Cuts Like Glass

by Dana Feldman

  “The last thing that I want to do is cause him any harm. I just want to meet him. I won’t bring anything up that would upset him.”

  “He couldn’t handle it if you did. Not now anyway. I don’t honestly know all the details but what I do know is that he’s been through enough.”

  “I won’t tell him about his father, that he’s missing,” I say, hoping this can work. She looks at me pensively for a few moments. “I won’t tell him who I am; I won’t tell him that I was married to his father.” Looking out the window, I see patients being pushed in wheelchairs, and some walking in small groups, enjoying the sunshine and beautiful surroundings. “Maybe I can just be out there, reading a book or something, when you know he’ll be taking a walk?”

  “Well there is one thing that could work,” she says, as I perk up. “We have volunteers. People that come and just sit with the patients, talk to them, take them out to the garden and sit with them while they eat their meals. This might be a better way, give you a bit more time with him. I can get you the forms now. You can sign them and we can get you started as early as this afternoon. I can assign you to Peter. How does that sound?”

  I immediately nod my head yes and will away any hesitation. “I think that’s a great idea,” I say, and she’s already up and rummaging through a desk drawer. She pulls out the papers and hands them to me. I cannot write fast enough. Every second in this life, I have recently come to learn, counts.

  She explains that in addition to his healing from various physical wounds, including healing from a spinal injury, that Peter is suffering from severe PTSD. “He’s so strong, he’s really trying. He has good days and bad. We’re trying to make the good outnumber the bad, but he’s had his challenges,” she explains. “There’s one thing that you need to know, regarding the PTSD. It’s normal to have mood swings. I have to warn you, he scared the last two volunteers away. He can get angry and I don’t think he can always control his rage. He doesn’t physically harm anyone; he’s actually a gentle man. But he does yell and cause a bit of a commotion. He can say things.”

  I think about how much his father scared me over the years. “He’s a very kind man, Ella. He’s just been through a lot. He’s as they say, damaged goods,” she explains.

  I can relate, I think.

  I realize that my time with him might be limited but I’ll take what I can get. Like those crystals of sand in the hourglass, they cannot help but run out, just like the time they represent. It’s impossible to make it stop. Time waits for no one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PETER

  Jane walks me down another hallway, this one bright, white and airy. She turns around to face me as she squeezes my hand in hers, an offer of comfort that I find most welcome.

  “This is it,” she says, pointing to a closed door. “Room 7A. This is Peter’s room. Do you want me to introduce you as a new volunteer?” she asks.

  “No, thank you,” I say. “I think I’m ok.”

  “Ok, then. Let me know if you need anything. Just pick up the phone in the room and dial zero and someone will find me. And if there are any emergencies, please hit the red button on the wall behind the bed.”

  “Ok,” I say, watching her as she walks away. I take one final breath before I lightly knock on the door.

  After a few seconds, I open it. Peter is resting peacefully. White, crisp sheets and a white duvet cover him. He’s lying on his back with his arms flat against his sides on top of the covers. I sit in the chair just beside the bed on the right side. The room is pleasant, an array of classic furnishings create a feeling of warmth and coziness. I can smell the gardenias on the table by the window even before I spot them. This isn’t some state-run facility. Someone is paying a lot of money to keep him here.

  I study his profile. I recognize the defined nose and chin. I’m looking at Gabe when he was a younger man. A doppelganger of his father, Peter even has his father’s hands. I always loved Gabe’s hands, perfectly shaped and strong. He has the same protruding veins on the tops that link to spindly veins on his finely muscled forearms.

  I listen to his rhythmic breathing and the various cacophonies of beeping noises made by the machines that surround him. He looks so peaceful. I try to imagine him awake, I wonder if he has his father’s eyes. I try to imagine him vital and alive, smiling with the same wide grin as Gabe.

  A few moments pass and then I hear a rough, grating sound escape his lips. He appears to be struggling to breathe. I get up to press the red button just behind his head but he wakes suddenly.

  He looks confused, somewhat frightened even, as he looks at me. My heart bleeds as I look down at this man who looks so frighteningly similar to my husband, that I gasp. How does a young man get so broken down? Life, I already know, is not fair.

  “It’s ok,” I tell him gently. He seems to be struggling to clear his throat, but as I go to press the button, he grabs my arm and shakes his head no. He coughs. A rough, bellowing sound coming from somewhere deep within and points to the decanter of water sitting on the bedside table.

  I grab a glass and fill it with the cool water and hand it to him. I help him to lean up in bed and watch as he puts it to his lips and takes the water into his mouth. He sips gratefully and the coughing stops.

  He lets me know when he has had enough. It’s just a gentle nudge with his hand on mine, but I know what he is telling me. I will the tears back into my eyes as I swallow the lump in my throat. Why didn’t you and your father speak? What happened? I know that Gabe was well aware of his existence. Bank records prove that he at least cared for his son’s financial needs.

  “Hello, Peter, my name is Ella. I’m a new volunteer here,” I say after a few moments of staring. It’s as if Gabe himself is watching me, searching for something. Then when Peter smiles at me, I see my husband coming back to life. I try to stay alert and focused. I try to be present, to savor this moment. No matter how upset I was, that smile melted me every time. Well, until the last year of our marriage, I never saw it then.

  “Hello, Ella,” he says, still a bit hoarse. I relish in hearing him speak, his voice so similar to his father’s that I’m visibly startled. He grabs the remote control resting beside his hand and presses a button. The bed swiftly moves upright. He is now sitting, and I decide to sit down again in the chair beside him.

  “How are you feeling today?” I ask, immediately wishing that I’d thought of a better way to start the conversation.

  “Like a man who’s been shot at six times,” he says. I feel like an idiot, but he immediately starts to laugh. At once, I’m at ease. I’m falling into this moment easily, hearing the same bellowing laugh that Gabe had.

  “I cannot imagine what’s so funny,” I say, smiling back at him. I wonder if he is similar to Gabe in the sense of humor and personality departments. When Gabe was happy and in a good mood, it was infectious to anyone in the vicinity. He could be so funny, so charming. My husband could be so many wonderful things. And this is why I first fell in love with him.

  “Well, you know, it’s just that I get asked that question every single day, and I never know how I’m supposed to answer it,” he replies, his eyes lighting up brightly as he looks at me. The same warm hazel that his father looked at me with. “It fucking sucks.”

  He definitely has his father’s sense of humor. Gabe would’ve said something similar had he been the one laying here on this bed. Gabe was an impatient man, never able to stay in one place for any length of time. He’d have gone mad here. Well, I suppose that he was crazy anyway, but this, he’d have pulled the tubes out himself and hobbled out of here despite any warnings from any doctors.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it does,” I respond, but he cuts me off.

  “I’m sorry, Ella. I don’t mean to sound so negative, so ungrateful. A lot of guys don’t get to come to a place like this to get well.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Peter. I’m sure it’s been beyond difficult,” I say to the man looking at me. I wonder if he noti
ces how intently I’m studying him.

  “So why would a beautiful woman such as yourself, or anyone for that matter, want to sit around with the injured and pissed off?”

  I take a moment to carefully decide how best to answer his question.

  “Well, this might sound corny but the truth of the matter is that my life is also a mess. I know what feeling trapped in your body is like. Wanting to get out, be free of it all,” I respond. “And I suppose that on some level, I think that helping someone, perhaps you, to get through this time in your life might actually help me to do the same,” I add, realizing how carefully I’m choosing my words. “You know, if I can help you to get through this, perhaps I’ll get the same help in return. It’s selfish really.”

  “Interesting,” he says, sounding quite intrigued with my reasoning. I’m grateful that he seems somewhat open to talking to me, especially after hearing that he scared the last few volunteers away.

  “Thank you for not saying that you’re here because you want to thank me for serving your country. That one kills me,” he says, his face tensing up a bit.

  “Why? It’s an honorable thing that you’ve done,” I say, wondering why that comment would bother him so much.

  “Because war is dirty and some of the things I had to do over there, well if anyone really knew what goes on, I doubt they’d be thanking me: some of my comrades, yes, but not me.”

  By the look of pain on his face, I decide that now might not be the best time to push this line of questioning. I can only guess what happened to him over there. I’m sure that he saw things that no one in their right mind would ever want to see. He closes his eyes a few times, reopens them only to close them again, and I start to get up to leave.

  “Where are you going, Ella?” he asks. I like the way my name sounds when he says it.

  “I thought that you might need some rest,” I answer. “You look exhausted.”

  “I’ll have plenty of time for that. Won’t you stay a while longer? It’s so nice to have someone intelligent to talk to.” I sit back down. Jane had let me know that the last few volunteers didn’t make it more than ten minutes before he yelled at them to leave.

  “Of course,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “Where is your family?”

  “My mom died, was killed, when I was four,” he says, closing his eyes once more, this time in an effort to fight back tears. One escapes. I watch as it slowly streams down his cheek. “And my dad was a piece of shit. I haven’t spoken with him in years.”

  A kindred spirit. He must sense it.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I ask, already knowing that he doesn’t.

  “No, it was just my mom and I,” he answers, “followed by fourteen years of being shuffled around between various aunts and uncles.”

  I realize that I’m holding my breath. “Your father didn’t take you in after your mom died?”

  “No, he’s an asshole. Never had the time for a son,” he says, bitterness and disdain in his voice.

  “I see,” I say nervously. “Does he know that you’re in here?” I’m wondering if this will be the answer that I’ve been searching for. If he’s alive, as I suspect, Gabe knows that his son is here.

  “No idea,” he begins. “If he does, then he hasn’t made any effort to see me.”

  “So, if I may be so bold, who in the hell is paying for all of this?” I ask, hoping that I haven’t gone too far. Hoping that he doesn’t yell at me, tell me to leave.

  “Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?” he asks, laughing again. “No filter, eh?”

  “Apparently neither of us has one of those,” I say, laughing with him.

  “It’s a long story,” he says, looking at me with eyes identical to the ones I looked into for years.

  “I’ve got nothing but time,” I tell him.

  “Let’s just say that my father was a useless parent but a brilliant businessman. I inherited quite a bit of money when I was too young to know how to handle it. He had a trust fund set up for me and when I was eighteen; I suddenly had five million in the bank.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially a kid.”

  “He was smart, though. He had some lawyer set it up so I couldn’t touch it until I was thirty. That was fine by me; I went into the Marines right out of high school, anyway.”

  So, Gabe’s attorney knew about Peter all along. I wonder just how much I’m the last to know about.

  “And I’m guessing that you’ve recently turned thirty?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes, not exactly the way I’d planned to spend the money but I guess things don’t always go as planned,” he says, staring out the window. “I was planning to take a vacation after I got back from my tour and that obviously didn’t happen. I helped a friend start a charity that helps Veterans and decided I should take care of myself too.”

  “I agree,” I say. “So, maybe now is a good time to reach out to him? Your father, I’m sure he’d come and see you if he knew that you were here.” I’m holding my breath again, waiting for him to shock me with some story about how he called his father, and he plans to come see him.

  “I never want to see or speak to him again,” he says stoically. “He’s dead to me.”

  “You know, forgiveness is an interesting thing. It’s not always something that needs to be done for the other person, sometimes we need to do it for ourselves,” I say, realizing that he and I both need to try and find a way to forgive the same man. We’re both being eaten up alive with anger, even hatred.

  “If you knew my reasons you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Tell me,” I say, willing him to give me some answers. I think that I already have them but want to hear him tell me. Maybe I need to hear it from him so that I can confirm that I’m not crazy.

  “That might be a story for another visit,” he says, his eyelids fighting to stay open. This is his way of inviting me to come back. I’m grateful. His eyes close once again as sleep finally releases him from the pain of his past.

  I remain there, sitting beside him. I’m not sure how much time passes but the room goes from being brightly lit from the sun outside to darkened in shadow as the sun disappears behind the mountains.

  I used to watch Gabe sleep too. He always looked so peaceful, so beautiful. Just the way Peter does now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A CHANGED MAN

  1988

  He enters the dimly lit study. Nightfall darkens the room. Other than a lit lamp on the desk, the room is without any light. This makes it easy for him to hide in shadow. The room is plush, opulent and ostentatious by anyone’s standards. This is old money: classic, elegant.

  At the far end, a large rosewood desk sits at an angle catty-corner and on a burgundy chair with its back to a large bay window, sits a woman. She looks to be in her early twenties. Her voluptuous wavy curls at first hide her face under a blanket of blonde. And then she turns around and her beautiful face lights up. Perfectly manicured long red nails wave him over to her. She’s excited to see him.

  She’s the picture of perfection, a true beauty. He approaches her, and they immediately embrace. It’s obvious that they are lovers by the way their hands grope and tear off clothes, layer by layer. He breaks away roughly, refusing to get caught up in the moment. Her offended look annoys him. She has always known that her beauty has had a hold on him. He despises anyone having control over him, even her.

  “You know I can’t do this. I can’t be a father but you knew that. You thought that you could control me this way, trap me,” he says, not bothering any effort in consoling the heartbroken woman. He looks around at the opulent room. “You’ve both been well looked after,” he says.

  Persian rugs adorn the floors and the walls are lined with shelves filled to the brim with fine leather bound books, thousands of them. The Pacific Ocean crashes wildly against the rocks and sand just beyond the wall-length windows. He walks towards them and looks out onto the cozily
furnished balcony. “You’ll be fine, Peggy. I’ll take care of him, you know that.”

  “You mean with money,” she replies. “A boy needs his father. You cannot just walk away from us. I won’t have it!”

  From the finest silver ice bucket, she plucks out three ice cubes and then from a gorgeous crystal decanter pours what he assumes is scotch into a matching glass. She takes a long gulp and then fills the glass once more.

  “He’s in his room. You should go see him. He misses you, asks about you every day. He’s just a little boy. He needs you,” she says, pleading with him to stay.

  She sees him move towards the front door to leave in her periphery. She turns in that direction and continues to beg him to stay. He doesn’t acknowledge her pleas. She rubs her eyes and takes another sip of her drink, draining the glass.

  “I’ll make you sorry for this!” she cries.

  Before he can get to the door, she throws the glass in his direction. He dodges out of the way. The heavy glass shatters against a nearby wall. He’s livid and in an instant turns around and runs towards her.

  She smiles a seductive smile at him. Perhaps they’ve done this dance before: the wild fight just before the sex that would bind them back together as one. This time is different. He doesn’t want her anymore and she can see it in his eyes.

  “I can’t live without you,” she says pleadingly. “Please tell me I won’t have to.”

  “You won’t have to,” he replies coldly. She immediately recognizes this new tone in his voice and is overcome by terror. He moves in the swiftest fashion and is immediately behind her. He grabs her head from either side from behind and twists it in one abrupt movement, breaking her neck. The crack is sharp and quick, a clean kill. He has done this before.

  He drags her body to a nearby sofa, gently lays her down and lets her body fall lengthwise. He takes two fingers and gently closes her still open blue eyes. She looks beautiful, like she is sleeping peacefully.

  He knows his son is in the other room. He knows that he can walk out here at any second. His remorse almost gets the better of him but he now has to finish what he started. The boy will just think his mother is asleep. He knows that the housekeeper will be here within the hour. She’ll find her. The boy will be fine.