Last Call

by Laura Pedersen

  “It doesn’t have to be a ball game. I mean, I haven’t been anywhere.”

  “Then . . . well, uh . . . Joey . . .”

  But Joey understands right away. It’s as if Rosamond has been in school her entire adult life and this is the first day of summer vacation. She wants to feel the sunshine on her face and have a good time without worrying about scowling grown-ups, surprise quizzes, and homework assignments. And quite frankly, he wouldn’t exactly mind a break from his grandfather’s recent fascination with death either.

  chapter twelve

  Let’s go to the Long Island Game Farm!” says Joey. “I saw an ad on television. It’s exit sixty-nine on the expressway.”

  Hayden glances at Rosamond. She finally looks pleased.

  “Long Island Game Farm or bust!” he announces and turns the station wagon around. In rotating the steering wheel Hayden has the odd sensation that what’s left of his life may be taking a turn as well.

  “That sounds lovely, Mr. MacBride.”

  “Mr. MacBride? Sounds as if I’m bein’ measured for a coffin! Please, call me Hayden.”

  “All right, Hayden.” She glances shyly down at the floor mat. “Then please call me Rosamond.”

  “I do’an’ know if I have that much breath in me lungs, you know, if we get to be regular mates. How about Rosie, like a Rosie by any other name couldn’t be as sweet.” Hayden laughs at his mangled reference to Shakespeare.

  Rosamond blushes and says, “Oh, nobody’s called me that since . . . I guess nobody ever has! You’re the first, Mr. MacBr— I mean, Hayden.”

  They speed eastward on the Long Island Expressway, none of the electronic signs overhead blinking with news of accidents, construction, or slowdowns. Hayden is amazed by the level of comfort the signs offer a driver—explaining why you’re being delayed and how long it’s likely to last. Whereas twenty years ago, before the signs, drivers sat and stewed, some anxious travelers climbing atop their cars to peer ahead or else leaning on their horns in frustration. But with the advent of the information age they’ve all calmed down and now yammer away on cell phones, repeating to anyone who will listen what exit they’re near, why there’s a backup, and how this will alter their estimated time of arrival.

  In the absence of heavy traffic and delays they turn into the Game Farm parking lot in slightly over an hour. From the sideways glances of the other visitors, an observer would think that none of the patrons had ever set eyes on a nun before. Hayden and Joey nudge each other with amusement as children tug at their mother’s sleeves and point to the three of them. And when Rosamond sits in the petting zoo feeding a baby lamb from a bottle, after doing double takes practically the entire clientele turn their cameras and camcorders toward the sight. It amuses and charms Hayden that only Rosamond is oblivious to the fact that wearing a long black habit and surrounded by an array of barnyard animals she brings to mind a Christmas pageant.

  The trio enjoys watching the lions laze in the buttery sunshine and the quietly contemplative zebras with their stocky striped bodies that stand out against the green and brown hues of the simulated jungle. In the primate section an ape beats his chest and then swings to the ground on a large black rubber tire attached to the end of a thick chain.

  “Hey Grandpa, where does a gorilla play baseball?” asks Joey.

  “I don’t know, Joey. Where does a gorilla play baseball?”

  “In the bush leagues!” Joey laughs so hard he bends over and Hayden smiles approvingly at his grandson’s enjoyment of jokes.

  “What do gorilla attorneys study?” Hayden shoots back.

  “What do gorilla attorneys study?” Rosamond and Joey say in unison.

  “The Law of the Jungle,” replies Hayden.

  Joey jumps up and down with excitement and Rosamond covers her mouth with her hand but laughs a warmhearted laugh, the kind left over from a girlhood filled with close friendships.

  “If you’re laughing at that joke then we’re in real trouble,” jokes Hayden.

  But Rosamond points and Hayden turns around to see the gorilla imitating Joey by jumping up and down. When the big ape finally stops and sits down, a female drops from a tree branch above and begins to groom him, picking through his brown fur and eating anything that catches her fancy. While the male gorilla patiently waits, his glassy eyes look directly at Hayden, so full of expression that he seems almost human.

  “It’s pretty easy to see where we come from, eh?” Hayden says to no one in particular.

  “You can’t possibly mean that,” responds Rosamond.

  “What? You think some Guy in the Sky with a white beard made us and he’s up there watching like Santy Claus to see if we’re bad or good?” Hayden laughs out loud at the very proposition. “Fact o’ the matter is that a week-old human baby is less developed than a week-old gorilla.”

  “But the laws of evolution are made by God,” Rosamond says firmly.

  For someone with such a gentle tone of voice, Hayden observes, she can be awfully bullheaded. First she doesn’t want to go to any of the places he’s picked out and now, barely an hour later, she’s trying to convert him. And to think that Diana is constantly accusing Hayden of being stubborn! Obviously his daughter doesn’t have any nun friends.

  “Wait just a minute.” Hayden turns to her. “I thought you fired God after he gave you the death sentence.”

  “I believe in God,” chimes in Joey as he beats his chest and watches with delight as one of the apes mimics him.

  “Then why did God give you The Asthma and a mother who won’t let you play baseball or have a dog? And a father who do’an’ pay child support?”

  “Maybe he’s testing me,” Joey replies.

  “I should have never let you go to Mass in Westchester with Diana and that Catholic furniture-maker boyfriend of hers.” Hayden pronounces “furniture-maker” with distinct disdain.

  “Hayden, you don’t go to Mass,” Rosamond corrects him in a stiff but amiable voice. “You assist at Mass. It’s one of the seven sacraments, not a spectator sport.”

  “Oh, so now the two of you religious fanatics are ganging up on me? Just like Diana and the furniture-maker. Is this how it’s goin’ to be?” Hayden’s brogue strengthens to accentuate his mock outrage.

  “And what’s wrong with crafting furniture?” Rosamond asks. “Jesus was a carpenter.”

  “Well your Jesus probably didn’t owe so much in back taxes that his furniture was sold at public auction along with the car he owned jointly with his gullible girlfriend who never bothered to put her name on the title.”

  “Let’s get cotton candy,” says Joey. He doesn’t feel like talking about God or his mother’s disastrous love life.

  Eyeing the large cones of pastel pink, blue, and yellow hanging from the pushcart stand, Rosamond has to admit that they look magically enticing, especially after so many years of brown and white fare, such as rice and overcooked pot roast or meat loaf and mashed potatoes. She orders strawberry and Joey chooses lemon and they delightedly pull tufts off each other’s cones and hold them up to the light before letting the sparkling pink and yellow spun sugar dissolve on their tongues.

  As they climb into the car to return home Joey invites Rosamond to sit in the backseat with him so he can show her his baseball cards and teach her how to use his Gameboy. When the station wagon pulls up to the convent it’s almost dinnertime even though the summer sun is still an hour away from the horizon. The evening is like velvet, soft and warm. A few faded apple blossoms drift onto the windshield through the sweet, perfumed air. Whereas the game farm was loud and vibrating with life, the convent is tomblike in its silence and makes one feel as if it’s possible to hear the seconds ticking in the air. The dark stone arches yawn gloomily in front of them. Rosamond is smiling and Hayden is feeling satisfied that he managed to please her after such a rocky start.

  “Grandpa, can we take Rosamond to the circus?” Joey senses that he’s found his ticket out of constantly going to funeral homes.
And he’s decided that Sister Rosamond is fun to be with, even if she is a nun. “This morning they showed the horses on TV.”

  “The circus? Haven’t you just seen enough nature for one week?”

  “I haven’t been to the circus since I was a little girl,” Rosamond says wistfully.

  “Wait just a second!” Hayden’s schedule is full up with planning his imminent demise, and there isn’t time for nonsense like clowns and horses. “I thought the whole purpose of our meetin’ was to get you informed about dyin’. So you can decide if you want to stash away some plastic bags and make a will and that sort of thing.”

  “But I don’t own anything,” Rosamond reminds him. “I’m a nun.”

  “There are still lots of bits and pieces you need to think about tendin’ to. You can’t just leave all the arrangements to others—well, you can, but you’d be crazy to do it.”

  “I don’t want to make arrangements to die. I want to spend the little time I have left enjoying life!” All those eager shouts at the baseball game and the happy children at the game farm. For a short while it had made her forget what was looming over them. “I want to go to the circus!”

  Joey gives her a covert low five in approval.

  Hayden looks suspiciously at Joey as if he’s now certain that the two of them are in cahoots and have been secretly plotting against him.

  “The circus, eh?” Hayden turns to get Rosamond’s reaction. But what he notices is not her eager smile so much as the transformation in her appearance. The summer sunlight has turned her skin the color of apricots while the grayness in her eyes that morning has faded away, revealing china blue irises that seem to reflect the intensity of the sky overhead.

  “C’mon, Grandpa. Let’s take Sister Rosamond to the circus. Kids under twelve are only ten dollars. And maybe there’s a discount for nuns, too!”

  “A discount for nuns?” Hayden is amused. “At least you come by your sales ability naturally. I suppose I should be proud.”

  “Hooray!” shouts Joey. “We’re going to the circus.”

  “Well do’an’ tell your mother until after we’ve been or she’ll throw fits about your asthma and the possibility of bein’ mauled by a lion.”

  As Rosamond steps out of the car to go and do battle with her soul after having violated so many rules, Joey is also faced with an internal struggle. He stares at his cherished Mike Piazza baseball card, the one Rosamond had been most interested in since he’d played so well at the game they’d gone to see. It was worth almost twenty dollars.

  They all say good-bye and she turns toward the gate. Hayden starts the engine. Joey yells “Wait!” He leaps out of the car, runs after Rosamond, and shoves the baseball card into her hand, the cardboard still warm and sweaty from being clutched so tightly, making it painfully apparent that enormous deliberation went into giving up such a prized possession.

  Rosamond can’t really accept any sort of material gift, which is technically considered to be a worldly possession. But the look of sheer joy on the boy’s face after battling his conscience reminds her of the teachings of Paul, and the glory in being a cheerful giver. She’s deeply touched at being on the receiving end of such an obvious sacrifice. In taking the card Rosamond places her hands over his. “Thank you,” she says. “I know how much you value this and I’ll always treasure it.”

  Joey feels his face become warm. He turns without a word and scampers back to the car.

  “You gave her a baseball card,” says Hayden. He makes up his mind to spend less time teaching his grandson about car maintenance and more time on communicating with women. “Let’s talk a moment about flowers.” Hayden points to the brilliant goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace dancing in the gentle evening breeze along the roadside. “Wildflowers are everywhere, women love them, and best of all, they’re free!”

  chapter thirteen

  As Hayden and Joey pull into their neighborhood a light rain begins to fall. The sidewalks are wet and sparkle as if diamonds have been mixed into the cement. Alongside the front stoops the lilac bushes sift raindrops through their dusty heart-shaped petals and the potted geraniums nod to one another. The residents will be relieved that they won’t have to water their boxes of sweet william and hanging planters of pansies, violets, and petunias. Then there are the plastic roses and plastic daisies that people in Brooklyn still favor. They’ll get a nice rinsing from the rain, as will the white plastic chairs and red children’s wagons that have been left out in the narrow front yards.

  Joey is only upstairs for a moment when he shouts, “Mom, where’s my computer?”

  “Anthony took it to be repaired, hon,” Diana calls from the kitchen.

  “But there ain’t anything wrong with it,” Joey yells back.

  “Don’t say ‘ain’t’!” Diana reprimands him. “I don’t know much about computers, but he’s going to add memory or something like that to make it run faster.”

  “Has the cheese slid off yer cracker once and fer all?” asks Hayden, settling into the living room to mark up the obituaries with red and black Magic Markers.

  “Oh hush!” Diana says angrily. “You always assume the worst about my boyfriends.”

  “That’s because they always are the worst. And not exactly what you’d call heavy thinkers!” He points a finger to his head for emphasis. “I just do’an’ understand it, Diana. You’re pretty, you’re intelligent. You have a fine education. I mean, it’s the liberal arts and so it’s not good for much of anything, but what is it with you and these ne’er-do-well blokes?”

  “They’re not ne’er-do-wells. They’re artists. You know, not everyone is only concerned about the bottom line the way you are, Dad. Vincent van Gogh never had any money during his lifetime and now his artwork sells for millions!”

  “And I might take this opportunity to add that he went crazy and killed himself. It’s not about being coldhearted.” Hayden raises his voice. “It’s about taking responsibility and being—”

  “And being like Linda! Why don’t you just say it! Married to a congressman with a big retirement account filled with mutual funds!”

  “It has nothin’ to do with your sister.”

  Diana is upset and wipes tears from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to fight about this anymore! Why don’t you just move in with Ted and Linda? Your constantly campaigning son-in-law would love nothing more than for all the people at their church and the PTA to know they’re caring for his ailing father-in-law.”

  “Why must you always bring up Linda? What’s she got to do with it?”

  But Diana only stalks out of the room.

  Hayden would never admit it to anyone, least of all Diana, but he quickly becomes bored at Linda’s perfect Tudor-style vinyl-sided home in New Jersey—the cookie-cutter houses, the neighborhood men comparing their lawns and cars, his daughter’s politician husband, Ted, droning on about the missile defense shields and the Kyoto treaty and stopping to pump everyone’s hand and make babies scream with his Halloween grin. All Hayden can ever concentrate on are those two barn door–sized front teeth, which act as a large umbrella above the lower lip. On the positive side, Linda never nags Hayden about his drinking. But this only serves to take half the fun out of it. She simply gives him a tight smile and says, “It’s your life, do what you want.”

  Joey observes this argument from the top of the stairs while contemplating the absence of his favorite three distractions—computer games, the cartoon network on AOL, and pornographic Web sites.

  Hayden looks up at him. “So Joe-Joe, how about a math problem? What do you think the odds of getting your computer back are? Fifty-fifty, one in ten?”

  “I like Tony. He’s going to take me fishing.” Joey wishes that his grandfather didn’t always have to say bad things about his mother’s boyfriends. And also about his father. It only ended up getting everyone all upset. His mother then yelled at him to clean up his room and Hayden usually went out and got drunk.

  “Too bad there’s such
a big gap between liking a person and trusting a person—about two thousand dollars in this case,” says an irritated Hayden. “See, Joey, you can like the guy at the deli. But don’t trust him to put the ketchup in your bag. Always check for it yourself.”

  “My dad says you’re too clinical.”

  “I do believe he means cynical. And though I have a couple of adjectives for your dear old dad I’ll save them for a judge. Meantime tell yer insolvent, actually there’s a word for him, tell your insolvent father that bein’ cynical pays the bills,” Hayden harrumphs, “if you ever see him again, that is. A wolf may lose his teeth but ne’er his nature. Remember that.”

  Diana returns composed and wearing fresh lipstick. “Joey, after dinner I want you to go straight upstairs and clean that room! A mess like that is a perfect place for mice to start nesting. And they carry all sorts of infectious diseases. Now wash your hands and come to the table. I made a nice roasted chicken with fresh broccoli. You two have probably been gorging yourselves on junk food all day.”

  “I don’t like broccoli,” says Joey. “Why can’t we have porn?”

  “What?” Diana’s entire body straightens up as Hayden looks on with amusement.

  “You know, peas and corn,” says Joey.

  “Because tonight we’re having broccoli. There’s an article in Time magazine listing all the vegetables that help fight cancer.”

  “Diana, darling”—Hayden kisses her to make up for his recalcitrance—“I think you mean prevent cancer, not turn back the tide for someone who’s already been struck down with it.” They take their places around the dining room table.

  “This is one time when you’re wrong, Dad,” Diana persists. “There’s a list of foods that are good for people who’ve already been diagnosed. Cruciferous vegetables possess many cancer-curing properties. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”

  “What’s ‘cruciferous’?” Joey pipes up.

  “Anything that has a cross at its base.” Diana makes a cross with her two forefingers to demonstrate. “For instance cauliflower, cabbage, radishes, broccoli—”