“Well, then, maybe you could find out. That might make it easier for you to decide what to do,” Sarah suggested.
“I guess I could do that. I wouldn’t have to see him. I could just talk to the docs, see his chart. You know, scope things out from a distance.”
“That’s a reasonable option. Maybe you should let that idea percolate over dinner. Are you in the mood to eat? I have some gefilte fish, compliments of Bubbe.”
“What kind of fish?”
“Gefilte fish. You should try it. It may grow on you,” she smiled. “And if you’re not in the mood for a food adventure, I also have the salmon you bought yesterday. What do you think?”
“I’m not so hungry, but I’ll keep you company.”
Sarah locked eyes with him. “Good. I love your company.”
* * *
Thoughts on Rick’s predicament crowded out dinner conversation. As Sarah ate and Anna swung back and forth in her mechanical swing, Rick picked at the food on his plate and dredged up long-buried memories.
As he reflected on his childhood, it was hard to know which had caused him greater pain: the injuries sustained in the car crash, or his father’s leaving. Right after the accident he cried out for his father again and again, asking his mother when he was coming to the hospital. Long before he had been discharged, he’d stopped asking. The answer had become all too clear.
The get-well cards his father had sent in lieu of visits were, over time, replaced by checks for his birthday and Christmas. But unlike other kids whose parents had split up, his dad had never called, never picked him up for weekends. He had never taken him for school holidays or summer breaks. After a while, if kids had asked where his dad was, he’d shrug his shoulders and say, “Probably dead.”
One chilly autumn day, three years after the crash, Rick went through the photo album of his earliest years. He took a pair of scissors and methodically cut his father out of every picture, returning the altered photos to their places in the album. Then he put all the smiling faces of his father in a shoebox, dug a hole deep in the sandy soil of his backyard and buried them. When he was done, he was dirty, sweaty and elated. He’d gotten rid of his phony father once and for all. As he ate a few bites of Bubbe Rivka’s gefilte fish, he remembered the relief he had felt that day.
When Sarah was done eating, he cleared the table and washed the dishes. Sarah put Anna in her front pack to get her ready for bed. Just as Sarah was fastening the snaps of the baby’s footed pajamas, Rick came into the bedroom to complete the ritual. He fed Anna her bottle, rocking her and singing until her lids fluttered and her eyes rolled upward. As the nipple fell out of her mouth, he burped Anna and put her down for the night.
When he came back into the living room he announced his decision.
“I’ll just go back and scope out the scene.”
“It can’t hurt to know what’s going on. I think you’re making the right decision,” Sarah said.
“Hope so. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her before heading off to the resurrection of a dead man.
* * *
Eric Stavropoulous, the telegenic evolutionary biologist, had won a modicum of fame by sharing his awe and knowledge of the natural world with the public. He’d come to New York to give the keynote address at a symposium on the evolution of cooperation. He had been nearly done with his remarks when his speech became unintelligible and he collapsed, knocking over the lectern and eliciting gasps from the audience. An ambulance had rushed him to the nearest ER. There, doctors had administered the clot-busting drug, TPA, but his condition remained critical. Only time would tell if he would live, and if he did, how much damage his brain had sustained.
Rick was made aware of all this when he introduced himself to the ICU staff as a doc doing a favor for the patient’s wife. He was shown the results of the MRI, which indicated a clot in the part of the brain that controlled grammar, vocabulary and linear reasoning. It was clear they’d pulled out all the stops to treat the popular scientist’s ischemic stroke. But despite that, the patient had not regained consciousness.
As he headed for the doors of the ICU, Rick passed a small whiteboard affixed to the glass window separating him from a patient. He read the name written in green marker: Eric Stavropoulous. On the other side of the glass was his father. Rick’s heart pounded in his chest and, though he wanted to run, he felt as though his feet were nailed to the floor. His eyes scanned the man in the bed. The thick black hair he remembered was now snow white, the formerly trim, taut body fat and bloated. Despite the changes the decades had wrought and the breathing tube in his mouth, Rick recognized the face. It was the face that greeted him every morning in the mirror.
* * *
Rick couldn’t wait to get back to Sarah’s — to her and their baby and everything that was right in his life. As he jogged back he was surprised that he felt better. He’d done what had been asked of him and could carry on knowing that, his facial features notwithstanding, he was not the lout — or, as Mr. Abadhi would say, the momzer — his father was. When he went to bed that night, he slept well.
The next day, Rick was determined to put the episode behind him and return to his life, helping Sarah, caring for the baby, doing his best for his patients. But one thing made it hard to move on: every day he came to work, he and his father were under the same roof. His greatest wish was that Eric Stavropoulous leave the hospital, either dead or alive; it was all the same to him.
Late one afternoon, there was a knock on his door as he was reviewing lab reports in his office. “Come in,” he yelled. A pretty redhead, maybe forty or forty-five, stood in his doorway.
“Dr. Smith?” she inquired.
“One and the same,” he replied.
“I’m Kelly Stavropoulous, your father’s wife.”
He was trapped. He just sat at his desk staring at the woman.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, sensing his discomfort. “I wanted to thank you for checking on your dad while I was in transit from LA. The doctors at the ICU told me you dropped by. It meant a lot to us both.”
Both. Had he regained consciousness? Rick felt ill.
“I see you’re busy. That’s all I really came for. So, thank you again.” She hesitated for a moment, turned to leave and then thought better of it. “You look so much like your father. It’s uncanny.”
“Well, short of surgical reconstruction, there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“If you say so.”
“By the way, do you know how I knew you work here — at this hospital?”
“Haven’t the foggiest.”
“Eric’s told me all about you and your career. When I learned where they’d brought him, I recognized the name of the hospital right away. He’s very proud of you, you know.”
“Proud of me, is he?” Rick asked with a wry laugh. “So proud he hasn’t bothered to call or visit in twenty-seven years.”
The woman flushed. Rick could see it was her turn to feel uncomfortable.
“You know why, don’t you?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
“There’s really no good answer to that question. Plus, it’s ancient history, in which you played no part.”
“No, I want you to know why he hasn’t come to see you.”
“No need. I think I’ve figured it out. It’s because he’s a son of a bitch who nearly killed his five-year-old son driving with a blood alcohol level in the stratosphere. And then there’s that sticky point of leaving my mother and me while I was still in intensive care. I think that about sums it up.”
When he saw he’d reduced Kelly Stavropoulous to tears, he felt like a bully. “Look, I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with you and if he hadn’t stroked out down the street, we would’ve never met. I have no right to dump on you.”
“It’s all right. Your father told me about the accident, how he ran away after seeing what he’d done to you. He ran because he was overcome by guilt. He’s stil
l filled with guilt. It’s my belief that it ruined his life. He drinks too much, he eats too much. Don’t get me wrong. I think the world of him. He’s got a beautiful mind. He’s very generous to everyone around him. We have — had — a good life together. But he’s a haunted man.”
“Look, I have no interest in him and I don’t want to engage in this conversation. He has his life, I have mine. I don’t mean to be rude, but I think it’s best if you go and don’t come back,” Rick said, turning his attention to his computer screen.
“But that’s just it, Dr. Smith. He doesn’t.”
“He doesn’t what?” Rick asked, not looking up.
“You said he has his life and you have yours — but he’s dying,” she said.
Rick turned to her. “How do you know that?”
“His doctor told me today. He’s not…going to make it.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her face. “He developed pneumonia — they think because his swallowing was affected by the stroke. They’ve tried everything, but they can’t clear his lungs of the infection.”
“Well, I’m sorry for you. You seem to like him. But you’ve got to know that as far as I’m concerned, he’s been dead for years.”
“I do like him. I love him. And based on the picture of the two of you that he keeps on his desk, I think you loved him once, too.”
“He has my picture on his desk, does he? Well, let me assure you, I’ve kept no pictures of him.”
Kelly dropped her voice. “Look, I know I have no right to ask this. But it would mean so much to him if you could visit, you know, before, before…it’s over.”
Rick looked at her in disbelief. “Do you know what you’re asking?”
“Yes. I think I do. I know it would be an act of mercy on your part.”
“And you think he deserves mercy?”
“I do. He’s a human being who made a terrible mistake and he’s suffered for it.”
“You must think me a better person than I am. I’m just a regular guy. You know, the kind who holds a grudge.”
She was undeterred. “Even though he can’t speak, he knows what’s going on. He communicates by blinking his eyes or squeezing my hand. If you could find it in your heart to let go of that grudge — even for a few minutes — I would be so grateful.”
Rick couldn’t believe what this woman was asking him to do. “Can you tell me one thing?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“How does Eric Stavropoulous get women like you and my mother to fall for him?”
Kelly smiled ruefully, thinking of better times. “Oh, that’s easy. He’s funny and bighearted and smart. I’ve known him for years. I worked for him before I married him. I can tell you, he’s not the monster you think he is.”
* * *
After she left, Rick was as jumpy as a cat. Throughout his life, no matter what had happened, of one thing he had been certain: His father was a bastard. That certainty was the bedrock of his world. Now Kelly Stavropoulous comes along to tell him he’s gotten it wrong. Was there a chance in hell that she was telling the truth?
There was only one way to find out. He speed-dialed his mother’s number.
“Hey, Mom, is this a good time to talk?”
“Just a minute, Rick. I’m cleaning out files in my office and the radio helps pass the time. Let me turn it off.” After a moment she was back. “There. Now I can hear. What is it, dear?”
“You won’t believe who just paid me a visit.”
“I have no idea.”
“Kelly Stavropoulous. She says he’s about to buy the farm.”
“Oh, is he really dying, Rick?”
“That’s what she says. I haven’t been keeping track of him, but her account of things is plausible.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s a young man, at least from my perspective. And I think there’s a small child from this latest relationship.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. He fathered a kid with this woman?”
“He mentioned it in one of his interviews. I’m sorry, Rick. I thought perhaps you knew. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, I don’t listen to his interviews and I’m already upset, so what’s one more thing?”
“Why? Why are you so upset? Is it because he’s dying?”
“Hell no. It’s because she just told me what a great guy he is. How he’s funny and generous. Is she talking about the same man who walked out on us?”
There was a long pause. Then Susan sighed with resignation. “Yes, I suppose she is. He could be very charming when he wanted to be. He certainly wowed me when I met him. And yes, he could be funny and generous.”
“So when did you realize he was scum?”
“Scum? I don’t think I ever thought of him that way. He cut me to the quick when he told me about the affair, with a grad student no less. That hurt, I won’t deny it, but I thought we could weather the storm. But when he drove drunk with you in the car, I actually tried to scratch his eyes out — not something I’m proud of.
“For some reason, though, I never thought of him as scum. Maybe some part of me still loved him, or loved the life we’d built together.”
“What? You mean you loved him and forgave him?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I didn’t forgive him, at least not for a very long time. But what I did do — with the benefit of time — was piece together what I think happened. Now I actually feel sorry for the man.”
“You feel sorry for him? Are you kidding?”
“No. I’m not kidding. I think he lost his way. His career took a turn that he wasn’t prepared for. As he got more attention in the media for making complex scientific principles accessible to the public, he started to change. He became vain, something there’d been no hint of before. His colleagues — well, I don’t know if it was jealousy or an accurate judgment, but they started to discount his work as popular pap. Their criticism wounded him deeply, that much I know. He had always aspired to be a top-notch research scientist. Then suddenly, the quality of his work was being questioned by people whose opinion he valued most. The more that happened, the more he pandered to the media. It was something of a vicious circle.”
“You’re a helluva lot more understanding than most ex-wives,” Rick said impatiently.
“Well, let’s just say that my take on him has evolved. At the time he left, I was too consumed with taking care of you to dwell on the wreckage of my marriage. It was all I could do to keep track of your surgeries and procedures, all the treatments and therapies. I had to take a leave from the university so I could keep up with all of it. But eventually you recovered and I had my boy back. I felt like I’d won the sweepstakes: I got to watch you grow up to be the beautiful man you are. Your father missed out on everything. He lost his son. You notice that despite his many marriages, he never had any more children until now. I think that speaks for itself.”
“Well, his current wife says he’s ‘filled with guilt’ about the car accident or some such crap,” Rick said, mocking Kelly Stavropoulous’s words.
“I often wondered how he lived with himself. Even if he didn’t love me anymore, he seemed to love you. What he did to you must have eaten away at him. From the pictures I see of him, it’s obvious that he’s gone to hell with himself. And all those failed marriages. Not exactly the sign of a happy man.”
Rick finally got down to what was tormenting him. “Mom, she wants me to visit him before he dies. She calls it an act of mercy. You’re in a position to know. Does he deserve mercy?”
“That’s a hard question to answer. If I were confronted with your situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to say my good-byes. He has no hold on me anymore. I could find it within myself to perform that merciful act, if indeed that’s what it would be. After all, it’s because of him I have you.
“But,” his mother continued, “I’m not you. You have to decide whether you can forgive your father enough to spend a few minutes with him before that’s no longer possible. No one can decide that for you, Rick.”
“And if I don’t do it?” he asked, seeking absolution before the fact.
“I’m sure only the saints of this world would fault you.”
* * *
The conversation with his mother only muddied the waters further. So the bastard could be charming. And he’d once been a serious scientist before becoming the darling of amateurs and the media. Maybe his wife was telling the truth. Maybe he was haunted by what he had done. Damn it, he deserved to be haunted. But what now, now that the show was almost over?
His mother had said he had no hold on her anymore. Was that true for him? Did his stroked-out father have a hold on him? Rick looked up. It was six o’clock. He turned off his computer and headed for the doors. He needed to get out of the hospital.
As he headed to Sarah’s, he wondered if he was hallucinating. Down the block from where he stood was a tall, curly-haired woman making her way slowly down the street with a cane. Then he recognized the back of the baby carrier the woman wore. It was no mirage. It was Sarah and Anna. His heart jumped and he picked up his pace.
“Hey, you New York City pedestrians,” he said, putting his arm around Sarah’s narrow waist and matching her step for step. “Out for a stroll?”
“Hey, yourself. Indeed we are. We came out for a walk with the therapist, and when our session was up, I thought I’d just keep on walking. The therapist says I’m ready and she’s right. I love being outside — on my own again. What is it, nearly five months since I’ve been able to do this?” As soon as she asked the question she realized that Rick was only half listening. “Hey, is everything okay? You’re heading home kind of early.”
“Oh, man, I couldn’t wait to get out of there today,” he said.
“Tough day?”
“I got a visit from my father’s wife.”
“Oh. That must have been a little sticky,” Sarah said.
“You could say that again. You should see this woman, Sarah. She’s got to be twenty years his junior. She’s attractive, seemingly nice, well-spoken. The works. How the hell he gets these women, I have no idea.”
Fertility: A Novel Page 33