His Name was Ben

by Paulette Mahurin

  “For now, let’s just get him admitted and comfortable. Take it one step at a time and hope for the best.”

  The best? What could that possibly mean? Sara, no longer containing her tears, How could this be? How could I have missed this? It can’t be!

  Zimmerman looked at Sara, still in her bandage. “I think you’re safe to remove that and drive if you need to. Just take it easy.”

  The room went silent as Zimmerman wrote out the admission orders. All that was happening was a blur to Ben, as the reality started to set in. Sara took hold of the paperwork. “I’m going to stay with Ben tonight. Can you please see if you can get him a private room?”

  With sagging shoulders as though the weight of a boulder was on him, Zimmerman connected with her devastated eyes. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Ben was admitted to a single bed room. When he was settled in, against Sara’s resistance and urging that he just relax, he insisted she get him a pen and paper. Numbed by shock, and against her better judgment, she yielded to get it over with so he would calm down.

  On it he wrote a handwritten will. Ben knew exactly what he needed to do to make it valid. He wrote while he was hooked up to a transfusion, and Sara went outside to phone Ellen to fill her in on what was happening and see how Tazzie was.

  On hearing Sara wanted her to call Rosalie, Ellen asked, “You sure you don’t want to tell her yourself?”

  “I need to get back to Ben. Just tell her I checked in with you because of Tazzie.”

  Sara returned to the room to be directed to get two witnesses for what he had written. With two of the floor nurses present, Ben read to them out loud before he had them read separately and sign, “I, Ben Gottlieb, being of sound mind and under no undue pressure, hereby declare this is my will. I give to my mother, Bertha Gottlieb, the sum of $100. I give to my father, Edward Gottlieb, the sum of $100. I give to my brother, Michael Gottlieb, the sum of $100. The balance of my estate I give to Sara Phillips.” Ben then signed and dated it in front of the two witnesses. He had them do the same and indicate they saw him sign the will in their presence. When they left the room, “I’m giving that amount to my parents so they can’t contest it, saying they were overlooked. Mike’s fine with me doing what I want to. He doesn’t need the money.”

  “I don’t either. You don’t need to do this. Please don’t feel obligated. All I want from you is for you to just quiet down and get your strength back.”

  “I want to do this,” he insisted.

  “Shh now, okay, please calm down.”

  Reaching a weak hand to her cheek, “And if I make it out of here, I still want to marry you.”

  Sara was perplexed that he still wanted to get married when he had just taken care of his original reason for it—to have his life’s work mean something after he was gone.

  “That’s enough for now, Ben.”

  Seeing she was puzzled, he refused to concede until he had his say. He wanted her to understand. “I want to arrange for you to also receive my NASA retirement and life insurance. Once we’re married, I’ll sign the paperwork to make it happen.”

  “Ben,” she repeated, “I don’t need you to do this.”

  “I want to. I worked hard for what I have. I want you to have it. I know you’ll put it to good use.”

  “Okay, please simmer down now.”

  “One more thing.”

  Looking at his deep blue eyes, luring her to him, tugging on her heartstrings, she desperately wanted him to relax, to try to get better, so they could have another day together. “No more, enough already.”

  “This is the last thing.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes. Please phone my brother. Tell him he doesn’t need to come down. Tell him I love him, Candace, and Melanie. And that I have you here and that’s all I need.”

  “Okay, Ben, now please rest.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The night moved into morning, bringing with it the clanking noises from breakfast carts and trays. Nurses and doctors made their rounds tending to patients while the loud speaker failed to muffle its roar, waking everyone not drugged enough to sleep through it. The cacophony of hospital life, upsetting to most patients, was a rhapsody to Ben’s ears. Cuddled in the single bed next to Sara, he awoke with rosy cheeks, doing better from the morphine coursing through his veins and happy to see the sunshine. “It’ a good day to be alive.”

  She kissed him full on the lips. “Every day with you is just that.”

  “You look tired. The ribs hurting?” he asked, as it was her first night without the bandage.

  “No, actually I’m fine in that department. As long as I don’t exert too much.”

  Just then Zimmerman walked in appearing bright-eyed. “The transfusion did the trick. Your red blood cells are back in a low normal range.”

  Ben remembered the needle prick in his vein earlier that morning. “I thought I was dreaming a bee stung me,” he smiled. “So, Doc, do I get to go home?”

  Aware that Ben was staying at a hotel in Westwood near UCLA and that Sara lived an hour away from there, mentioning hospice was not what Zimmerman wanted to suggest, it was too early. “Where’s that going to be, Ben?”

  “At my house,” interjected Sara.

  Not having thought through how he wanted to handle it and concerned over Sara taking it on, Ben didn’t want to burden her. “Wait a minute.”

  Shaking her head, indicating that any other suggestions were closed topics, Zimmerman responded, “Okay then, let’s get those discharge papers signed. Schedule a follow-up appointment with me Monday at my office. And I’ll be sending you home with some medications to help you feel better.”

  “For pain?” asked Ben.

  “Yes.” Zimmerman went to the door and turned around. “I’ll also give you something for the nausea.” His grave face, showing he wished he could do more, needed no further words.

  Looking at Zimmerman’s troubled countenance, Ben’s voice cracked, “Thank you.”

  “Okay, my honey, let’s stop the butt flashing and get you out of that gown.” Sara pulled out her phone to let Ellen know Ben was being released, and to have her get in touch with Rosalie. “Phone me back after you speak with her.” Sara’s phone buzzed twenty minutes later. “What took you so long?”

  “Your mother.” Ellen slurped from the cup of coffee she had made for herself.

  “Oh man, now what!”

  “I told her I just heard from you.”

  Sara listened to Ellen describe Rosalie’s diatribe.

  “I told her you wanted me to ask her to stop by Ben’s hotel room and bring his clothes to your place.”

  “And?” asked Sara.

  “She kept asking me, ‘What’s with all this phoning from you and not my daughter?’ and when I said you were busy with Ben, she argued that you phoned me. I told her it was ’cause I needed to ready the house for him.”

  “Ay, I hate to put you through this but I’m just way too tired to deal with her.”

  “You shouldn’t have to, so don’t worry about it.”

  “Did she say she’d do it?”

  “It went downhill when she asked who was going to pay the bill and I suggested she put it on her credit card. She grumbled something then hung up. I’ll phone the hotel to verify it’s been done.”

  “Thanks, El.”

  “Anytime. Anything. Even your asshole mother,” Ellen laughed.

  Rosalie and Irving arrived an hour after Ben and Sara to find Ben on the couch in the living room with Tazzie up next to him. Relaxed from the morphine and transfusion, Ben watched them put his things in the entrance hall.

  “You don’t look too bad, Ben,” was all Rosalie said, her head rotating in search of where her daughter was.

  Smiling at them, “Thank you for doing that,” Ben motioned to stand.

  “Don’t get up,” Irving stepped into the living room, “we were glad to help you, son.” He peered back at Rosalie who made no move. “She’s distracted,�
�� he smiled to Ben.

  Seeing the strain on Rosalie’s face, Ben told her, “Sara’s in the kitchen making lunch.”

  “Thanks,” Rosalie responded and went to find her.

  Irving sat facing Ben. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling better. So is Rosalie but she doesn’t deal very well with these kinds of things. Better she’s in the kitchen with the women for now.”

  The way Irving made eye contact, expressing softness, was a gentle reassurance there would be no drama between mother and daughter today. “Thank you, I understand.”

  Irving nodded, his body language communicating that the understanding was mutual. “If you want for anything, if there’s anything we can do for you, I see how happy you’ve made my little girl,” reaching out a hand to Ben’s shoulder, “you let us know.”

  Never having had a father figure connect with him before, this with Irving was extremely soothing to Ben. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me, Mr. Phillips.”

  “Irving. Call me Irving. So now, please let me know if there’s anything.”

  Ben didn’t want to be an imposition and tried to tell him as much. “Irving, I wouldn’t feel right…”

  Irving flipped a hand up in the air, indicating enough, and smiled when he said, “Don’t listen to Sara or my wife about what I can or can’t do. I’m no invalid,” he laughed. “I think women need to invent problems so they have things to deal with. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to help.” He pushed back in the chair to make himself more comfortable. “Is there something, Ben?”

  “Thank you, Irving. There is something.” He went on to say he’d written a will in the hospital and given it to Sara. Explaining that he wanted everything he has to go to her, he told Irving that his friend Carl up in the Bay Area would be the attorney to contact when the time came. “We went to Stanford Law School together. He’s one of the best there is.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to make sure Sara gets the will to Carl. She was hesitant, maybe because I didn’t leave much to my parents, but trust me, they don’t need it. I don’t want my life’s savings to go to waste. I know she’ll do good things with it and make it mean something.”

  “Okay son, we’ll take care of it. And if there’s anything else, just name it.”

  Ben, circumspect by nature, was wary to overly tax Irving with anything else.

  Irving instantly responded to Ben becoming quiet. “I see a familiar pull-back in your demeanor, son. I know it well. It’s the same way Sara and Rosalie act when they don’t want to stress me, which ends up creating more stress than if they just treated me normally and capable of functioning in the first place.” He met Ben’s silence with another smile. “I guess this is where I need to reassure you. I’m really okay to help you. Trust me when I say I want to, I mean it. Doesn’t do me any good to sit around at home like a lump on a log wasting away. I need to be productive like everyone else. Helping you, helping my girl, Ben, there’s nothing more important. Please do let me know if there’s anything else. We all want you to feel better.”

  Ben wiped away the streams of gratitude running down his face. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “No need to say anything if you don’t want to but if there’s something you want me to do, I’m here.”

  They sat together quietly, while Ben let the rivers of emotions wash over him. “Thank you.” Having felt Irving’s genuine acknowledgment, Ben knew he was authentically understood and it was okay to continue, “If you’re sure, there is one more thing.”

  Irving nodded.

  “I want to marry your daughter.”

  Irving, taken aback for a moment, “This is what you want to do? Shouldn’t you just concentrate on resting up?”

  “You sound like your daughter,” Ben laughed. “I want to do this so my retirement plan goes to her. I’ve explained it to Sara.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I am. I really am. And I could use a hand in arranging it.”

  They talked about what was needed to get the application for the marriage license and a date set at the Ventura County Clerk’s office.

  “You have your paperwork here, Ben?”

  “All that’s required is a valid government-issued picture identification. We can use our driver’s licenses.” Ben looked at Irving and hesitated.

  “Is there something else?”

  “It needs to be arranged as soon as possible,” he paused, “but if this is too much for you…

  Attempting to mask the sadness on his face, Irving glanced down at his pant leg, pretending to wipe away a piece of lint. “We’ll handle it.” Returning his gaze to Ben’s, “This will give Rosalie something to do. Keep her out of trouble. I have a request in return for you.”

  Ben could not imagine what that might be but knew if it were anything he was capable of, he would move heaven and earth for the person who’d be there to help Sara when she needed it. “What would that be?”

  “Call me dad.” Irving reached an arm out across the space that separated their seats and gave Ben a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

  Overcome with appreciation, too choked up to speak, Ben nodded consent.

  Clearly comfortable in his skin, Irving chatted about insignificant things to occupy the time. “I see you’ve made friends with Sara’s dog.”

  Petting Taz, who remained beside Ben, “Yes, they’ve both adopted me.”

  “Sara’s a good girl. She’s had some rough times. But things seem to be turning around.” From the kitchen, Rosalie’s loud talking distracted him. “Sara mentioned she’d had quite a conversation with her mother the other day.” Irving looked through the wide arched entrance leading to where the women were. “I think they both needed it. Things haven’t always been easy with our son.”

  Seeing that Irving seemed okay to broach the subject, Ben followed suit. “I understand you haven’t heard from him for a while. I hope that’s good news.”

  “I think it is, Ben. He seems to be taking his medication regularly now.” Irving took in the aroma of something cooking, “That smells delicious. What are the girls making?”

  “I’m sure it’s something healthy.” Satisfied after having this chat with Irving, Ben understood with a greater depth why he’d fallen in love with Sara. She had her father’s heart.

  They heard the women talking over each other. The salmon was grilling in the oven and Ellen mashed the Yukon Gold potatoes, while Sara cut the broccoli to steam. Rosalie got off the stool she was sitting on at the counter to stand over Ellen. “Why’d you get those? They’re harder to mash.”

  Coming to the rescue, “No they’re not, Mom.”

  Taking a potshot, “Well, I always use russets,” Rosalie went for a spoon.

  Ellen, adding more soy milk to smooth the consistency, whispered to herself, “Does everything have to be such a damn dramatic production with you!”

  Rosalie scooped a mound of spuds, “Needs more salt.” She glared at Ellen, “I thought you took cooking classes.”

  Curtailing her mother’s attitude, “That’s enough, Mom,” Sara looked askance at Rosalie.

  Vocal cords visually vibrating in her neck, Rosalie screeched, “It needs more salt!”

  Ellen, tightening her grip on the utensil she was holding, gave Sara a look.

  “No Mom, Dad can’t have that much.” Sara knew that her mother was not going to change, that she was a control freak and had to have things her own way, but the wounds inside of her spiritual bosom had eased since their confrontation. The barbs unwittingly thrown by her mother no longer latched on. I hope to God that you find your own inner peace, Mom.

  Ellen put on a CD of Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 – Prelude, which thankfully set the pace for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On Monday morning, after Ben’s appointment with Zimmerman, the County Clerk’s Office received a phone call from a well-connected, influential government official to expedite the
license and date for a wedding. “Make it happen this Wednesday.” The man who phoned was married to one of Zimmerman’s patients. Everything set in motion made for smooth sailing when Irving contacted them.

  With the help of his medication, Ben was able to sleep, keep food down, and have pain-free days. Missing initially, as he regained strength sexual intimacy crept back into their relationship.

  Still panting, he said, “I’m glad that the drugs aren’t wiping out my libido.”

  “Ben, it’s a good sign that you’re even up for this.”

  “Ha ha, that’s a first-class pun.”

  “No seriously. Sex drive is healthy.” Her lips moved over his flesh. “You felt okay, I mean, for real?”

  “Sexually? Yes. I’m aware of the effect of the chemicals in my body. It feels different, perhaps a little muted, slower in coming. I’m pleasantly surprised. I didn’t expect…” The glow still radiating between them, he expressed, “It’s a testament to how much I love you, Sara.”

  “You know, Ben, maybe you’re going into remission. Perhaps all that stress did predispose you to a bad spell and well… Zimmerman could have been off. Maybe what he saw wasn’t on the money? Who knows?”

  “Hold that thought,” he whispered. “Is it uncommon, what’s happening?”

  Sara thought back to the cases she’d dealt with and decided that the only path worth taking was the high road, entertaining the positive. Not being able to answer him with any certainty as an indication of what was possible, the only thing that really mattered was how well she was doing, and with that she said, “I know that after I started the study and was feeling better, I woke up one night aroused and masturbated. It was also slow going at first and I got uptight that I might have lost my sex drive. I refused to give up, refused to sink into the mental shit that told me I’m doomed.”

  “I gather it was a success?”

  “Yes,” she laughed, “but honestly that’s when I sensed I was going to be okay. We can have days where we’re better and other days not so good. Illness doesn’t have to define either of us.” She ran a hand over his chest, the soft curly hair between his nipples, and she tingled where she had just exploded. “I do know that sexual activity is an indicator of health. There’s a lot of data to validate this, research and anecdotal studies.”