Proof of Heaven

by Mary Curran Hackett

  “I will tell you this first. Colm is alive.”

  “What’s going on then?”

  “We are, however, at a hospital in Italy.”

  “You said Colm is fine.”

  “No, I said he’s alive. He collapsed today, but I am afraid he seems to be getting worse. Not better, as your sister had hoped.”

  “How’s my sister taking it?”

  “She’s tough. She’s staying strong. She’s relieved he’s alive. But I think there are limits to the comfort I can provide for her.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Doc. She thinks the world of you.”

  “Yes, but I think she needs you, too.”

  “Did she say she ‘needs me’ specifically?”

  Gaspar paused to consider his answer. If he said yes, he knew it would be a lie. But he also knew it would be true. Cathleen would not admit it, but she missed her brother. She felt unmoored and alone. Gaspar knew she wouldn’t say such a thing to him, because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  “She needs you, Sean. She asked me to call you to see if you could help.”

  “Should I come out there?”

  “No. Colm will be released here soon, I am sure of it. He seems to be in good spirits, but his speech is slightly changed. He’s acquired a stutter and a slur. A result of being out so long today. You know Colm though, down one minute, up and ready to go the next. We’re hoping to take an early flight back tomorrow if all goes well. Cathleen’s worried about carrying Colm and the bags and waiting for a cab. Is there a way you can meet us at the airport at eleven? Can I count on you to be . . .” Dr. Basu hesitated again. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about Sean’s drinking. He felt like he was betraying Cathleen by doing so. She had spoken to him several times about her brother’s problems in confidence. But he could tell that Sean sounded like he was in a bar, and it was safe to draw such a conclusion.

  “You don’t even have to ask. I’ll be there—and I’ll be sober. I won’t take a drop.”

  Sean slammed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar and staggered toward the door. Under the night sky, he walked until he could feel the ground beneath him. He ended up at the Promenade and looked out over the East River at the transformed New York skyline. He thought of how much it had changed, not just in his own time, but long before it. His own life and Cathleen’s were in constant upheaval. Nothing lasted forever—for anyone, anywhere, at anytime.

  Staring at the Brooklyn Bridge, he thought of Walt Whitman, his sister’s favorite poet, and how she once told him Whitman rode the ferry back and forth between his job in Manhattan and his home in Brooklyn thousands of times before Roebling built the bridge that united the two boroughs. “Imagine,” she had said to him, “having had it so difficult for so long, and then somebody comes and builds a bridge and suddenly makes it easy for you and everyone who comes after you to cross over.” He thought of how soon after the horrible day in September long ago, after he had changed his mind about the Blue Angels, that she took him to this very spot on the Promenade and made him look at the bridge and the skyline beyond it. She wanted his teenage self to take a good, long, hard look. She wanted to assure him, that though all his plans had changed, some things, like love, didn’t change, and that he should never ever forget that. She promised she would never ever forget what he did for his mother, and the pain he spared them all. But that was before she had her heart broken by Pierce, before Colm came along, before life changed her like the skyline by putting a huge, gaping hole in the middle of her.

  As he looked out past the horizon at the small outline of the Statue of Liberty, he remembered their mother reciting Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free whenever she spotted the statue. She always followed up with the story of how she met their da her first day off the boat in New York—even though she flew into JFK. He laughed at his mother’s unique perception of reality, her ability to tell a big-fish story better than anyone he knew. He remembered her giant, hot temper, the one that still coursed through his and his sister’s veins and the accuracy of the name she acquired by marrying their father—Magee—the fiery one. He thought how real and human she was, but how unreal and improbable at the same time. Her benevolence, her selflessness, her absolute self-sacrifice for her children made no sense at all to him. What did she ever get out of it? But d-e-a-d.

  Dead.

  As he headed for the bridge that sprang up like a cathedral in the night sky, he decided he would never cross it again—at least to go to Eamonn’s. With each step forward, he knew there was no going back to all the “could haves” and “would have beens.” There was no time to self-destruct anymore. No time to wallow in his lost dreams. The bridge had been there before him the entire time. Someone before him had made it easy for him to cross. All he had to do was make the trip. His sister and nephew would be on their way home, and he needed to be sober. He needed to be ready. They would need him. They all had a hell of a road ahead of them.

  Colm lay motionless on his hospital bed and watched as his mother and Dr. Basu slept upright in the chairs that were pushed up against the wall beside the window that looked out over the busy street below. The day had been long, his mother said; they were supposed to nap and get some rest. He thought she was mad at him and that the nap was his punishment for what he had just told her. Dr. Basu had promised him the day before that she would understand. But Colm wasn’t so sure she did. He could tell he had broken her heart, and that there was no going back, no undoing what was already said. His mama was right. Words were something you couldn’t put back up on the shelf after playing with them. You couldn’t wipe them off the countertop after you let them spill. You couldn’t put a Band-Aid on what they cut. The cells wouldn’t reconstruct themselves, like Dr. Basu had taught him. No. New cells wouldn’t build themselves out of one another after the words had sliced, caused another to bleed. He wanted to cry. He wanted his uncle. He wanted his father. He knew his father would understand and would know what it felt like to have broken his mama’s heart. He was sure his father was right there with him, looking at what he was looking at right now . . .

  An hour earlier, Dr. Basu had left the room to call his uncle and to make sure he could meet them all at the airport the following day. Without Dr. Basu there, his mother looked worried and frantic. She kept moving between bed and the window, pacing back and forth, while waiting for the doctor to return. Colm was frightened. His mother never showed her signs of worry like this. She never seemed out of control.

  “M-m-m-m-m-ammmma, are you m-m-m-m-mad at m-m-me? That the mmmmiracle didn’t take? That we came all this way for nothing?” Colm struggled to say each word, but stuttered especially on all the m words.

  Cathleen winced. This was all new today. His difficulty speaking, his struggle to express himself.

  “No, honey, I’m not mad at you,” she assured him.

  “You look up . . . s-s-set,” Colm said.

  Cathleen stopped and sat beside Colm and took his hand. Together they looked out the window. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Let’s just sit here and look at the sky. It’s my favorite part of the movie.”

  “Huh?” Colm asked, confused. “What m-m-m-m-movie?”

  “Silly me. That just came out.” Cathleen’s cheeks flushed as she remembered a secret game from a time that didn’t seem to have ever existed.

  “What does that m-m-mean?”

  Cathleen paused and thought for a second. It hadn’t occurred to her how rarely she actually spoke of Colm’s father. It wasn’t intentional. It was just that it hurt to remember, to say all the things out loud. She thought, however, it would do no harm to tell him just one story—one memory.

  “A long time ago, your father and I would pull the kitchen chairs together and face them toward the window at night. We’d get a bowl of popcorn, and just stare out at the sky. Whenever we saw something beautiful like a star or a sunset or heard people laughing down in the alley below, we’d stop and say, ‘This is
my favorite part of the movie.’ ” A lump grew in her throat as she said it out loud again. Saying the memory did make it real again.

  Colm had never heard his mother speak of his father in this way. She had never even mentioned his name without his asking. Colm couldn’t imagine them sitting together in the same room, let alone their kitchen, the very kitchen in which he and his mother ate without him every night.

  “That’s a nice story, M-m-mama.”

  “It is. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Thank you for telling me. For bringing me here. For trying so . . . hard.”

  “Colm, I’d do anything for you. Anything. I’d go anywhere. Anywhere.”

  “M-m-mama?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I tell you something, you promise you won’t be m-m-m-m-mad? You promise you’ll forgive m-m-m-me?”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t believe in God. In m-m-miracles. I know now that I am going to die. I am. And God can’t stop it from happening. You can’t stop it by praying for m-m-miracles or taking me on p-p-p-pilgrimages.”

  Cathleen felt like a blunt force hit her chest. Her shoulders slouched inward as she pulled her cardigan across her chest. This is what it feels like when hope leaves, she thought. It doesn’t slip out the door before you wake, leaving a letter on the mirror. It kicks the goddamn door down. She exhaled and pushed herself off the bed, then looked out the window and hardened herself. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

  She inhaled deeply and spoke slowly. Deliberately. “Colm, I am not mad at you. I love you. I do. I am sorry you don’t believe in God. But I do. I do.” She repeated it over and over and nodded with the rhythm of her speech to convince herself—to grab and drag the hope back in, kicking and screaming. “I have to believe that there is still hope. Some way to fix you. Maybe God sent us Dr. Basu? We tried a miracle, which I haven’t completely given up on, and now we will turn back to medicine. Maybe God sent us a man as intelligent and careful as Dr. Basu to save you.”

  “Mama, Dr. Basu knows it too. He knows there is no God. There’s no reason to hope for anything at all.”

  “Stop this, Colm. Stop. You’re going to be fine. Just great. Dr. Basu wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think so.”

  “He wouldn’t be here if he did,” Colm said sharply.

  “Oh, Colm. Colm. Colm.” She had no words left. And so she said his name. To say it as if it were a prayer in and of itself.

  “I’m sorry, M-m-m-mama. I’m sorry I said anything.”

  “Colm, you told the truth. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything different,” Cathleen said coolly, collecting herself.

  “You always told me to tell the truth,” Colm reminded her.

  “Yes, I suppose I wish you’d just told me the truth sooner . . .”

  Cathleen stopped herself from telling the lie. She knew even if she had known Colm didn’t believe in God, she would have brought him here; she would have tried anything to save him.

  “I know,” Colm assured her. “I was afraid to hurt you. I was afraid you would be m-m-mad at me. I could tell that you wanted to b-b-b-believe and I didn’t want to change that.”

  “Colm, you are so, so, so . . .”

  The words kept failing Cathleen. She wanted to say wise, but it seemed much more than wisdom. Everything Colm said seemed to come straight from his heart. She stopped talking, walked back to the bed, and hugged him.

  Colm inhaled the smell of her hair and patted her back. “It’s going to be all right, Mama.”

  Cathleen pulled Colm closer and kissed his forehead again. “I know it will be. I just know it.”

  “Is everything all right in here?” They heard Dr. Basu’s soft voice in the doorway. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “No, Dr. Basu. Please come in. I’m glad you’re here. Did you reach Sean?”

  “Yes, he’ll be there tomorrow. He sends his best. He’s anxious to see you.”

  “Thank you. I hope he shows up.”

  “I am sure he will.”

  “Colm was just filling me in on some of your heart-to-heart talks, Dr. Basu.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I t-t-told her the truth, Dr. Basu. She knows now.”

  “I see.” Dr. Basu looked at Cathleen and dropped his head and walked toward the chair by the window to sit down.

  Cathleen followed him. “Why didn’t you tell me this, Dr. Basu,” she asked like a petulant teenager.

  “Patient-doctor confidentiality.”

  “I am his mother!” She sat down beside him, then leaned in over him, pleading with him.

  “But he asked me not to tell—as his friend. It didn’t affect his treatment.”

  “M-m-mama, don’t be m-m-mad at him. He’s my friend. He just wanted to help me.”

  Cathleen looked at Colm and back at Dr. Basu. Both of them loved her. She could see this now. They were trying to protect her. All of this, she realized—the trip, the exhaustion, even the collapse—was her fault. She felt instantly guilty.

  “I am so sorry, Dr. Basu. I didn’t mean to blame you.”

  “It’s quite all right. You have every right to be upset.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing all of this on you two. I just wanted so badly to believe. To hope.” She dropped her head in her hands and wept.

  Dr. Basu bent over her and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s quite all right. There is still more we can do.”

  “Please don’t cry. I didn’t m-m-m-mean to m-m-make you cry,” Colm pleaded.

  “Yes. You’re right. I’m being silly, Colm. I’m just tired. And yes, I’m grateful he has you, Doctor,” Cathleen said, taking Dr. Basu’s hand. “Now let’s all get some rest. I’m so tired.” Cathleen leaned her head on Dr. Basu’s shoulder.

  Dr. Basu was surprised and let her lean in to him. She seemed heavy, exhausted by the weight of the enormous truth.

  Colm looked at Dr. Basu and smiled. He was glad his mother had a friend. Dr. Basu winked back at him in quiet assurance.

  “Yes, let’s just take a little snooze until they’re ready to discharge you. It’s just procedure. They can’t do so until all the tests come back. You know how it goes . . .”

  “I know the drill, Doc,” Colm said, sounding like his uncle.

  Before Dr. Basu closed his eyes, he smiled and said, “Sweet dreams, son. You need your rest, too.”

  But Colm didn’t sleep. He sat and watched the scene in front of him—his mother leaning on his friend Dr. Basu’s shoulder—and he whispered aloud to his father, who he wished with all his broken heart was sitting beside him now, “Dad, this is my favorite part of the movie.”

  Part IV

  It seems only yesterday I used to believe

  there was nothing under my skin but light.

  If you cut me I could shine.

  —Billy Collins, “On Turning Ten”

  Chapter 22

  Crossing the bridge was the easy part. Staying on the other side was a different story. Although Sean vowed he would never drink again and would start attending meetings, he quickly realized it was more than he could handle on his own. On the evening he met his sister, Colm, and Dr. Basu at the airport, he looked like hell. He was sober, Cathleen could tell, but he smelled like the inside of a Starbucks that had caught on fire.

  “Geez, Sean,” Cathleen said, hugging him. “Kentucky and Colombia called; they want their tobacco and coffee back.”

  “I know. I went back to the smokes today.”

  Dr. Basu frowned.

  “Don’t give me that look, Doc. I picked a new poison is all. This one won’t get me fired. And I can drive while doin’ it.” He winked back. “Let me help you with those bags,” said Sean as he grabbed them out of his sister’s and the doctor’s hands.

  “Thank you,” Dr. Basu said. Sean knew, though, he wasn’t thanking him for carrying the bags. It was a different thank-you altogether.

  “You’re welcome,” Sean said, smiling.

 
“Cathleen, it’s a step in the right direction.” Dr. Basu leaned over and whispered to assure her, even though he was worried too. He saw it many times. Former alcoholics who quit drinking only to pick up another habit that would eventually kill them too in the long run.

  “OK, kids. A buddy lent me his big-ass car, so I can drop you all off. Thought that would be easier on Colm than waiting on the sidewalk for a cab,” Sean said, leading them toward the parking garage.

  “Thanks, Sean,” Cathleen said, surprised again by his new transformation.

  “I’ll drop you two off first, Cathleen, so you can get Colm to bed. Then I’ll take Dr. Basu uptown—assuming you live . . .”

  “Yes, the Upper West Side. Riverside, but if it’s too far out of the way . . .”

  “Don’t be silly. I’d be happy to.”

  After Sean and Dr. Basu carried Cathleen’s and Colm’s bags into her apartment, and got Colm settled in his bed, Cathleen offered to make them a late dinner.

  “No, I really must be going,” Dr. Basu declined. “You both need your rest.”

  “I’ll take the doc home—maybe out for a beer.”

  “Sean!”

  “Settle down, Sis. The beer’s for him. For him. I’ll have a coffee.”

  Cathleen kissed her brother good-bye on the cheek at the door. “Sean, thank you so much. Thank you—for everything. I’m so sorry for the past few months. If you need anything, anything, I’ll be here to help.”

  “Same goes for you, too.”

  “Stop by tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

  “Gotta work. But I’ll take you and Colm out after church on Sunday,” Sean said, turning away.

  “Wait! No. Could you do me a favor?”

  “Say the word.”

  “I’ll fill you in later, but would you mind taking Colm somewhere else on Sunday?”

  “Huh? Why? What’s up?”

  “I can’t explain it all now. But I think it would mean a lot to him if he could just pass on the whole church thing for a while. Church is what I want, but it’s not what he wants right now . . .”