiar figure approach. He struggled for the man’s name. It’s like I’m drunk all over again, somehow.
“Tommy Borata,” the man called. “Best cop I ever worked with. How’s it hanging? Retirement treating you well?” the man asked, taking a seat next to him.
Tommy stared and struggled until the man’s identity finally came to him. “Hey, Chief Patterson. I dunno. I’m all screwed up from all these different types of pills they’re giving me. Don’t know who I am or where I am sometimes. Like right now.”
“Hang in there, buddy. The science is getting better all the time.”
“I’m trying. It’s a shitty way to live. Almost as bad as when I had to work with you every day. How’s your cousin doing, Roger? The one who had the same thing as me.”
Patterson took a seat next to him and changed the subject. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Got to get back to the office. I got a coupla things I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Go ahead. I got terminal cancer, so I ain’t got a lot of time either.”
“You always did have a sick sense of humor, Borata. It’s just this cop, Carson. The one who just made detective and won’t let the priest thing go. That asshole’s getting out of control. He’s picking on your kid a lot. I’m trying to manage it, but I wanted to let you know so you could be there for Bobby. Just be supportive without letting him know I said anything.”
“That motherfucker better leave my kid alone,” Tommy said, raising his voice. “I’ll fucking...”
“Whoa,” Patterson cut him off. “Don’t be saying anything around me. You know how that shit works. And don’t get involved in station politics, please. It puts me in a bad spot. Just take care of your kid. I’ll deal with it on the other side. It’s complicated. Carson’s got some kind of cover way up the chain. Disciplinary actions against him always get overturned somehow.”
“You think he’s crooked?” Tommy asked.
“Something’s going on. It’s bigger than me, that’s for sure. I’m close to retirement, and I have to pick my battles. All I know is that he’s a pain in the ass, and acts like he’s invincible as far as any kind of consequences for his behavior. I sent it up to internal affairs, but haven’t heard a word. Maybe they’re on it, or maybe they’re in on it. I don’t know. I’m just giving you the heads up concerning Bobby, and asking you to leave it alone on the other side.”
“What is it these days? Is it me, or has all sense of integrity and morality gone from society? Nobody follows the rules anymore. Greed seems to be the only thing that matters. There’s even more prejudice and racism. It seems like we’re going backward instead of forward.”
Tommy grabbed the arm of the park bench to steady himself, as if afraid he’d fall off. “I feel bad about all the shit I used to believe—the way I acted to people who looked different from me or talked different from me. Now I dream about what the world would be like if we could all stop hating people who’re different, and stop caring so damn much about having so much dough.”
“I don’t know the answer, Tommy. I see it too. I’m about done working, and I can’t wait. Sarah and I are looking forward to a long retirement together down South somewhere.”
The words stung Tommy. “Yeah, well, just hope you don’t get sick and die right away, like me.”
Patterson grabbed him by the shoulder. ”Just a setback, old friend. You’re as tough as nails. You’re gonna be okay. That’s an order!
“About Bobby, though. Why don’t you talk to him about doing something else? I really don’t think he’s happy in the job.”
Tommy sat back, watching the children play, now remembering Bobby on the same playground as a happy young boy. I haven’t seen him really happy in so long.
“Your cousin, though, how’s she doing?” he asked again.
Patterson paused as if considering whether he should answer. “Listen, Tommy. One other thing. Like I said, Carson still has a bug up his ass about the priest thing. He’s still looking into this, digging around. I think he wants some kind of important win to boost his chances for promotion. He’s bragging that he’s going to break something big very soon. It’s probably more of his bullshit.
“I know you got nothing to worry about, but watch yourself, okay? I don’t put anything past him, including making up whatever evidence he thinks he needs to nail you on some trumped-up conspiracy or accessory charge. As far as I’m concerned, the case has been resolved.”
Tommy felt his stomach sink hard at the reminder of what had happened in the past year. It brought everything back to him: his friendship with Moses, their plans to kill the pedophile priest. Moses’ cancer was growing so quickly. How Moses had betrayed Tommy by executing the plan and the priest on his own, and how he’d died in the process.
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck him. I’m dying anyhow. Fuck him. Roger, you didn’t tell me about your cousin.”
Patterson finally gave in. “She’s passed, Tommy. I’m sorry...”
Tommy was silent, absorbing the information, now well aware of his own mortality and how much time he likely had left. Patterson was asking him something about Margie, but the sound was distant and garbled. Margie? That’s my wife, right?
He tried to speak. “What time’s it getting to be? I gotta get outta here.” His voice sounded like it was coming from a tape recorder with a dying battery, slow and garbled. He extended his arm to read his wristwatch. As he did, he watched the arm jerk in a spasm. The entire scene before him seemed as if he were looking at it through a tunnel.
“What the fuck was that?” he heard Patterson ask. “You okay, Tommy?”
Tommy started to get up. He fell back onto the bench, and then tried again, supporting himself with the armrest. He stubbornly forced himself up and felt the world begin to darken.
The sounds of the children and sight of them on the roundabout were distorted as he felt himself spinning, disoriented. His vision blacked out and his stomach gave a sickening lurch as he fell. Someone caught him and laid him down on the bench, his limbs thrashing. He heard a voice yelling for an ambulance, and everything faded to black.
4 Lovers
Margie Borata lay back against her pillow, twisted the cap from a miniature bottle of scotch, and dumped the contents into a paper cup filled with ice and soda. She stared down into it as it bubbled and fizzed. “I think Bobby knows,” she finally said.
Jack sat up straight on the bed. “What? You mean he knows about me? Did he tell Tommy? I don’t need that crazy fucker showing up at my house with a gun. And your sister would kill us both.”
Margie swirled the cup slowly to mix its contents and then took a long drink. “Yes, she would. She called the house the other day. I’d told Bobby I was going to lunch with her, but you and I were here. So that’s what made him suspicious.
“It upset me when he
told me that, so I didn’t ask him any questions. I don’t know if he said anything to her, or brought you into it. But he knows I was with someone I wasn’t supposed to be. He’s a cop too, after all.”
“Ah, for chrissakes. I told you not to use that excuse. See, this is what happens when you’re drunk. You walked right the fuck into it. Goddamn it, Margie.” He got up from the bed, leaving her there alone, and began to dress. “Now I don’t know what the fuck I’m coming home to with Diane.”
She began to cry and downed the rest of the drink with a rattle of ice. “Well, you said we would tell them, so we could be together. So maybe this is good...”
He checked himself in the bathroom mirror and pulled out a comb to fix his hair. “Fuck that! Look what you just did. That was maybe someday we would do that. Not now. Your husband has cancer. What the fuck are we going to do, tell him that you’ve been fucking your sister’s husband while he’s dying? I still have a teenager, I’m in debt, my job situation is shaky, and I don’t want to pay goddamn alimony and child support. Fuck, Margie!”
She put the empty cup on the nightstand. “So, it was never true then. You were lying, just using me all of that time. I love you, Jack. Don’t you love me? You said you did. You said it every time you were fucking me. Come to think of it, that was the only time...”
She continued to cry as she eased herself from the bed and began searching between the sheets for her underwear. She lost her balance and reached out to the mattress for support.
“See, you’re drunk, Margie. That’s how you make mistakes. You gotta go easy on that shit. C’mon. Calm down, now.”
Her sobs increased in volume as she continued dressing. “I’m just going to tell him. I don’t know what else to do. You don’t love me! You won’t say it...”
He moved to her and embraced her. “Okay, okay. Settle down. Let’s figure this out. Sit down here on the bed with me. Maybe it’s not so bad.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, now a bit calmer.
“Well, maybe Bobby doesn’t know it’s me...”
“So you’re only worried about yourself, asshole?” she yelled, starting to get up again.
He pulled her back down and closer to him. “No, stop. Wait. I mean, there’s no sense in blowing the lid off this if we don’t have to. You don’t want to hurt Tommy, do you? How about you just feel Bobby out about it? Maybe he’ll back off. Wait a little, alright?”
“And what if he doesn’t?”
“Then it’s Plan B. Sit down and talk to your son. He’s a man. Tell him you were lonely, but it’s over and who you were with is unimportant. Tell him that you don’t want to hurt his old man, him being sick and all. Let’s take it step by step. Hold on, be quiet a minute. I’ll call Diane to see what’s up there.”
He picked up his mobile phone from the dresser, pressed a number on his speed-dial, and waited until his wife answered. “Hi, honey!” he greeted her in a cheerful voice.
Margie frowned and retrieved the cup, draining the melting ice to get the last few drops of scotch. The ice rattled again as she lowered the drink, and Jack glared at her.
He listened to his wife on the other end. “Yeah, yeah, honey. Another tough day at the office. Another day, another dollar, you know? So, do you want me to bring home some Chinese? The usual?”
Margie looked at herself in the mirror across the room as he continued the upbeat conversation. She wondered how she had transformed from an intelligent, attractive high-school graduate full of dreams to the slightly overweight, hopeless, used-up woman she saw sitting on the rumpled motel bed in her bra and panties. She rose and continued to dress.
“Yes, yes! Let’s do that this weekend...Alright, honey...yes...that movie sounds great...love you too, lovey-dovey. Love you to pieces. Be home soon, g’bye.” He hung up and continued cleaning up in the bathroom. “See? It’s all good,” he called out to Margie. He dumped the contents of a small bottle of mouthwash into his mouth and gargled loudly.
“You mean, all good for you, lovey-dovey!” she said bitterly. “Fuck you, Jack!” She moved around the room hastily, gathering up her belongings as he patted on some cologne.
His silence annoyed her further. “Jack! What about us? Do you love me? Or are you just going to throw me aside and stay with her? You said after Tommy’s gone we’ll move away somewhere together. You said it, Jack.”
He took a moment to respond. “Of course,” he said. “Let’s cool it a bit, let this blow over. We’re going to be okay, Margie. A lot of changes are coming. Let’s be patient.” He pulled a dollar from his billfold and placed it on the pillow for the maid.
“Of course what? Which one? And you still didn’t say it. You can’t even say it.”
“Okay, okay. Of course I’m leaving her. Christ. I love you, Margie. Let’s get out of here, it’s about quitting time at work, so I gotta go. Let’s just see who knows what and take it from there.”
They stood at the door, ready to leave, staring at each other. She just shook her head. They performed a quick embrace and peck on the lips and went out of the motel door a few minutes apart, as they always did.
5 Lesions
Darkness and silence were the first things Tommy sensed when he regained consciousness. He lay still, unsure where he was. Slowly his mind cleared and his eyes adjusted. He heard the familiar soft, steady beep of medical equipment. In the darkness of the room, he could see the red and green glow of the instruments. He felt his arm for the IV tube he knew would be there.
Closing his eyes, he tried to recall what had happened. After some effort, he remembered being in the park, but that was all he could come up with.
“Hey. How’re you doing?”
The voice caused him to jump, and he strained to find its source.
“Easy, Pop. It’s me, Bobby. Take it slow.”
He looked over and saw the bulk of his son in silhouette, sitting on a chair against the wall. He felt a strange sense of pride that Bobby was there for him at what he guessed was a very late hour. And that he hadn’t turned on the TV and wasn’t playing a video game. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
“Better than it is for you, that’s for sure.”
“What happened? What happened to me? Car accident?”
“You were in the park with Chief Patterson. You had a seizure. It’s a good thing he was there; he got you an ambulance quick.”
“Seizure? Why?”
“The docs are working on all of that. They’ll be in to see you in the morning. They’ll figure it out.”
Tommy began to recall more of the scene before his incident. Children playing. Patterson. He remembered reminiscing about having watched Bobby play happily in that same park. “Hey, Bobby. I was thinking...damn, time goes fast, you know? I made a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry. I knew early—about you, I mean—and I should have accepted you as you were, instead of fighting it, trying to change you...”
Bobby cut him off. “Pop, enough. We can’t change the past. Nothing from nothing; you made me tough enough to handle everything that comes with it. It ain’t easy being a gay cop.”
The early morning light was beginning to seep into the room. Tommy remembered Patterson’s warning about what his son was being subjected to at the station. “Yeah, I bet. A lot of assholes in the station. So-called alpha males and alpha females. Most are chicken-shit when you put them in a scary spot. I’ve seen it time and again. Big talkers. Why don’t you get the hell outta there?”
“It’s a tough thing to do, Dad. You were a cop. Grandpa was a cop. I always felt kind of obligated. I wanted to make you both proud. But I guess I haven’t done much of that by sitting behind a desk.”
“You always made me proud, Bobby. Everything you did. I just didn’t always let on. Like when you got your black belt at fourteen. That Sensei Molletier was a taskmaster. It’s something I never accomplished, but you did. If you want to look for something else, if that makes you happy, please do it. Life’s too short to live for other people, or let them l
ive vicariously through you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it. I’ve been thinking about it. Another thing, I’m gonna move out. I got a place, with a roommate.”
“Guy roommate?” Tommy asked.
Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah.”
Tommy momentarily fought his old instincts, his old persona, and then recovered. “That’s good, son. I want you to be happy. But consider what we just talked about. Everything eventually makes its way into that squad room. It’s going to be a tough place.”
“Yeah, I know. I can handle it. But yeah, I’m looking around, too.”
They let it go at that, and Tommy drifted back to sleep.
A tap sounded at the door, along with a rustling of papers. It swung open and a physician entered. The sun was now streaming in through partially opened blinds.
“The good Dr. Mason, how are ya?” Tommy asked. “This is my son, Bobby.”
“Hello, Bobby.” He began examining Tommy. “I’m doing better than you, Borata. What the hell did you get yourself into now?” the doctor asked.
“Jesus,” Tommy taunted back. “You’re the one supposed to be answering the questions, pal.”
“Oh, right. Time to earn the paycheck. I have car payments to make!” He referred to the notes on his clipboard, taking a seat at the foot of Tommy’s bed.
“So, Tommy,” he began. “What we have here are a few spots on the brain. That’s what caused your seizure. We can fix it...”
“The cancer?” Tommy interrupted. “It’s in my fucking brain now?”
“Easy, pal. Easy. We did the scans. These are small, and they’re situated such that we can zap them. No surgery. We just zap them out. It’s not a big deal. After that, we keep an eye on it.”
“That sounds okay, Pop,” Bobby added. “Could be a lot worse.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said with obvious dejection. “Another setback, though.”
“Listen, Tommy,” the doctor said, rubbing his leg through the sheets. “Treating cancer is like crossing a wide river. We always need to find the next rock to step on to help us across. The trials we’ve had you on have helped a great deal, but sometimes little things like this pop up. It’s like whack-a-mole. But we still have ammo in our clip, to use parlance you might be familiar with.
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