by mike Evans
The doctor from the night before came in. She could tell that he’d had a fresh night’s sleep and a new set of clothes. “Mrs. Parker, how are you doing this morning? Are you feeling a little better after getting some food and what I hope was a good night’s rest?”
“I am feeling better, but I need to get going, if you are okay with releasing me, sir.”
“You could use another day of rest, Mrs. Parker. I would say as your doctor that if you could have a few days to get better, that it would do you—and your body and mind—a lot of good.”
She got up out of the bed and walked over to the closet, getting her clothes from the night before. “Sir, I’m a mother of two; peace of mind isn’t something I plan on having for quite some time. I don’t think that all the time in the world would get me feeling completely perfect. There is always something. It’s just something that you have to deal with. I can assume from your well rested eyes that you haven’t had the pleasure of a wife or children, yet.”
“I’ll be getting married this spring, actually. Veronica and I are very excited about it. She’s been spending almost all of her free time getting prepared for the wedding. It seems like everyone we’ve ever met has to be invited to it.”
“We got married by a judge. It was the only way that the army would allow us to stay together. Only married men were permitted to have people live with them and get housing.”
“Yes, well, I was never really the military type. I don’t know what that type is, but my parents had been planning for me to go through medical school since before I was born. My dad, and his dad, etcetera, you get the point. It isn’t really a choice, but more of a lifestyle.”
“Yes, the type is typically those that can’t afford school and have a life—if they are lucky—as a blue collar worker. David fell a little short of expectations.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. If you ever need any care for you or your boys, you come back and ask for me by name please. I’m here for the next two years, and—in the nicest way possible—I do mean it, I hope that I do not see you.”
Joan smiled considering it. “If we could go two years without coming back here, then that would be wonderful doctor. Most likely would mean that David really did leave.”
Chapter 12
Joan sat out front of the hospital, breathing in the fresh, cool air. She’d been thinking of her son all morning, and David, wondering if he was going to come back and kill them. The man did not take no for an answer, and did not get bested. The broken arm would only slow him down temporarily.
Ralph pulled up a few minutes later. She looked in the back, not seeing Tony sitting in the rear seat, and feeling let down, not getting to see his sweet face. Ralph had the windows down for the ride there. He’d worked in construction in the mid-west for fifty years; the cool Chicago November did little to deter him from putting the heat on. When he saw Joan get in, already with a mile’s worth of goosebumps up and down her arms, he said, “You want the heat on, Joan? I get hell from Mrs. Anderson when I don’t.”
She cranked the window up on her side happily nodding her head. “Did the boys give you any trouble last night, Mr. Anderson?”
“No, those two were angels; they ate two helpings each, and two slices of pie with ice cream, and put themselves into a sugar coma. We had to carry little Tony upstairs to bed. He ate so much and had such a long day that he passed out at the table.”
Joan snorted covering her mouth. “Sounds like they were trying to eat you out of house and home. They love some good food—really any food. They are the least picky boy’s that I’ve ever met.”
“When they don’t have the food, they learn real quick to eat while the getting is good. Everyone has tough times though. You have a bit of faith and hope in the man above, and some patience, and he’ll see you through it, and you get to prosper.”
“I don’t know how much more patience I can have.”
Ralph flipped the heat, letting it pour out of the vents. “As long as it takes, dear, as long as it takes.”
“Could we stop on the way home somewhere, Mr. Anderson?”
“For the love of all things holy, you need to call me Ralph. Mr. Anderson was my dad, and unless someone was getting married or dead, I never had to wear a tie a day in my life. I’ve been a blue-collar worker my entire damn life, and I was until the day I retired five years ago. Now, where do you want to go?”
“I wanted to stop by the church please, if you don’t think it would be too much trouble... what I mean is: if you are too busy, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your day.”
He looked over to her, trying his best not to laugh. “I’m retired, dear, any place that you want to go, we can go there. You are saving me from a busy day of reading the newspaper and a never-ending honey to-do list from Mrs. Anderson. I’m not going to lie, once in a while I wonder how we ever lived there for so long while I was working sixty hours a week, with all those things being wrong with it.”
“Maybe she’s worried that you don’t have a hobby, Mr. Anderson... I mean, Ralph.”
“I worked my whole life without having a hobby, never had time to learn one. There’s a lot of things I wish I would have had time to do, but what do you do when you have that much going on in life.”
Joan squeezed his arm. “You know, the way I look at it, Ralph, there’s never a time that is too late to try to learn something, until you are dead. I say, if you have the time and the means, that you go for it, jumping in with both feet going forward.”
Ralph drummed his hands on the steering wheel, thinking about what it was she said. “So, we got off topic with you worrying about me. You said that you wanted to go to the church; why’s that? I don’t know that the fathers are even in the church on Mondays.”
“I’m sure someone will be there. If not, I could always go to the rectory and speak to someone.”
“You have a sin burning a hole in your heart, Joan? I can’t forgive you for the sin, but I’m not a bad one to talk to about things that are bugging you.”
“No, I don't have any sins that I’m worried about. It's Tony and last night. I don’t know what happened because neither boy said anything, but just what I saw with my husband David was enough to send shivers down my back.”
“I’m missing a lot of the story because you haven’t told me anything yet, dear.”
“I don’t want you to think that I am insane. I’d much rather speak to a priest about it. Please don’t take any offense to it, I do appreciate all of your help, more than you could know.”
“Not trying to intrude, Joan, you just look like your skin is about to jump off your bones.”
“I’m sure it was just me being too tired yesterday. I just hope that the priests don’t think that I’m a complete quack.”
Ralph rolled to a stop in front of the church. “I’ll wait out front in case they aren’t there.”
“You don’t have to do that; it’s not more than a mile from the house if they aren’t.”
“Where’s the rectory, if they aren’t there?”
“Uh, I’m not sure, Ralph.”
“It's a few miles in the opposite direction. You don’t need to waste all that good food you got at the hospital by walking around all day long. You said you had a million things to do today, so you tell me why you think walking around town all day is going to help you move along with any of those chores that you need done?”
Joan opened her mouth to speak and realized very quickly that she was wrong, he was right, and she’d be a fool to not take a helping hand from time to time, as long as it didn’t turn into a habit. “I will not stay any longer than I need to, Ralph.”
She slid out of the car and headed up the long set of steps, gripping the handrail as if her life depended on it. She’d still been getting a case of the spins after getting released. She’d not wanted to tell the doctor because she knew he wouldn’t let her be released if so. She saw a sign on the door saying that there was a fundraiser for kids that need shoes before the fi
rst heavy snow fell. It had been cold and blustery, which was not a huge shock for the windy city, but nonetheless everyone had been very content that there had been a lack of snow.
She opened the large door which slammed behind her from the gusting wind, sending an echo that made her feel about two inches tall through the church. There was a group of priests and a few nuns standing around a box with a much bigger message than the one which had been on the door.
One of the nuns walked up, smiling—until she saw the bandage on the side of her head and what looked like a nice bruise on the side of her face. “Good morning, Mrs. Parker. Are you here for the charity donation?”
“Good morning, Sister Helen. No, I’m not here today to drop anything off. I did not see the sign yesterday for the donations. I’ll look through some of the boys things when I get home. Maybe we have a few old coats from Tony that we can drop by. I have to save Billy’s or poor Tony would never have a coat to wear.”
“Yes, of course. What can I help you with then?”
“I was hoping that maybe I could speak with one of the priests, Sister Helen.”
“Did you not get a chance to yesterday?”
Joan could feel her ears were beginning to feel like they were on fire. She was in no position to scream at a nun, but sure felt like she was getting close to it if she wasn’t helped very soon. “I didn’t need to speak to them yesterday,” she motioned to the side of her head, “I didn’t have a reason yet to speak with them, sister.”
Sister Helen reassessed the bruise and realized it might be best to just get the woman what she needed. She smiled, nodding, and turned around, walking to the group of priests. They turned around, looking to see who wanted to speak with one of them. When Father Michaels realized that it was Billy’s mother, he held up a hand and made a quick goodbye to the other fathers in the group. “You look like you went home and had a rough night. Is Billy okay? And—what is your youngest name—Tony?”
“Yes, thank you, Tony is okay. Billy had to get looked at as well, but the doctor said other than him needing some food, he was okay. I was the one that took the brunt of it. I’m okay with that; I don’t believe in children having to be beaten. Never been a fan of it. A few quick pops on the rear is all they deserve.”
Father Michaels was just standing, not quite sure what the woman needed to speak to him about. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker, are you here for a confession? We can go to the chapel and the confession booth if you wish. It is a little busy out here. Any ear your words touch right now would be ones that could not share what you have to say.”
“I am not wanting anyone additional to hear what I have to say. I fear even telling you, for I think that you are going to think that I am insane. But what else do I do if I don’t speak to you? The police would do nothing but laugh at me; I would be lucky if they did not try to take the boys away, for fear that their mother is a lunatic.” Her shoulders began to shake and he could tell that she was starting to break down. He handed her a handkerchief, and the two made their way into the chapel.
She looked around, not used to being in the church when it was empty. The space was the biggest building she was in on a weekly basis. The church looked bigger than ever without the congregation filling the seats.
Father Michaels walked slowly behind her. He was in no hurry to get back to the other priests, and he was thankful for the break. He had not watched the game, and they seemed more interested in Mike Ditka than they did the faith and theology that they were here for. He hoped that when his hair had long been turned gray from time that he still felt as passionate as now about his oaths. When Joan seemed like she had calmed herself down a bit he asked, “Would you like to talk now, Mrs. Parker?”
“I fear if I don’t, I'm going to lose my mind, father, or my nerve to say anything.”
“You’ve definitely stolen my interest, Mrs. Parker. Please, sit and tell me. I will not be judgmental.”
“I'm sorry, I wasn’t trying to get you all worked up about what I was going to say—or, what I am going to say. I'm sorry, I feel like I'm apologizing for just about everything lately that I’ve said or seen happen.”
“Mrs. Parker, why don’t you just let it out, please? It isn’t nearly as bad as you are making it out to be, I'm sure.”
“When we came home from church after morning mass, my husband had stayed home as usual instead of coming with us… well, instead of praying while we were gone—because we all know that wasn’t going to happen—he worked on seeing how much malt liquor he could get into his system. He doesn’t do well when he drinks. There are happy and angry drinkers. He makes the angry drinkers look like they are the happy ones.”
“That bad, huh?”
She motioned to the side of her face with her hand. “You be the judge, Father Michaels. When Anthony and I came home he was finishing his first or second bottle. It’s hard to tell and you do not… under any circumstances… ask how much he has had to drink, or if he has had too much to drink, unless you want your face or whatever part of your body he hits to pulsate for a few days. He was a boxer in the service, it was something the men thought was fun to do when they weren’t killing the enemy. They spent their wages beating the hell out of each other. I never understood it, but I can assure you, father, that he most definitely learned how to lay down a punch.”
“From the side of your face, I can assume you aren’t lying to me. Continue, please.”
“So, we got home, and he was already on his way towards passing out. When we came in the first thing he asked was what was for lunch, as his breakfast had been drank. Now, had I thought about what I was saying—which I don’t know why I didn’t—I probably would have chosen my words more intelligently. I said, ‘well, David, unless you were kind enough to go and find us some food, then we have pretty much what we had when we left for church.’ Well, he didn’t take that well; he actually might have taken it worse than usual. An empty bottle came whizzing at my face and missed me by mere inches. It very quickly helped me conclude my guess of whether he’d been up to anything good or not. He hadn’t of course, and it took him less than seconds to close the distance between his Lazy Boy in the living room, and the kitchen.”
“Is that where you got the cut head?”
“No actually, that came from me sliding across the kitchen floor and into the stove. Now, that was after Billy tried to protect me and tackled his dad. Everything got much worse after that. He tackled him by the knees, sending his dad and his head into the side of the counter. It was one of the rare times that I’ve seen my husband bleed from a hit. He hit his head, and I was actually surprised that he didn’t pass out from it. Well, when Billy poked at him to see if he was alive a hand came out of nowhere and the echo filled our house. I tried going at him to protect Billy and that was when he gripped me and practically threw me into the oven that was quite a few feet away.”
“You know that there are places that you can stay, Mrs. Parker. There’s something that I'm sure we can do if you aren’t able to find somewhere else to live. I don’t care what they say in the bible about marriage, there are some people whom God either can’t heal or doesn’t. You know that you are still young. I am sure that I can get your marriage resolved in an annulment. I could do everything in my power to get you there, I assure you. If we started the proceedings today and photograph you as proof of the abuse you and your family have endured…”
“Father, I appreciate that, I really do, but that isn’t why I am here,” Joan said interrupting his rant.
“I went off on a rant. I apologize; I didn’t have the greatest home life growing up. My faith in God was one of the few reasons that I made it; that’s why I joined the church after graduating school. I had scholarships that were available to me, but didn’t think that saving people was beneath me, or something I should ignore the calling of.”
Joan was trying to be polite. “That is nice, father; not that you had a less than amazing youth, but that you put faith above greed. I don’t know many m
en that would have been able to say the same thing about their life. Anyways, back to what I'm not so eloquently trying to say. I came to on the ground. The only thing I felt that was warm on the cold floor was the blood that was pooling on the side of my face from my wound here; it bled like a stuck pig, father. I got up and made my way to the stairs.”
“The stairs?”
“Yes, that was where the screaming was coming from. It was screaming I’d never heard before. In my daze I thought that it was Tony and Billy screaming for help; they were trying to remain safe from their father, the monster.”
“Who was it screaming, Mrs. Parker?”
“It was their father, David. I’ve never heard him scream before, even when he hit his hand, drunk while working on something with tools, or the time he put a nail through his leg by accident, trying to fix something—he didn’t scream even once. He fought through the pain and just dealt with it.”
“But not yesterday morning?”
Joan had the slightest guilty smile. “It was David, not just crying, but pleading in screams. There was a deeper voice that I didn’t understand coming at the same time.”
“Could he have had a friend, or been the one screaming and speaking? I know it isn’t very likely, but…”
“No, not unless he learned ventriloquism in the last week, father.”
“So, you came to, and you went up the stairs. Where was Billy throughout all of this?”
“He had woken already and was in the room. The door was locked, and the screaming was louder than anything I have ever heard. Even my own screams didn’t match these, and there has been more than one dark night in my past with him, father.”