A Sundog Moment

by Sharon Baldacci

  The smell of coffee reached deep inside Carol’s sleeping mind and with each breath brought her closer to the surface. When her eyes finally opened she was surprised to find herself in bed.

  She blinked a few times to keep the world from revolving and then became aware of a pounding in her head. Her eyelids felt like lead weights.

  “Carol?”

  She visibly started and looked up. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Gordon stood there in an extra-large bathrobe, extending a cup. “Or would you rather have something to eat?” With a gesture he drew her attention to the table in the alcove, set prettily with dishes, and wonderful smells wafted over toward them. Orange juice was already poured. She tried to sit up and groaned, her hand pressing against the hammer pounding inside her head trying to get out.

  He immediately set the cup down. “Here. Don’t move. I’ve got some pain medicine. Maybe you should take that first.”

  Obediently, she swallowed two horse pills and then slumped back against the pillows. It wasn’t long before she was ready to try again to get up. This time the procedure was slower, done with more caution.

  As she got out of bed, she dimly realized she had on a nightgown. She grabbed the robe he offered and put it on.

  She didn’t have much to say and he let her eat in silence. Gordon filled her cup of coffee and she finally sat back, closed her eyes, and asked with a growing trepidation, “What happened last night?”

  Gordon hesitated for a moment. “You mean before or after we consummated our friendship?”

  Her eyes flew open, dismay flooding her face, and she groaned again. “Oh, God. You’re kidding! Aren’t you?” Her eyes darted around, her hand fumbling at the neckline of her flimsy nightgown, the robe untied, suddenly taking into account his bare legs under that navy robe. She put a shaking hand over her eyes.

  “Carol?”

  She wouldn’t look at him, so he pulled her hand away and said again, “Carol?” and waited for her to slowly look up. In that brief spate of time he recalled everything that had happened after Elizabeth had been delivered home.

  For his part, he’d only intended to come into the house with Carol and make sure she was all right and then go home to his own bed. Once inside she’d become violently sick. They had barely made it to the downstairs bathroom, and even then she had missed the toilet as the heaving jerked her body backward. She had ended up a mess and so had he. He wet several hand towels to clean her face and wipe off some of his clothing.

  By the time they got upstairs, she had started flinging her clothes off, wrathfully muttering about the smell. He thought briefly about getting her in the shower, but the uncoordinated movements made him decide against it. Instead he found a nightgown, draped it over her head, and shuffled her arms through. By this time he was feeling dirty and sweaty himself and wondered why the hell he was there at all. Then he answered his own question.

  Because she reminds you of yourself. You were just like this for hellish months after Allison’s death . . .

  He tucked Carol in, intending on leaving when she grabbed his hand. Eyes closed, with a remarkably coherent voice, she asked, “Stay. Don’t leave me. Please?” Despair was the backdrop for the loneliness he heard. More than anything else he heard the pain.

  The grip on his hand wouldn’t let go. Gordon sighed. “All right. Let me get these dirty clothes off first.”

  He threw his soiled pants in the laundry basket and slid under the covers with her, curling up close to her as he had done with his wife in another lifetime. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Here he was in bed with a pretty, desirable woman, and all he could think of was his wife. Gordon’s last conscious thought was a whisper to his wife. Allison, I miss you so much . . . so very much . . .

  Now, in the clear light of day, he wondered why he had used the word consummate. He wasn’t surprised at her reaction because he felt the same way. The last thing he wanted to do was get emotionally or physically involved with anyone.

  “What I mean,” he said carefully, “is that I held you while you threw up all those awful things you insisted on guzzling last night. It’s what friends do for each other.” He watched a confused mixture of emotions fill her face. Finally, a small, relieved smile began to flicker and her face relaxed.

  “Of course,” he added with his own smile, “these sorts of things usually happen only during the end of puberty, the last hurrah before adulthood. But I guess everyone is allowed one midlife crisis. But only one.”

  Carol squeezed his hand. “Was I awful last night?”

  “Terrible,” he assured her, and she snatched her hand back.

  “You invited yourself, remember? You didn’t have to come,” she pointed out, sulky as a child.

  “Yes, I had to go along. It was the only way Elizabeth could go, who, as a matter of fact, behaved like an adult.”

  Carol rolled her eyes and winced. “Elizabeth’s a saint. She’s perfect, always has been. I thought you knew that. I’m just the opposite.”

  “The only thing I know is you’re hurting.”

  Startled, she remained very still and kept her eyes averted. He sat next to her, touching her hand.

  Gordon waited until her eyes finally met his. “I know you haven’t gone to see the therapist I recommended. I also know you can’t keep hurting yourself because your marriage broke up. It wasn’t your fault. You have to know that and accept it. And stop beating yourself up over it.” Perhaps it was his gentleness that undid her or maybe because she was exhausted from running so hard from the pain.

  She tried to keep her face from crumpling but couldn’t and then he was holding her, letting her cry and cry and cry. It was long overdue, he thought as he held her and rubbed her back and let her get out all the bad feelings, the grief that had been killing her. This also, he thought, is what friends do for each other.

  Finally, there was nothing left, no more tears. Carol, truly exhausted, excused herself to shower and change.

  When she met him later in the kitchen, he also had changed into the spare set of clothes he kept in his car for emergencies. She walked in feeling fresher, wet hair slicked back, and he handed her a cup of tea. “Antioxidants. Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” Seated at the wooden kitchen table, the silence between them was easy. She glanced at him now and then, glad he was still there.

  Weeks ago they had mutually decided to use each other. By being seen together as a couple when they weren’t, it kept friends from wanting to set them up, and it certainly pleased their respective parents. One less stress from that department.

  “Carol, I hope you won’t feel I’m intruding,” he started to say, ignoring her impatient snort, “but I can’t help but feel I’m looking at myself when I see what you’re doing. In a way, you’re doing better than I did after Allison died. I took off three solid months, went down to the beach in North Carolina, and drank oceans of liquor. If I could have injected it, I would have . . . but guzzling it was much more socially acceptable.”

  “You?” She didn’t believe it. In the small amount of time she had gotten to know him, he seemed much too settled, much too normal to do something like that.

  “Oh, yeah!” He looked down at the cup, hoping he was far enough from the past to be able to share a little of it.

  “Why?”

  “The same reason you’re doing it. It’s great for numbing the soul, isn’t it?” He glanced up, seeing her surprise. “Are you going to try to tell me that being half-lit is your normal approach to life?” She bit her lip and shook her head. She hadn’t thought about it; alcohol was filling a need so she kept pouring it in. Being numb was certainly preferable to feelings.

  “What made you stop drinking then?” she wondered. “Was it this therapist you’re forcing me to go see?”

  It was his turn to shake his head. “I’m not forcing you, and although she helped afterward, that wasn’t the reason I stopped.” His eyes turned dark at some bad episodes only he could see. She waite
d and after several moments he began speaking.

  “While I was at the beach, literally trying to drown myself into oblivion, I couldn’t stand not having a glass of liquor in my hand, and this one night I ran out. I suppose I miscalculated my supply, or else I was too wasted to notice. But I knew I couldn’t get through the night without some major inventory. Sleeping off a drunk was the only way I slept, the only way I knew to be able to sleep without dreaming. Sure, I could have given myself sleeping pills, but I wanted the pain of a hangover, then wanted to do it all over again. I wanted to stay . . . anesthetized.

  “This night I got in the car, pulled out of the driveway of the house I was renting, and managed to keep it on the gravel road, but—there was a kid on a bike and I was almost on top of him before I knew it.”

  “Gordon, no. Oh, no!” Carol was horrified. “You didn’t hit him, did you?”

  “No. But I didn’t know that at the time. I had no idea he had run into the ditch to avoid me. I thought I had hit him. Instead of stopping . . .” He closed his eyes at the pain of that moment. “I was a coward, and I just kept driving. When I got out to the highway, I pulled over and waited for the cops to come. Although the shock had sobered me, my central nervous system was still shot, my thoughts still broken as I tried to sort out what had just happened. But I knew that surely the kid’s parents must have seen the whole thing, must have called the authorities. I knew I’d be arrested. That didn’t matter; my only thought was I am so sorry. God, I am so sorry, Allison, so sorry. That poor kid, he didn’t deserve this. God. Please.”

  Beads of sweat covered his brow, the feelings washing over him as if it had just happened. Carol didn’t want him to share this with her, but she couldn’t turn away.

  Finally, she had to ask. “What happened?”

  “I drove slowly to my house with the high beams on, trying to see. I finally made it back without seeing any trace of him. I was too full of adrenaline and self-loathing to sleep. I got through the night by pacing and telling myself I—a doctor committed to healing, helping people—had not only let my wife down, but I had just killed a poor kid and my life was over. I was ready the next morning to walk into the ocean as far and as deep as I could go. And never come back.”

  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly; incredibly, there was a smile starting to tug at his lips. “I walked out on the beach, knowing it was all over, and then”—he shook his head in wonder—“there was that kid right down the beach! I was so happy he was there and alive; I hadn’t hit him! It was the biggest moment in my life. The relief was enormous, my legs gave out and I fell down on my knees. ‘Thank God,’ I kept repeating to myself. I couldn’t believe the kid was alive!

  “He ran straight up to me. And just as quickly the relief I’d felt disappeared, because I knew he was going to start accusing me of trying to kill him last night. In that moment I knew I was a fool for thinking I would get off that easy.”

  His smile was wry and amused. “That was the furthest thing from his mind. Just as I had lived the night in terror, so had he. This kid pleaded with me not to tell his parents what happened; he wasn’t supposed to ride his bike after dark, he had no reflectors or lights, and if I told he was going to be in big trouble.” His laugh echoed the irony. “Can you believe it?”

  Carol blinked away moisture gathering in her eyes and sniffed. “No, I can’t believe it. Because it’s so unbelievable. You were so lucky,” she said, relief flooding through her.

  “No,” Gordon said quietly, “it wasn’t luck. Father Joe says there’s no such thing. It’s all grace.” Gordon looked at her with certainty, and the calm that permeated everything about him was back. “God’s grace.”

  Chapter Eight

  Elizabeth got out of her car. Shivers coursed over her neck and shoulders, and she knew it wasn’t from the cool day. She was dressed warmly, even down to the small-heeled boots. Was it apprehension? Elizabeth wasn’t one to meet with her priest, although she certainly helped out in the church. This day, she had taken the initiative and called for an appointment.

  Since hearing the sundog sermon, a question had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. She walked slowly into the adjoining parish house, down the hall to his office. He was expecting her. She was a little breathless the closer the walk brought her to her destination. Shivering again, she became impatient with herself. This was ridiculous. She simply wanted what Father Joseph had, and since she believed in what he believed, it shouldn’t be that hard, right?

  “Elizabeth!” The smile alone was worth the visit. She settled comfortably into the chair he offered.

  “Coffee? Tea? What can I get? Nothing? Fine. Now, tell me. How are you? When you called to tell me your news I lifted you in prayer immediately. You know you would have been on the prayer list had I known, but I understand why you’ve decided to keep quiet.”

  His eyes reminded her of her father’s, Elizabeth thought, oddly reassured. “I’m fine, thanks. It was a bit nasty there for a while, but you can look at me and see I’m completely back to normal.”

  And it was true. Although she often gave in to Michael’s fear about her shoes and most often wore only very moderate heels, her walking was perfect. She had no problems because there weren’t any. “And I thank God for it every day,” she said fervently.

  “As do I.” His smile was sincere. “What can I do for you today?”

  Suddenly shy, Elizabeth glanced away for a moment and then looked directly at him. “I loved the sermon about the sun dogs. In fact, I have enjoyed all your sermons.”

  She saw his surprised pleasure and then a flush of color flooding his face as he nodded and turned away briefly to pour a cup of coffee he wouldn’t drink.

  “I want to know,” she began. How to ask? She cleared her throat. “I believe the same way you do; I mean, the church has always been a big part of my life. I was raised in it, support it, work for it . . . but I don’t have the stories you have. You make it all seem so personal, so integral a part of your life. I suppose I’m . . . wondering . . . why I don’t have those kinds of stories.”

  Joseph Wells moved the cup out of the way and rested his elbows on the desk to look fully at Elizabeth.

  “We all have our own stories to tell, our moments with God that belong to us. One might say because my job is being a priest, I’m surrounded by circumstances that fall easily into storytelling. The real reason, I’m sorry to say, is simply because I’m needy.”

  He sat back.

  “Needy?” Elizabeth frowned.

  “Needy,” he assured her. “My whole life has been spent serving God, and I believe in every word of the Bible, prayer book, every hymn I’ve ever sung, yet there are moments of doubt; there are moments when my sureness stumbles. That’s why I am always looking for God in everyday things, in normal boring moments, in the usualness of life. And because of this need to assail the doubts, because I’m looking, I see what’s always there. And because of that I can stand up every Sunday and share my moments of faith. Those moments I believe God keeps giving me because, again, He knows I’m needy.”

  His humbleness was endearing, but Elizabeth had to bite back a suspicion he was doing it for effect. Talk about doubts. A faint smile hovered. “Does that mean, since I don’t have your kind of stories to tell, that I’m not so needy?”

  Father Joe chuckled and shook his head. “No.”

  “But I want to have those moments of faith. Like the sun dogs. So, I suppose my real question is, How do I find them?”

  This man had the kindest eyes, she thought as he reached for her hand and held it. In a heartbeat of a moment there was such a somberness about him, she was almost reluctant to hear what he was going to say.

  “When you need something, you look for it, don’t you.” He waited for her nod. “If you are looking for God, you will find Him, and by seeking Him you will find faith, too. But what most people don’t realize is that there is a great responsibility that goes with this. It’s never easy, and at times it may even hurt
to be molded and blended into His magnificent image. But the rewards, the joy of knowing you are precisely right where you belong, are unimaginable. Keep looking, Elizabeth. And you will find your stories, your moments of faith; about that, I have no doubt.”

  Elizabeth zeroed in on one word. “Hurt? Do you mean God will make bad things happen to me?” That was alarming, but no, he was shaking his head.

  “No, God doesn’t make bad things happen; that is part of our imperfect world. But how we deal with the aftermath of those treacherous moments that belong to the world and its devious ways is how we discern, learn, and find God. A question I try to ask myself, on wonderful occasions as well as awful ones, is, Where is God in all this? Looking, searching for the meaning underneath or on top of all the moments in our lives, that is where we find God, and it is only through the very humanness of His Son, Jesus Christ, I believe, that we are enabled to do that.”

  Elizabeth listened intently and tried to assimilate all he said. Emotionally, it felt like there was so much, but at face value did it really make sense? She wasn’t sure. All she did know was this man seemed as certain as granite of his convictions.

  She shared the silence with him as thoughts flowed into new ones without a destination. Even if she wasn’t brave, couldn’t God help? Even if she wasn’t sure she wanted a closeness that could hurt, wouldn’t He be able to take care of that? After all, her life had been a gentle one, with lots of love . . . What really could change, after all?

  Father Joe was silent for a moment longer, thinking. When he spoke his demeanor and tone of voice were subtly yet distinctively different.

  “For some reason, I am reminded of the story of Jacob. He was a man who had stolen his brother’s birthright and ran away from his crime. He had to work twice as long to marry the woman he loved because he in turn was defrauded. And he continued to work and have children with the two sisters he married . . . But there was a point in his life when he had need to see his brother whom he had wronged, perhaps to mend that relationship, to ask forgiveness. He traveled a long distance to see his brother for the first time in years, but before he got there he went on ahead of his family, spent the night in prayer by himself, and asked God for a blessing. During the course of that night, he wrestled with an angel that turned out to be God; Jacob wouldn’t give up and fought all night, knowing how precious and vital that blessing was. That night was one of the few times when the boundaries between heaven and earth were bridged. Jacob won his blessing but was lame for the rest of his life. His blessing came with a cost, but it was more than worth it.”