“Well, what else am I supposed to do besides eat? I’m confined to bed.”
“Whoa. Let me rephrase. Eat healthy.”
“It’s Christmas,” I argued.
“After Christmas, eat healthy. Agreed?”
“Agreed. How is the placenta?”
“No bleeding and baby growth is a great sign, but I do have one additional concern. It appears that the placenta has grown into the uterine wall. Of the three types of this disorder, you have the least severe. It hasn’t extended outside of the uterus or into the uterine muscle. We call this placenta accreta. Your previous surgery is probably to blame. The good news is that it doesn’t alter our current course of treatment. You’ll need to continue with bed rest. I see no need to keep you here in the hospital since you’ve been following my strict guidelines.”
“What are the ramifications of it growing into the uterine wall?” I asked.
“This development makes a hysterectomy more likely. We’ll be more concerned with managing your bleeding now. Hemorrhaging during the separation of the placenta from your uterus will be tricky.”
“And if I just agree to a hysterectomy out of the gates?”
“A hysterectomy is the safest option with your history.”
“Then do it.”
“You should take some time to think about it.”
“If trying to hang on to my uterus is going to put my life in jeopardy then there is nothing to think about. I want a long life with my baby girl. I’m blessed. There’s no need for me to be greedy and tempt fate.”
“I agree,” my father chimed in.
“Me too,” said Tommy.
“Your blood pressures have been good. You’re obviously managing your stress well.”
“So far.”
“I’ll see you in two weeks unless you have a problem. Call ahead. We may meet here again. Have a great Christmas.”
“You too. See you in two weeks.”
Gabe used our ride home to build me up about the new development. He also apologized for the crack about my weight. I responded by telling him that he couldn’t take it back and that if he didn’t hush it up, I’d eat him. Laughter elevated my mood.
We’d left the front gates open to allow for the delivery of packages. The porch was covered with brown boxes of various sizes. I went a little overboard with Mattie, but I couldn’t help myself, with nothing to do but eat and shop online.
Two FedEx envelopes were tilted against the front door. One was from my lawyer and the other from Peru. I already knew what papers I had asked my lawyer to draw up so I skipped that envelope and opened the pouch from Chimbote. Asking Gabe to bring the boxes to my room, I carefully climbed upward and found rest in my bed.
Spilling out the contents from the Chimbote envelope made my heart heavy. Cards from all my families were strewn across the covers. As Gabe came and went leaving packages, I slowly read through each one of them, trying to recall my horrible grasp of the Spanish language. I saved Father John’s and Sister Mary’s letters for last. They were in English and contained several pages.
Father John’s correspondence related good tidings for a happy Christmas. I had sent him a letter after I found out I was pregnant, requesting that the church pray for Emma’s safe delivery. He thanked me for the money I sent to buy Christmas presents for the children. That priest was the best person I had ever met. No matter what the hour or type of problem, he was in the thick of it always; much to the detriment of his health. I admired him so much. He’d taught me a lot about myself during my short stay in Chimbote. He was the one man in my life that loved unconditionally. Tommy was a close second, but we were still brother and sister. I remembered the good old days of tattling and hair pulling. Father John quickly acknowledged the things he saw as flaws in his own personality and was just as forgiving of other peoples’ shortcomings. He’d go out in the middle of the night to bring peace to a gang war, thinking nothing of his own safety. He was my hero. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I wish my own John was as good a man as my Peruvian Father John.
News of Hector Costelano was included in Father’s letter. Hector was killed by the police in a stand off, when he went to Lima looking for his family. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel happy. Justice had been handed down for Connor’s death, but I had hoped for the opportunity to look him in the eyes and ask him why. I wanted the chance to see if he was remorseful. I wanted to be in a place to grant my forgiveness. None of that mattered now. I wasn’t in that place yet. All I could do was continue to work on my ability to forgive him and hope that would serve to help me move on. My only joy came from knowing that the Costelano family could live without the constant fear of Hector’s retribution. They no longer had to spend their days looking over their shoulders. For that, I was grateful.
Father closed his letter with a blessing for me and Emma. He accepted my invitation to bring the church choir to Savannah when they toured the States on a fundraising trip. I couldn’t wait to accommodate all those fantastic kids in this oversized home. I was anxious to see my friends again.
Sister Mary described the preparations being made for the Christmas holy week. I wished that I could be there to hear the singing and sermons that always touched my soul so deeply. I always felt at home amongst the people at the mission. By home, I mean inside myself. I knew who I was there. The outside world didn’t claim any pieces of me. My focus was on the people and my God. The influence of being back in the States always clouded my purpose. Mattie had become my Chimbote. He had become my spiritual compass. The good Lord must have known that I’d be right back to my old ways of selfishness and ego. Mattie was my angel. He kept me centered.
Sister went on to ask that I thank my father profusely for the large endowment he made in Connor’s name. They were planning to use a portion of the funds to build handicapped accessible homes for the hundred or so men, women, and children that were wheelchair bound. Some money would be given to the hospice program and the educational funds to send the kids of the mission to college and university. I’d been trying to remain on an even keel, but tears gathered and flowed freely from my eyes as Tommy approached.
“What’s the matter?” he inquired.
“Read.”
I gave him the letter. He sat half way through reading. Gabe walked in and wondered what we were talking about. I asked him to close the door. I didn’t want my father to hear us.
“I received two letters from the mission in Peru. Father John said the man that attacked me was killed by the police. The other was from Sister Mary who asked me to thank my father for the gift of money he sent in Connor’s name.”
“You’re obviously on the good list this year. That’s two big presents for Christmas.”
“I didn’t want him dead, Gabe.”
“I know, but someone did. That was unexpected from your father, based on how you’ve described him.”
“I’m starting to realize that I don’t know my father at all.”
“Then you may want to use this time wisely to reacquaint yourself. That’s the last of the boxes.”
Gabe gave me that look like I needed to take his words to heart, before leaving. Tommy folded the letters and handed them back, dumbfounded.
“That’s a lot of information to take in.”
“Did you know about the endowment?” I asked.
“No.” Tommy shook his head trying to make sense of what he’d read.
“I’m speechless,” I responded.
“That’s a first.”
“Sarcasm from a priest?”
“I’m still your pesky brother.”
“Uh huh…What’s on tap for this evening?”
“We are going to take Mattie to feed the birds on the beach.”
“Ah. I miss doing that with him so much.”
“March 22nd will be here before you know it.”
“Hush your mouth. Dr. Brandon said that he’d be happy with thirty six weeks- not forty. I’m shooting for February 22nd.”
“Yes, may God have mercy on us all so that we can make it to February 22nd,” he replied, palms together in prayer mode. “We’ll be back in a half hour. Will you be okay?”
“Yes. Go. Throw some bread for me.”
When Tommy left, I decided to make my way downstairs to enjoy the lights of the tree. I didn’t expect to see my father sitting on the couch. He was casually sifting through the New York Times. There was a contemplative moment of me considering racing back up the stairs to avoid being in his company alone, but my feet inched forward before my mind could shut them down.
“Hi, John. I thought you were going with the gang down to the beach.”
He folded the paper and dropped it on the coffee table in front of him.
“I’m a little tired. Are you feeling okay, Julia. Can I get you something?”
“No. I’m fine. I just wanted to enjoy the lights of the tree. The house seems so quiet when Mattie is gone.”
I sat down with him on the couch, keeping enough distance to feel comfortable, but still close enough that he could see the banner of resentment that I was so vividly waving at him.
“He’s a special little boy,” he commented.
“Really?” I replied sarcastically.
“Is a kind word so surprising from me?”
“Yes… I’m sorry. That was mean spirited.”
“Probably deserved.”
“If you say so.”
We both stared straight ahead, not knowing what to say next. Minutes passed before I broke through the tension, deciding to acknowledge the gift he made to the mission. It was either that or break into a rendition of Silent Night.
“John, I want to thank you for your donation to the mission in Connor’s name. That was a really nice thing to do and it means a lot to me. Truly, it does.”
“I didn’t want you to know about that.”
“Sister Mary was so thankful for the gift that she wanted to be sure that you received word of that sentiment.”
“They must be very special for you to leave us for them.”
There was the tone of disdain for my departure that I’d grown accustom to. If you gave him enough time, the real nature of my father always fought its way out. Immediately becoming defensive, I inched away from him toward the arm of the couch.
“It wasn’t like that. I was trying to get away from Jackson. His affair wasn’t his only shortcoming. He didn’t want Connor.”
“That man is an idiot. I’ve always thought that.”
“You never said that. You supported the marriage- very vocally, as I recall.”
“I was just happy that he wasn’t Henry.”
“That’s funny because I was the happiest with Henry.”
“He’s not right for you. He’s too much like me.”
“He’s nothing like you.”
“Where is he then? Desertion is classic John Spencer, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s in New York…with Tricia.”
“Yes. I’ve met that one…a real ditz. She couldn’t hold a candle to you.”
Kindness wasn’t his usual mode of operation. His behavior had become unpredictable and tricky. One minute he was stabbing me and the next he was stroking me. The many facets of my father were becoming tiresome. I cracked a smile, completely surprised.
“Thanks for that, considering I look like an orca whale.”
“You look lovely, Julia. From the back, you can’t even tell you’re pregnant. I’d swear you were giving birth to a basketball.”
“You never tell me I’m lovely. What’s wrong with you? Are you unwell?”
“What does it matter? When a man gets to the end of his life, he has the capacity to understand just how much he’s mucked it up. I’m sorry for being me- for being a lousy father. Your sweet mother must be so disappointed in my lack of effort. I failed her…and you. Be happy knowing that I spend my nights, alone in the dark, wishing that I could do it all over again.”
“You pushed us away. You stopped loving us. We were kids, John. We thought we had done something wrong. Hell, Tommy grew up thinking that he killed his own mom. You never told him that he wasn’t responsible. You allowed that way of thinking to become his reality. That’s a lot for a young boy to handle.”
“I was a monster. I know that now. I couldn’t see it then, but I am painfully aware of it now. I wish that God would have taken me and left your mother.”
My response flew through my lips before I could think of something more congenial to say.
“I used to wish that all the time.”
“Wow,” he said sadly as he sat back, a little stunned.
“I hear myself and I know I sound harsh and bitter, but you’re trying to force this sense of familiarity between us that just doesn’t exist. You’ve been an absentee father my entire life. I don’t know you.”
“I understand,” he replied weakly.
“Don’t do that. Don’t play the role of the victim- it’s so not you. Be the ruthless man you’ve always been. That man I can understand. I’ve worn your criticisms throughout the years as though they were my second skin. They’re a part of me…every mean comment and disapproving glare. Those emotional beatings gave me my strength. So, don’t you come here and act like the cruelty served no purpose. Don’t come here and say that you did it for kicks. Have a reason for not loving us. Have a reason for scarring up our hearts. I think we at least deserve that after all these years.”
“I didn’t come here to upset you, Julia. I came here out of concern.”
“Concern for whom?”
“For me. I’m dying. How selfish is that; when you’re fighting to save your child? I’m here for me- not you.”
“You always up the ante,” I spewed out disbelieving.
“No. I’m really dying- pancreatic cancer. That should cheer you up. Christmas has come early this year, child.”
“Cancer? I’m sorry. You’re my father. My mother loved you. I am sorry. I don’t know what to say.” The clock chimed and we listened in silence. “Does Tommy know?”
“No. I’d like the opportunity to tell him myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
We sat quietly. I was ashamed of my ranting. Everything I said reflected how I truly felt, but John came here to make amends. I was too angry to hear him when he told me that he understood. One thing was for certain; regardless of who was right or wrong- it wasn’t going to change a damn thing. My crappy childhood would forever be recorded in the history books as crappy and John was destined to die. Coming to terms with both was now a necessity. Time was of the essence.
“What are your plans?”
“I’m sneaking off to have the Whipple procedure performed at Emory University next week. I’ll ask Tommy to go with me. Your prayers would certainly be appreciated.”
“They’re yours. What about work? Who knows?”
“No one. Effective next week, I am resigning from my position on the board. My shares will be transferred to Emma Grace. As her guardian, you’ll vote her proxy until she comes of age. Tommy doesn’t want the money and you’ve barely withdrawn any of your trust fund. I’ve also established a charitable trust account in Connor’s name. You can allocate the funds as you see fit.”
“How long?”
“Their best guess is six months…perhaps longer with this procedure. I would like to see my grandchild born.”
I began to cry.
“I’d like that too.”
“Don’t cry Julia. Don’t shed tears for your sorry old father.”
“But you’re my sorry old father.”
“My greatest regret in life is that I didn’t tell you kids that I loved you.”
“It’s not too late. You can start now.”
John looked me in the eyes and pulled me to him. This would be the second time that he had embraced me during the span of my life, with the first being at Connor’s funeral. The gesture was s
o foreign to me, but I couldn’t remember needing that closeness as much as I did now.
“I love you Julia. You are an amazing woman and a top notch lawyer. I should have offered you the job I thrust upon Henry. We could have worked side by side together, all these years. I was wrong about so many things. More than that, you are your mother’s daughter. You have the same strength, poise, and love in your heart that Georgia did. You feel things so intensely. I see so much of her in you. That’s why I kept you at an arm’s length. I couldn’t bear to be around you and not have her. She was in your eyes…your smile…the way you tilt your head to the side when you want something. I was mad at her for dying. I wanted Tommy to die and her to live. Who thinks that about their own child?”
“I wanted you to die and Mom to live. Who thinks that about their own parent? Grief is a terrible poison.”
I separated our embrace to make a request. He looked pained and worried about the future. We were both in the fight of our lives. We finally had something in common.
“Will you come here after your surgery to recuperate?”
“I don’t want to burden you.”
“We have a lot of time to make up for. It’s the least you can do for your children.”
“I’ll think about it.”
As I shook my head in agreement, the crew returned from their walk on the beach. Both Gabe and Tommy had a look of concern on their faces, probably assuming that John had been disagreeable. Little did they know that I was the bully this time around.
17
Tommy didn’t take the news of John’s illness very well. I woke to find him sitting across the room in my recliner. His face was solemn and distant. Though further along than me in mending fences with our father, he had born the brunt of his hostility over the years, never fully understanding why he was so unlovable. A sibling can’t fill the void that a parent leaves behind. I did the best I could.
“You’re up early,” I commented, interrupting his thoughts.
“Can you believe it? After all these years, we only have six months with him?”
“Maybe more.”
The Battered Heiress Blues Page 17