South of Main Street

by Robert Gately

  “Why, Henry?” the Pastor queried. “Why do you want to do this again? You’ve already have been baptized. And more than once.”

  “I need a change,” Henry said. “I need to wipe the slate clean. Besides, doesn’t it say in the Bible, He who is baptized will be saved? Henry felt his philosophy was sound, fool proof, and a good way to reach heaven in case he got hit by a truck after he left the church.

  “Yes, Henry. The ceremony of baptism by water-sprinkling, as you put it, is for the forgiveness of sins of a true repentant.”

  “That’s why I want to be baptized,” Henry said.

  “But we did it last year, and the year before that. It’s not a tool to use every time you want to be forgiven for your transgressions. If you want a demonstrative approach to do that, then become a Catholic. With them you can go to confession every day.”

  “Well, I think baptism should be like making a confession. Hey. You got a good thing going with baptism. It’s like a good knuckleball. A pitcher wouldn’t use it all the time. Just when he needed to.”

  “Baptism is not like having a cocktail,” the Pastor sighed. “What you want to do is an abuse of its intent. And besides, what sins have you committed in the past year?”

  Henry thought hard and then slammed down on an invisible button with his hand as if he were on a game show. “Impure thoughts. That’s my final answer.”

  “I have impure thoughts, Henry,” the Pastor confessed. “That’d mean I’d have to be re-baptized every time I think of a girl in a swimsuit. Don’t tell anyone I just said that ... Listen, Henry, you’re treating baptism like a game.”

  The church door swung open. Pastor McMillian looked over to see Robin enter. He squeezed Henry’s shoulder and then rushed toward Robin. He took her by the arm and moved toward the front.

  “Henry wants to be baptized again,” the Pastor whispered, but loud enough for Henry to hear.

  “I’m afraid my father is a little unnerved by my mother’s condition.”

  They settled at the front pew. Henry smiled up at them and gave an over-the-top wink to Robin. She received it with a grunt and a sigh.

  “How is Mary doing?” the Pastor inquired.

  “Not good. It’s nice to know you care, though.”

  “I do care, Robin. I hope you don’t think when …”

  “Please not now, Pastor. We can talk later when we both can be … it’s just a bad day so far.”

  Henry noticed some angst in Robin’s tone – an indication of bottled-up feelings against the Pastor, perhaps. There was always a little strain between them and Henry never knew why, exactly. Still, Henry was no stranger to awkward situations and usually, when one presented itself, he found a way to be in the middle of it.

  “I’m dying, you know?” Henry he said and, then smiled at his daughter.

  “We’re all dying, Dad.”

  “I don’t mind dying,” Henry returned. “Trouble is you feel so damn stiff the next day.” Henry could almost hear Robin growling.

  She turned to the Pastor and said, “Newspaper, joke of the day, probably” and then turned her attention back to Henry. “You’re not going to get baptized again and that’s that. Let’s go see Mom.”

  * * *

  WHILE DRIVING Henry to the hospital, Robin found it difficult finding the right topic to start a conversation where she wouldn’t have to filter her speech like one does when talking to a child. Even if she talked about the weather, Henry would probably turn it into something silly. She’d say, “It looks like rain” and he’d say “Hey, do you know what happens when it rains cats and dogs” and she’d say, “No, what happens, Dad?” and he’d say something like, “You have to be careful not to step in a poodle.” Robin was not in the mood for that. So, she kept silent.

  When they passed a cemetery, Henry finally broke the ice. “People are just dying to get in there.”

  Robin gave her customary ‘that’s nice’ smile. Nothing demonstrative to encourage him to say anything else. Nothing like, “That’s the millionth time I heard that joke” which would only inspire him to continue with his frivolous list of tired one-liners.

  “I’m sorry you had to leave work,” he said.

  “It’s Saturday, Dad.” Indeed, this was not the way she wanted to spend her day off. Or any day, for that matter. “What else am I going to do on my day off?”

  “Anything,” Henry responded. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You can do anything you want. I’m very proud of you, Robin.”

  “Thanks. You want to tell me what this baptism thing is all about?”

  “No,” Henry quickly returned.

  Robin didn’t know how talk to her father at the moment with her mother lying in the hospital dying. So she drove in silence, pondering the future of the Wolff family. She really didn’t know if Dad could take care of himself, but she wanted him to be given a chance to stand up on his own two feet. He had risen to the occasion taking care of Mom for the past year. That was a good sign to her that Dad was ready to take care of himself as well. Of course, the argument could be presented that her mother, Mary, although incapacitated for most of the year, was instructing Henry on what to do, what to shop for, how to talk to people, and those kinds of things.

  Robin saw a parking spot close to the Oncology Section of the hospital and grabbed it head first. Before Henry could unbuckle his seat belt, Robin was out of the car walking towards the entrance. “Come on, Dad,” she yelled, and that was enough for Henry to hurry up and follow Robin, like a child trying to keep up with his mother.

  The elevator door opened to the Oncology Ward of the hospital and Robin and Henry exited. As they walked down the hall, they passed by a maintenance man mopping the floor. Henry pointed to him and said, “Didn’t I see him in the operating room with a scalpel in his hand?”

  Robin ignored her father as they proceeded to room 410 where Mary lay in bed. A nasal cannula protruded from her nose, and wires and tubes monitored her vital signs. A nearby EKG machine beeped in unison with her heart beat. Sharon sat bedside when they entered. “Glad you guys could make it,” she said.

  Henry gave Sharon a peck on the cheek then sat down on the opposite side of the bed. “I hate hospitals,” he said, looking at Sharon and then at Robin. Neither gave a response. “We should keep your mother at home. I was doing fine taking care of her.”

  “Yes, you did do well,” Robin said. “But we can’t take her home now.”

  “Why,” Henry wanted to know.

  “Because she’s comatose.” And that was reason enough, Robin thought.

  “Because she’s dying,” Sharon said, ending the conversation with a quick dose of the truth.

  Robin wanted to say something to Sharon, like a healthy ‘SHUT UP’, but this wasn’t the time or place to start a Wolff family battle. Actually, this was the first time everyone was together in months. Visits to Mary during the past year by the Wolff sisters were sporadic and never at the same time.

  “You know, old watchmakers never die,” Henry jumped in, breaking an awkward silence. “They just run out of time.” He waited for a response but didn’t get one. “Old yachtsmen never die …”

  “Yeah, yeah” Sharon interrupted. “They just keel over. We heard that one before, Dad.” Sharon gets up, grabs her pocketbook and faces Robin. “I’m going outside, you coming?”

  * * *

  SHARON TRAMPED onto a patio area of the hospital with her short blonde hair fluttering in the wind. She strutted her shapely figure, disguised in a loose fitting corduroy jacket and baggy Levi’s, right to the corner banister where she could sneak a cigarette out of view. Robin followed close behind and joined her.

  “I can’t take him today,” Sharon said while pounding an unopened pack of cigarettes on the banister. She retrieved a lighter from her purse, opened the pack and offered a cigarette to her sister.

  “I don’t smoke,” Robin barked. “You know that.”

  “You do when you’re stressed.”

  “I�
��m not stressed.” There was a chill in Robin’s voice, along with a pause between each word. A measured response, Sharon thought, that was supposed to end any further discussion on the matter.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Sharon barked right back. She wasn’t going to be pushed around by her sister. Not today. She lit up and blew the smoke towards the sky. “Do you ever think how things would be different if our grandfather didn’t invest so wisely?”

  “No,” Robin said, then eyed her sister and wouldn’t let go of her gaze.

  Sharon knew Robin thought her conniving and was just waiting for a hidden message behind that question. There wasn’t any hidden message, per se. She just wanted to know what the estate was worth and why her mother hated her so. Sharon pondered for a second whether to pursue such inquiries. With their mother ready to croak, maybe this was not necessarily the right time or place to talk about investments and things that were due her.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” Sharon snapped.

  “I’m just wondering why you asked that question. That’s all.”

  “I’m just wondering what the trust is worth now. Is that a crime? The market’s on the rebound. Last time I checked it was worth three million.”

  “It’s worth a little bit more now,” Robin said.

  “That’s what I figured.” A few seconds went by and then Sharon continued. “I never quite understood why Mom always lived below her means. She never liked people knowing she was rich.”

  “Everyone knew anyway,” Robin replied. “It’s where we lived.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of people on the north side aren’t as wealthy.”

  “Mom just liked to live less extravagantly than her means,” Robin said.

  “What’s the point of having money?”

  “And what’s your point, Sharon?”

  “I’m just thinking about Dad. If it wasn’t for Mom’s father making his fortune in … in … crayons or … what the hell did he make his fortune in, anyway?”

  “You know damn well it was commodities. Crayons! Why are you being obtuse? Spit it out, Sharon. What are you trying to say?”

  “You know what I’m trying to say. Our grandfather set up the trust for Mom. It was always intended to be a family inheritance. And I’m having a tough time understanding why she never changed her will to reflect that.”

  “Reflect what?”

  “Don’t be cute, Robin. We can take care of Dad much in the same way Mom took care of him over the past thirty years. For some reason, Mom didn’t change her will …”

  “No, she didn’t. And maybe there’s a good reason why she didn’t.”

  “Yeah? And what do you think that reason is, Robin?”

  “Maybe to encourage Dad to live more independently. Or maybe it’s something very simple like …”

  “Like what? To keep it away from me?” Sharon knew that’s what Robin wanted to say. Instead of biting on that remark, Sharon decided to surprise her sister and remain calm. “I don’t want a fight,” she said. “My point is Dad won’t be able to take care of himself regardless of what Mom thought. He’s never been able to take care of himself as long as I can remember. That’s why I went to court. So, stop giving me an attitude.”

  Robin grabbed Sharon’s cigarette and took a puff.

  ‘I did it!’ Sharon wanted to yell, referring to breaking down Robin’s restraint for smoking. But she exercised a little restraint of her own and just said, “Keep it,” and lit up another one for herself.

  “We could’ve worked it out,” Robin said. “You didn’t have to go public and file for guardianship …”

  “It was Limited Guardianship, with an accent on limited. And Judge Brady elected you as temporary guardian until this thing is settled, didn’t he? So, quit griping.”

  “Yeah, well now we’re under the microscope,” Robin said. “And that can’t be good.”

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” Sharon added.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, what if it isn’t? What if the … what if the secret comes out.”

  “It won’t.”

  The sisters paused on that thought for a few seconds. Sharon was uncomfortable talking about that topic, so simply changed the subject. “And let me tell you something,” she said. “The discretionary spending allowance you’re allowed to give him? The hundred and forty dollars a week? That’s not enough for him. He’ll be banging on your door for more. You wait and see.”

  “Fine. We’ll wait and see. By the way, Judge Brady called me yesterday and asked us to see him on Wednesday. I told him we would.”

  “The hearing’s in a couple of weeks, so why does he want to see us now?”

  “He’s known us all our lives,” Robin reminded Sharon. “He wants to understand why you think Dad’s incapacitated. Off the record.”

  “All he has to do is read the petition. And it’s limited, for crying out loud. It’s just financial guardianship. The Judge knows how dad is. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out.”

  Robin put her cigarette out. “I got an idea,” she said. “Let’s put Dad away in some institution. This way we can get the whole enchilada. And he won’t be in our face every day.”

  Robin always had a way of getting under Sharon’s skin by saying something that wasn’t exactly true. Robin was good at disguising the truth by smothering it with an exaggeration. “You know I don’t want that,” Sharon said.

  “Then, if you just want a piece of the pie, take ten thousand a year. A gift from the estate. No tax.”

  Sharon turned to do battle, but the door burst open and a nurse stood in the doorway. At first Sharon hurried to put out her cigarette thinking the nurse was going to read her the riot act for smoking. Instead, the nurse’s face conveyed a deeper concern.

  * * *

  ROBIN AND SHARON stormed into room 401 to find their mother had died while they were out on the patio. Although Robin had already prepared for her mother’s passing, she was taken aback by her father’s response. She watched Henry fluff up Mary’s pillow. He stroked her hair as if she were still alive. Robin stood bedside along with Sharon, quiet, refusing to interfere with his way of saying goodbye. Henry looked up at his daughters for a brief second. His eyes looked cold, unknowing. A bank-full of tears. Fear.

  He surveyed the various wires connected to her body and began removing them.

  “Dad!” Sharon yelled. “What are you doing?”

  Both Robin and Sharon rushed to his side, edging him away.

  A doctor barged in and Henry backed up to the doorway and watched the commotion over Mary’s body. Robin noticed Henry by the door taking deep breaths, as if he was having an anxiety attack. She only looked away for a brief moment, and when she looked back he was not there any longer.

  Robin ran out of the room after him, but he was already halfway down the corridor, walking briskly, swinging his arms, as if he were marching. “Where are you going, Dad,” she yelled.

  “I’m gonna get a banana split,” he yelled back. “Your mom always got a banana split when things got too ... crazy.”

  That was so typical of Dad, Robin thought. Ducking out when the tension got too great. As he disappeared around the corner, Robin knew there would be fewer second chances for her father. No longer would Mom be around to be his guide or manage his misbehavior. What would happen to him now if Sharon gets her way, Robin thought? She turned back into the room wishing she had an answer.

  Chapter 2

  Henry climbed out of his upstairs bedroom window much the same way he did most mornings when it was not raining. He glanced around the neighborhood to see if anyone was watching, and noticed Mrs. Aldrich already out sweeping the porch, as if she was waiting for him to come out. He waved and she just shook her head, a clear sign of her disapproval. Undeterred, he wiggled his way across the roof adjusting his new jogging suit, now a size too big, and giving the impression he might’ve lost some weight between now and his last attempt to retrieve the mail. He stopped briefly and scanned the heavens in o
ne sweep then half-stepped across the roof to the rope. Without much fuss he slipped his foot into the looped end and commenced on his Tarzan-journey to the mailbox. This time he jumped off precisely at the right moment and landed on his feet not far from his intended target – the mailbox. He looked at Mrs. Aldrich and bowed, as if he just gave a commanding performance to crowd of many. With much ado, he retrieved the paper and marched into the house.

  Henry slapped the Coalsville Gazette down on the kitchen table and turned to the weather section. The caption, WHITE CHRISTMAS? dominated the page. The article beneath reported a warm front moving into eastern Pennsylvania and would be hanging around for a while posing questions if the next front would bring snow for Christmas.

  Henry snatched a journal from the top of the refrigerator, sat down at the table and began writing, alternately scribbling a few words and looking at the pictures of his wife stuck on the refrigerator door with magnets. She looked so young in those photos, he thought. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her when they first started dating in high school. He was attracted to those long beautiful legs sitting in front of him in history class. Such a distraction! That seemed so long ago.

  “Why did you leave me, Mary?” he asked.

  Hootie, the house cat, got up on his hind legs and stuck his head between Henry’s lap and the table, purring for his breakfast.

  “In a minute, boy,” Henry said, penning a few more words in his journal before they escaped his mind.

  Henry stood up, leaned over the kitchen sink, and looked out the window at the garden in the back yard. “Darn you, Mary!” he said to himself. “The garden’s a mess and I can’t cook for myself. You were the cook. I never learned how. Who am I gonna clean for? Who’s gonna complain about my terrible Henry Fonda impressions now?”

  He gulped repeatedly trying to release the words that stuck in his throat. Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the sink, one little splash after another. He angrily wiped his eyes, cheeks, chin, and sat back down.