by Lauren Brown
“There’s a place I want to take you,” I said as we drove back to my father’s house. “After dinner.”
“What kind of place?” she asked looking out the window.
“Just a place I used to visit as a kid.”
“Does it involve another lake?” She looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
I smiled. “No, this place is completely dry.”
When the thought of taking Hope to the field first came to me, I had hesitatingly pushed it to the side. The past few trips I’d made there had been out of pain. I had sought the field out of misery, I guess because I was hoping the solace and peace of childhood could heal me somehow, and in reality it had made the situations worse. The thought of going back twisted my insides into knots. The more I contemplated the idea, the more I convinced myself, or maybe it was Hope convincing me, that going back this time might actually mend the brokenness. Her smile, her light eyes, they were mesmerizing and hypnotic and, as crazy as it sounds, I think they were drawing me to the field. It was as if she was telling me subconsciously to take her there, as if she knew it would be the last time I would go back.
I showered, shaved, and then waited for Hope while she dressed for dinner. My father had called and asked that we eat at a new restaurant off Main Street, near the new law firm. I twiddled my thumbs on the couch. Every time I saw Hope was like seeing her for the first time. Her beauty made my stomach drop.
“Well, what do you think?”
I looked up from the couch, wide-eyed.
She giggled and spun around. She was wearing a cyan blue dress that illuminated her eyes and her hair. She was glowing.
I gulped, trying to retrieve my words. “You look…amazing.”
I couldn’t make myself move off the couch, so she walked over to me and stuck out her hand.
“Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
I took her hand in mine and followed her out to my truck.
My father sat across the table from us behind the glow of candlelight. His bald spot had widened along with the wrinkles around his eyes. The few times I had eaten dinner with just my father had been awkward, but I tried to remain optimistic that this would be different. Hope had a way of making situations light.
“Mr. Livingston, John told me you grew up in Chicago.”
He took a swig of whiskey and cleared his throat. “Yes, I did. The last time I was in Chicago was when my father died. It’s changed a lot in the past decade. Have you ever been there?”
“No, I haven’t which is really odd because my family travels often. I would love to go some day.”
“You don’t want to go, really. It’s become a different city—overcrowded and dark.”
I eyed him suspiciously. He had always talked highly of Chicago.
“Are you a Chicago Cubs fan?” Hope continued, lightening the mood again.
“John hasn’t told you? Been a fan for a long time, haven’t I, son?”
“Yeah, used to make me watch every game. I had no choice, it was either Andy Griffith or the Cubs game,” I replied with a smile.
“You a baseball fan, Hope?” my father asked while looking over the rim of his glass.
“Not really. Soccer was more my sport.”
He recoiled, stunned by her confession then laughed. “Well, baseball games are a classic. My father and I went to every game.”
“He really is a diehard fan,” I reiterated as my father finished his first whiskey.
Since I could remember, my father had done with me as his father had done with him. We watched Cubs games while my mother cooked dinner. Those memories of us cheering in our old living room had been some of the best I can remember with my father. We watched other sports games too, but, really, our hearts were in baseball; his heart a little more so.
I stopped watching the games in college because they reminded me of my father’s reclusiveness when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The games, the work, the money had officially taken all of him from the family, and during the hardest times of her cancer, he wasn’t there. I had also walked in on him having an affair with his receptionist when he was supposed to be on a business trip. My mother had been in the hospital at the time. I could never bring myself to tell her.
I never watched a game after that incident. In all honesty, the mention of the team made me sick. My father was becoming sick from the game as well, gambling more and more over the phone with old friends in Chicago or at downtown bars in Chattanooga.
I hadn’t known he was gambling. But that night at dinner was the first time I had suspicions that something was going on, especially seeing that he had sold most of our old furniture. Plus his random calls asking for money. I was finding it hard to believe that he had spent all his earnings on my mother’s cancer treatment. Looking back on it, that glimmer in his eyes when Hope asked about the Cubs had been an encouragement for him. The Cubs weren’t living up to his expectations, yet he couldn’t resist betting on their losses. Her comment had excited him, and perhaps he thought Hope was on his side.
“What made you decide to be a lawyer?” Hope asked, sipping her wine. If it weren’t for her questions, we probably all would have been sitting in silence.
“Familial thing I suppose. My father was a defense lawyer in Chicago. He set the mold, and being the firstborn son, I had to follow in his footsteps. But I enjoy it, I do. I’m not sure I could have stayed in Chicago. Chattanooga has been a great city.”
“What’s the hardest case you’ve worked?”
I watched him slowly wipe the corners of his mouth then fixate on his plate as if suddenly disturbed by something. He had always talked about his cases casually and openly unless they weren’t closed or they involved children. He usually left nothing to the imagination. My mother often had to remind him to minimize his business talk, but when she wasn’t around, he often confided in me. I had grown accustomed to it. His nervous response to Hope’s question that night was abnormal.
“The hardest cases,” he paused, “are the ones that involve children.”
Hope changed the subject, embarrassed at the difficultly her question seemed to pose for him.
We spent the remainder of dinner talking about Hope’s family. My father didn’t say much else, either his mind still toyed with the case or the booze had finally caught up to him.
“Dinner was wonderful, Mr. Livingston,” Hope said as we walked to my truck.
“Hope and I are going to take a stroll. We’ll be back later.”
Hope grabbed my hand in the car. “I don’t think you’re much like your father.”
She always knew how to lighten the mood.
I spread out an old red quilt and a bottle of Hope’s favorite pinot noir in the clearing. Tom Petty rolled out of my truck’s window and blended with the cicadas’ songs. Hope laid down with her arms outstretched. Her golden hair fell around her head like a halo.
“So, this is where you used to run off to? It’s beautiful, John,” she said, stretching out on the quilt. “Except for those guys.” She flicked a finger towards the monuments. “They’re staring at us, which is a little eerie.”
“That’s General Sherman and General Bragg. They grow on you. I’d say this was my second home.” I lowered myself to the quilt sitting with one leg outstretched. I drank then handed Hope the bottle. She sat up, took some, and then returned to her back.
I watched her chest rise and fall. Her eyes were closed and her smile was wide. I lowered my back to the quilt and closed my eyes. I had visited this field many times, but never had I felt the way I did that night.
She rolled over to meet my gaze. “Do your parents know about this place?”
“As an only child, they always knew where I was, though most of the time they didn’t care. Most people don’t know about it since it’s off the beaten path. The main entrance has been shut down for years. I stumbled upon it hiking one day with a metal detector. When I found Civil War bullets, I kept coming back. Peaceful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it
really is.” She rolled over to gaze at the stars.
“Yeah, I love this place. It provided me an escape from home. It was perfect for a growing boy. It was a place I could dream, do what I want. I felt free out here.”
“I understand why. It’s lovely.”
“Actually, before my mother passed, I brought her out here. She could barely get out of the truck, but I picked her up and we sat in foldout chairs and she told me stories about college and meeting my dad. I guess you could say I was hopeful that this place would free her too. And, who knows, maybe it did.” I paused briefly. “But she slipped into a coma several weeks later and died shortly thereafter. I’ve only been back here once since then, the morning on the day I met you in fact.”
“I’m sure she loved spending those precious moments with you, John. She sounds like a wonderful woman,” she reassured me, resting her hand on mine. “Was it your mom’s cancer that made you want to go into medicine?”
“To an extent. Entering college, I had toyed with the idea of medicine but wasn’t quite sure. After my mom died, I felt a tendency to please my father. I almost chose law until my father’s friend had suggested I shadow him in the emergency department during a summer break. I tagged alongside him in his crisp white coat, amazed at his knowledge and superiority and thinking, This man can save lives. I was just beginning to get comfortable observing him when paramedics pushed a man through the hospital doors. He was half-mangled and clearly deceased. I was pushed to the side in all the commotion as young residents beat on his chest to revive him, shocked him violently, then hung their heads and walked away when they knew there was nothing they could do. In the adjacent room, a woman was beginning labor. It was a difficult night but ultimately, it’s what fueled my passion for medicine even further. These moments, along with the death of my mother, showed me the pain in the world, made me angry towards it. But the birth that night showed me there was more to it. In essence, I wanted to defeat the pain. I wanted to make a difference. So I decided to do just that, to be a physician. I was accepted to Ryans Medical College and, to my surprise, was accepted without much effort. I had friends who tried for years to get into medical school, but for me, I guess it was destiny.
“I can still remember my dad’s smile as he watched me receive my white coat. His dark hair, graying profusely at his temples, his skin even grayer. I wore his gold cufflinks with my jacket and slicked back my hair. I walked so confidently onto that stage, so engulfed by the new turn in my life, that I didn’t even care that the seat next to him was filled by the grandfather of another classmate rather than my mother.
“But the white coat ceremony gradually became a cloudy memory after classes began, especially during that second year when I was still in the lecture hall. The young pre-med excitement and passion slowly faded as school progressed. The first two years were really quite awful. That is, until I met you. You’ve saved me in a lot of ways.”
She gave my hand a squeeze.
“What about you?” I asked. “What made you choose art? Speaking of, you’ll be finished in a couple of months. An official graduate. I think that deserves a toast.”
I raised the bottle and we both took another mouthful. I could feel the warmth of the ethanol course through my veins.
“I think it was just meant to be. Sarah is in nursing school, my dad is an accountant and a businessman, and my mom is an elementary school teacher. Art is to me what this field is to you, I suppose. It’s an escape. And it’s cool because it’s the one universal thing across the world.” She turned to me, propping herself on one arm. “And, no matter how much your boss hates your painting, there’s someone out there who will walk in and say it’s wonderful.”
She laughed to herself before continuing, “But to really answer your question, it was all the traveling we did growing up that led to my decision. I saw a street artist in Paris and fell in love. That Christmas I asked for an easel and the rest was history.”
“What country did you enjoy the most?”
“Well, I think I enjoyed my hike on the Appalachian Trail the most. Funny, I know.”
“That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
“A lot of people think you have to travel far to find beauty, but in reality, it’s right here, in our own backyard, behind these trees.”
I turned my focus to the flickering stars as she raised herself to a sitting position.
“I feel alive in these mountains,” she said, tilting her head back and taking in a deep breath of air. Her neck was tight and I longed to kiss it. But I refrained and followed her gaze back to the stars.
I looked at the endless sky for a while longer before saying what had been on my mind for months, “Hope, I’m in love with you.”
I could feel her smile in the darkness. She turned to me and placed her hand on my chest. “Life is really quite beautiful. Beautiful in the fact that every moment we live is a painted memory; a stroke that never dies but instead grows in color and depth with age, like the trees on this mountain. To me that is beautiful, that’s worth living for.” She paused before stating what I longed to hear, “I love you too, John.”
We made love that night for the first time under the stars. I was at home with her, and I knew from that moment on she was the one I would marry. Music poured from my truck and filled the air around us as I held her hand and drifted into the familiar, anxiety-free state the field had always provided.
Chapter 4
January 1994-December 2002
By January, I was eager to propose to Hope. She had graduated, left the art store, and had begun selling pieces in local auctions while I completed my family medicine rotations. The practice I was in at the time was closed on Fridays, which gave me an opportunity to not only obtain my mother’s ring but also propose.
The night before one of her auctions, I told Hope I would be going home for the weekend because my father’s health had declined.
“Let me come with you,” Hope had pleaded as she reclined in my apartment.
“No, no. It’s not necessary. It’s a long drive and you have an auction in two days. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for your auction.”
“Are you sure, John?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I kissed her forehead as I left the apartment.
I planned on obtaining the ring from my father and proposing to Hope during her auction. I had it all planned in my head. I was going to bid on a painting under a different name, and then when the announcer called me to come up to the stage and collect the painting, I would get on one knee and ask her to be my wife. Her auction was Sunday night. It was the perfect set-up.
I drove home Friday night and had dinner with my father.
“Um, so Dad, I have something to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“I’m proposing to Hope this Sunday night. After her auction.”
I watched as he finished chewing and looked up at me. The whiskey had overtaken his eyes. It was as if they were permanently tired and red now. He managed a smile.
“Oh, son. That’s great. That is great. Do you have a ring?”
“Well, I was wondering if I could have Mom’s ring? I think that would mean a lot to both of us. I know it’s been hard with Mom gone, but I think marrying Hope can bring back what we’ve lost. She’s the woman I want to wear Mom’s ring.”
I exhaled my relief. I had finally asked the question I had been anxious to ask. I had been afraid he wouldn’t want me to have the ring. He had worked hard to buy the simple gold band with a single princess cut diamond, and I had fretted that asking him for it would further depress him and worsen his health.
My heart beat fast while I awaited his answer.
“Son,” he paused and looked up from his plate, crimson eyed, “I think that is beautiful. But…”
“But what?” I felt the blood rush from my face.
“I don’t have it, son.”
“What do you mean you don’t have it?”
“I don’t have the ring. I
had to sell it.” There was a ringing sound in my ear. I was dizzy. My cheeks grew hotter and my heart beat faster. Suddenly, I was so livid that I could have hit him right then and there.
“Son, I’m sorry. I bet on a game.”
“Bet on a game? What do you mean?”
“I’ve been gambling.” He recoiled in shame.
“Gambling? You’re kidding me, right?”
He didn’t respond.
“So you didn’t blow all our money on mom’s treatment like you told me for years? You were actually gambling it away?” I backed away from the table and threw my hands in the air.
“I was certain they would win. I was certain. I didn’t have any money at the time. I had no other choice. The people I was dealing with…well, if I didn’t pay them, they would have killed me. I had no other option but to sell it.”
“Sell it? Sell it to who?!”
“A local pawn shop.”
“Are you serious?! Why the hell would you do something like that? Would they still have it?”
“That was two years ago, John.”
“You’ve been gambling for two years. Made me take out loans. Convinced me it was the cancer.” I shook my head in disbelief.
He put his head down like a prisoner on the stand who had just been sentenced to life.
“How could you? This was all I wanted. I didn’t even think I had to ask you if you still had it because I never would have thought you would sell it. I’m your only son. Did you think I would never get married? That I would never be happy? Or do you even care? All I wanted was to give her mom’s ring. After everything you did, sleeping with the receptionist, killing yourself with that”—I pointed to his empty whiskey glass—“I never thought you could do worse. I guess I was wrong.” My words were sharp and bitter.
I shook my head in disappointment. I could have cried, I could have yelled, but at that point it wasn’t worth it. He had sold the ring and there was nothing I could do about it. I pushed my chair back and took my dishes to the sink. He didn’t move but continued to stare wide-eyed at his plate.