Becca

by Krystek, Dean

  He smiled. “I’ll wait for your call.” He turned as the elevator doors opened.

  “Josh,” Becca said and touched his arm as he stepped into the elevator, when he turned she merely smiled and patted his arm. “I—gosh, I don’t know if I…never mind. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sometimes I wonder if you pay any attention to me.”

  “How could I not?”

  “I mean…you don’t answer me sometimes.”

  “When?”

  She exhaled sharply to blow her bangs out of her eyes. “Never mind. I can’t think clearly. I actually think I might fall down here.” She swooned and Bert caught her.

  “Becca, are you okay?” he held on to her tightly.

  She nodded. “No. I think I’d better get back to my bed. You don’t mind?”

  He saw a nurse coming to assist her and he let the woman take Becca back to her room. Becca looked over her shoulder at him, smiled and waved. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside.

  “I love him,” Becca said to the nurse. She started crying and looked over her shoulder to see the elevator doors closing. “I love you, Josh!”

  IV

  The phone rang. Carol answered it.

  “Carol? It’s Becca, hi.”

  “Oh, my God, honey. How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously, honey. Bertram’s told me about your leg. Are you okay? How do you feel?”

  “Like crap.”

  Carol felt tears in her eyes. “Rebecca, is it serious?”

  “Yeah.” Becca said flatly.

  “Let me get my son. Hang on, honey.”

  Bert took the phone. “Hi,” he said. Carol patted her son’s shoulder and left him alone. He had expected to hear from Becca before now. Two days had passed since he had seen her in the hospital.

  “Don’t go to work today, Bert,” Becca said. “I’m coming over.”

  He did not hesitate. “Sure.” Becca hung up and he called to the station to tell Carl he was not coming in to work.

  He sat on the front porch when Becca arrived. She turned off the engine and sat behind the wheel, staring off into space. Then, as if making a difficult decision, she threw open her door and got out. Dressed in jeans and a peasant blouse she walked with a noticeable limp as looked at the ground as if afraid she might step in something. Bert met her at the foot of the steps.

  “Becca?” he asked and then had to brace himself as she walked right into him, burying her head against his chest and enveloping him in her arms. Bert put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled fresh, her perfume, faint, but alluring.

  “It’s cancer for sure,” she said. “You don’t know what to say, I know. Nobody knows what to say, except ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘Oh, God, why’. Don’t say that. Say something original.”

  “That’s fucked up,” Bert said. “Is that original enough?”

  She nodded, rubbing her eyes against his shirt. He applied gentle pressure with his arms and she forced herself against him as her lithe now suddenly seemingly fragile body filling him with both desire and pity.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “How can it be okay, Becca? Jesus Christ, it’s cancer.”

  “I’m not talking about my cancer. You’re right, that’s not okay.”

  “Then what is okay?”

  “That roll of quarters in your pocket.”

  “Totally involuntary. I’m sorry.”

  She looked up at him. Her green eyes were moist with muted tears. “It kind of feels good—I mean, like nothing’s wrong.” She smiled.

  Bert could not smile. He brought her face against his chest again. She held him tightly.

  “Doctor London had some good news, though,” she said, her voice a mumble. “He said it’s a primary tumor—it didn’t come from somewhere else. But with that good news he also said it might spread, so he’s going to start treatment right away.”

  “Can he take it out?”

  “He’s going to go back in—that’s a helluva way to talk about an operation, isn’t it? ‘Go back in,’ like he’s climbing into something. He says if he can get it all, I have a pretty good chance.”

  “A pretty good chance of what?”

  “He didn’t say. I guess he meant a pretty good chance of not losing my leg or my life.”

  “Shit,” Bert said in sheer frustration.

  “I’m going into the hospital tomorrow. He’s going back in on Thursday.” She moved and Bert released her. “I’m scared, Josh. Let’s go to our favorite restaurant,” she said and moved past him and off the porch.

  Bert followed her. She flipped him her keys.

  V

  “Do you pray, Josh?” Becca asked when they took a seat in their booth.

  “Do I pray?”

  “An echo,” she said sarcastically. “Yes, you know, down on your knees, hands clasped, head bowed, eyes closed—do you do that?”

  “Can’t remember the last time I did.”

  “Figures. I need some prayers right now and I’m with a guy who doesn’t do them.”

  He rested his hand on hers. Her skin was satiny smooth and hot. She flipped her hand over and entwined her fingers in his. Her eyes sparkled; her mouth formed a smile so beautiful he stared at it and then smiled himself. “I’ll pray for you.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I need it.”

  “What about you, Becca, will pray for me?”

  She watched their hands a moment and then shrugged. “I guess.”

  “You guess? It’s important that I pray for you but it’s not so important to pray for me?”

  She slipped his hand from his and leaned back in the booth, twirling her glass of Coke.

  “Becca?”

  She looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t pray.”

  “So that’s why you need someone to pray for you because you can’t pray for yourself?”

  “Don’t laugh at me, Josh. Don’t.” She leaned forward. “I gave up on praying.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t work for me. I’ve gotten down on my knees—eyes closed, bowed my head et cetera and I’ve cried and begged that He help me and what do you think He did? He ignored me. Maybe He didn’t hear me. Maybe He was punishing me. Maybe I didn’t say the right words, or He was too busy to listen to me—I don’t know. But He did nothing when I needed him to help me.”

  “Becca, sometimes we can’t stop what happens—”

  She reached across the table and put her finger against his lips to quiet him. “Stop,” she said. “Yes we can stop things from happening. My father…my father could have helped Alexander and then I wouldn’t have had to pray. God could have helped me but he chose not to.”

  After a pause, Becca said, “I want to pray for you, Josh. But I’ve lost my faith. Not that I was devout Catholic before, mind you.” She sighed heavily. “Have I told you about Alexander?”

  “He’s the one who went to Vietnam.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t have to go to Vietnam. He went for me. Because he loved me. Let’s go, Josh.”

  “Where to?”

  “Just drive me until I tell you to stop.”

  Becca turned on the radio when she got into the car. They traveled back across the bridge and on the other side, Becca gave Bert directions, and some after some fifteen minutes of silence, she told him to pull into a shopping center.

  “Go to the florist’s,” she said. Josh pulled against the curb and Becca grabbed some money from her pocket book. “Wait for me.” She was back in less than five minutes with two roses. “I’ll give you directions.”

  After a couple of minutes, Becca said, “I’m part of your life now, Josh.”

  “You are?”

  “You’re part of mine.”

  “I am?”

  “Stop it. Just stop it. Quit acting so dumb, okay?”

  “Am I acting dumb?”

  “And quit—all the
time you comment with a question.”

  “I do?”

  She punched his shoulder hard enough to make him wince and then she sat back in her seat and looked down at the flowers.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes and then Becca pointed at a gate up ahead. Rain began to spot the windshield. “Turn here.”

  He made the turn and then cruised slowly along the narrow road. Headstones of different shapes and sizes sprouted up on the hillside, which overlooked the Allegheny River. Becca directed him into a cul-de-sac and he parked.

  “Okay, Becca, what the heck are we doing here?” he asked.

  She looked out of the windshield, as if searching for something. “Visiting. Let me show you.” She opened her door. “I come here a lot. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come next.”

  Bert had no choice but to follow her down a row of headstones until Becca stopped suddenly and her body grew stiff. She said nothing and stared at the headstone.

  It read:

  ALEXANDER JOHN MANSFIELD

  SEPTEMBER 24, 1948 - FEBRUARY 1, 1970

  BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

  LIFE ENDS WITH DEATH. LOVE IS ETERNAL.

  Bert felt Becca’s eyes on him, as if she watched for a reaction. “Alexander,” he said.

  “Yes. He went to Vietnam whole and came back in pieces.”

  “Oh…Becca—”

  “I didn’t get to see him, if you know what I mean. Just a box.”

  Josh hunched his shoulders against the raindrops that began to fall. “I’m…sorry.”

  “He was more than my boyfriend, Josh.” She took Bert’s hand in hers. He grasped it reassuringly. “No joking now, Bertram. Answer me. Do you think I’m a nice girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think there could be anything that could change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t know a lot about me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “No you don’t. I might be someone you could never love, and that bothers me. But still I love you anyway.” He did not respond to that as he stared at the headstone. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  He looked at her. “I believe you’re a nice girl, yes.”

  She brushed hair from her eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Josh. Please don’t joke now.”

  “I’m not joking, Becca.”

  “Ever love somebody?”

  “No.” Her eyes lingered on his for a moment and he saw a look pass across her face he interpreted as disappointment or perhaps sadness.

  “You should try it some time,” Becca said. She twirled a rose between her finger and thumb, then knelt down and placed it against the headstone. “I didn’t have a steady boyfriend in high school—I know that’s hard to believe, but even though I was cheerleader and voted the best legs I did not have a boyfriend.”

  “Hard to imagine,” Bert said, watching her as she rested her hand reverently on the headstone and smiled a sad smile.

  “I enjoyed not having a boyfriend because I liked dating all the guys. My parents did not want me to date until I was senior. Imagine that. I met guys everywhere—dances, movies, parties, and I guess my parents kind of knew that but didn’t say anything because I wasn’t serious about any one of them. And then I met Alex—you’re not going to believe this—at my work. He came into the Foodland—that’s where I worked then—and we just started talking. He was in college. I don’t know why he should have been attracted to me. I saw him and it was like wham this guy’s the one for me. Don’t ask me to explain it. I can’t. I just really fell for hm. We had to keep our relationship secret because there was the age difference and all. He took a big chance getting serious with me because I was sixteen. I was jailbait…I guess that’s the term. But even if we were the same age, my family, and friends wouldn’t approve. He was like you, Josh.”

  “Like me?”

  “Alex’s mother was black; his father white.” She stood up.

  “It’s raining harder, Becca. Do you want to go to the car?”

  “No, let me tell you about this. Here. Because I need to do this…here.

  “My parents found out—I had to tell them eventually because…” She paused and heaved a sigh. “I wanted to marry Alex, but my father said no, and he had Alex arrested for statutory rape and corruption of a minor.

  “Alex was in college so he was exempt from the draft. But he lost that exemption when he dropped out of college. But if we had gotten married, he would have been exempt because of us. Oh, but my father made sure that didn’t happen. My father had him arrested, and everything changed. The judge felt sorry for us and gave Alex a choice: go to the Army or go to jail. I guess he figured that we’d be better off if Alex was not in prison, since he’d be able to support us while in the Army. Alex enlisted, and the judge dropped the charges.”

  “Us?”

  She regarded Bert with eyes filled with sorrow and something else that Bert thought might be worry. “You said you liked me a lot and nothing would change that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Well…I’ve got a confession. Look.” She went around to the other side of the headstone and knelt down. Her hand rested on a small brass plaque set in the ground in front of the headstone. He read the inscription. She placed the rose on top of the plaque when he finished.

  ALEXANDER JOHN MANSFIELD, JUNIOR

  June 1, 1970 June 10 1970

  “Oh…Becca,” Bert said, stunned.

  Becca nodded and rubbed her fingers across the letters, letting them linger on each one for a second or two, as if drawing something from it

  “My father was horrified at the thought of having Alex as a son in law. He was disgusted with me and…well, he just…he just turned so cold. Alex didn’t have to go over there. I prayed hard and long for God not to send him to war. Every night I did that. Every night. He didn’t listen.

  “My father didn’t want a bastard grandchild and told me to get an abortion. My mom stopped that from happening. She didn’t want me to marry Alex, either, but she didn’t want me to abort her grandchild and decided I should give the baby up for adoption. My parents fought bitterly about it.” She sighed. “Alex’s parents wanted no part of me or the baby, and they said they did not want to raise it.

  “My father was so angry, so horrible because I refused to get an abortion. He made my life miserable—so bad that I ran away once. I stayed away a month until the cops tracked me down and brought me back. My father really let me have it for that.

  “I told Alex that when he came back from Vietnam and I’d go away with him—married or not.” She dabbed at her eyes with a sleeve. Rain, not more than a drizzle now, covered her with a sheen of droplets. “But he came back this way, so that pretty much screwed that up.” She traced Alex’s name on the headstone again, slowly, reverently.

  “Alex’s family blamed me for his death. It was my fault I was pregnant, my fault that he’d gone to Vietnam, and my fault that he didn’t come back alive. They wouldn’t let me come into the funeral home when they were there, so I had sneak in after they left in the evening, or before they came in during the day—the funeral director felt sorry for me. I saw Alex—I mean his box with his picture on top, and I mourned for him and said my goodbyes to him alone. I didn’t go to his funeral—I waited until it was over and the grave was finished before I came here.

  “I received his GI insurance. His parents demanded that I share it with them, but I said it was for his child. We fought over the headstone, but they couldn’t afford one, so his grandmother—who seemed to have some sense of feelings for me—told me to provide one that wouldn’t offend the family. I couldn’t mention he was a father.

  “I never had contact with them again…until after baby Alex was born. I prayed, Josh. I prayed that everything would work out for my baby and me. Yeah, right. Some help God was then, too. Baby Alex was bea
utiful.” She shrugged wearily and began to rise.

  Bert helped her and stood beside her with his arms around her. She let her body move against his and relished the comfort of his arms. “Baby Alex couldn’t breathe—something wrong with his heart. He didn’t have the strength to cry. I never saw his eyes. He never opened them, you know, because he wasn’t supposed to see the world he could not live in. My mom and I buried him here. Alex’s family at least allowed that. They also allowed me to provide the plaque. But you can see where I was allowed to put it. They don’t want anyone to see it.

  “After I…um…lost both Alexes, I went to a different high school—you know to keep all of this secret from my friends who knew all about it to begin with. Mostly it was to let my parents save face. To insure that I didn’t do anything so foolish again, my father arranged for me to date Greg because Greg was safe seeing how his father was my father’s friend, and because Greg is as WASP as you can get. I dated him because my father would let no one else near me. We looked good as a couple—at least until somebody said we weren’t apple pie and ice cream.

  “And what’s funny is that my father hates queers as much as he hates niggers.” She put her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing in embarrassment. “Oh, Bert, I’m sorry.”

  “You aren’t speaking for you,” Bert said, “you’re speaking about your father.”

  “But I shouldn’t say those words.” She sighed. “I started over, you know? I bought the car and I’m using some of the insurance money to go to college. I’ve got the rest of the money sitting in the bank because I’m not going to rely on anyone.

  “I thought that Greg was the one—well, I wanted to believe that, but in the back of my mind, I just didn’t see us forever. I love him—almost, I suppose. But he can’t love me even though he might have married me because he was supposed to. Neither of us would have been happy. So I started thinking that I had to find someone else. But how do you do that? How do you look for someone else? It’s not like you’re shopping for a car.” She shook her head. “You don’t look for it. It just happens. Comes to you right out of the blue.”

  Bert watched her eyes take him all in; he felt uncomfortable.

  She nodded. “Right out of the blue, Josh.” She stepped away from him. “So…you have no clue as to what I’m saying, do you. Oh my God, Josh, if I have spell it out for you—” She looked down at the head stone and touched it again, smiled and dabbed at a tear that had started down her cheek. She looked at Bert now. “Do you know why I spilled my guts to you just now—here?