EYES ON YOU

by Lily Robins

  When he dropped his eyes, she was biting back a smile, the freckles across her nose and cheeks reminders to him of how she had looked as a child. She looked so young still, even though just a few years separated them in age. He felt her hand brush through the gray at one of his temples, a gesture that cast aside a feeling of anxious fear.

  “How about next Saturday?” she asked. “A week from tomorrow.”

  “Just the family. Otherwise, we’d have to invite everyone on Whittler, and most everyone here in the city.”

  She laughed out loud, warming his heart. “Aunt Ruth, of course.”

  “Of course Ruth.”

  “A very simple ceremony. I won’t even have to buy a new dress,” Jess said.

  “You’d look beautiful in a potato sack,” he replied, placing both arms around her, holding his hands at the small of her back.

  “Let’s not go that far,” she said, brightly smiling. “We’ll ask Reverend Chuck if next Saturday’s good with him. Let’s get married late morning and have a family lunch at Ruth’s afterward.”

  “What about buying you an engagement…”

  Jess had already begun shaking her head. “Just wedding bands,” she decidedly said. “We’ve already had weddings with all of the fanfare and formality. Let’s keep our second time around easy, and simple—like I hope our life together will be.”

  Roman pulled her closer and kissed her. “I already knew that you were going to want this to be low-key, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

  They waited until Chuck escorted Molly out of the grand old church. Molly repeated something to the reverend to let him know that she understood.

  “All to the glory of God, Reverend Mannis.”

  “Good Golly, Miss Molly! How right you are!” Chuck rumbled out extended laughter, hearing Roman sharing in his utter delight, and they both watched Molly climb into the backseat of the Navigator. To Jess and Roman, the reverend commented, “That little girl was put on this earth to sing!”

  “We’re not doubting it,” Jess replied.

  Boldly, Roman came out with it, and asked, “Would you marry Jess and me next Saturday morning?”

  Chuck Mannis’s face remained lit up in a fantastical smile that reflected his elation. “I wouldn’t miss marrying the two of you for anything in the whole world!”

  “Just a simple ceremony, and just with family,” Jess said.

  “Got it!” Chuck laughed again, while looking around. “Otherwise…”

  “Yeah,” said Roman, knowing where Chuck was going with that thought.

  “Don’t forget your marriage license,” the reverend instructed. “I’ve had a few couples forget to do that, and show up here without that piece of paper.”

  *****

  That evening, Roman drove back to the office for a meeting of The Group. He knew how important it was to his group members to have at least one meeting each week, and the truth was, he needed to see them too. Rene had left him a note, telling him that the coffee was ready to make and that all he had to do was flip the switch. He appreciated how thoughtful his secretary always was and flipped the coffeemaker on to get it brewing.

  Mona was, of course, with him and would be on duty for a couple of hours. She had rested during the afternoon and was ready, whenever he was, to do whatever she was called to do.

  Gloria Schiller and Iris Gilbert were the first two to arrive, both ladies animatedly talking as they walked in.

  “Good evening, Dr. Mayer,” Gloria said, with Iris following suit.

  “Good evening to both of you too,” Roman replied with a smile.

  Ben Housman was next to come through the door, his shuffling gait a typical trait of his. He said, “Evenin’ to all.”

  “Where’s Wyatt?” Gloria asked.

  “He’s comin,’” Ben informed them. “He’s gettin’ off work soon.”

  Hope Canard was ushered in by Ben Girard, both of them with quiet smiles on their faces. Watching the couple as they entered, Roman could plainly see that things seemed to be working out for them in their personal lives, an assessment that Ben confirmed with a wicked wink.

  Roman said, “Let’s go on back and get cozy in the warmest room of the house.” His dry wit was on the mark, and everyone, including Mona, proceeded down the hall to the chilly solarium. The coffee had finished brewing, and everyone gathered around, as Roman passed out cups of the hot beverage. When they had found their seats, the first thing Iris Gilbert asked was, “Why do you call your patients clients, Dr. Mayer?” After she asked the question, one of her usual tics kicked in, requiring her to stop an imaginary burp by lightly hitting her lower chest with her fist.

  “All this time…” Roman began, and took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “No one’s ever asked me that before now, Iris. I’ll be glad to try to tell you how I feel about it. There’s an ongoing debate among my fellow therapists about that very thing, in fact. I like to refer to the people I see as my clients, rather than my patients because client implies a collaborative effort between two people. The relationship between the therapist and client becomes strength-based, and solution-focused. If I refer to you as a patient, that term can imply that there is something wrong with you, and that it requires a fix by me. A person who feels that there’s something wrong with him, or her, and in need of being fixed, is not how I want people who come to me to feel about themselves. Talk therapy means that the client talks through his or her problem with the therapist’s help. It often takes a great deal of determination—and courage—to work through one’s problems, whatever they may be.

  “I can’t fix a person’s problems. What I can do is listen, and I can offer suggestions on how to cope. Often, people have many friends, but they don’t know a soul who they can confide in. Sometimes, getting beyond a problem—notice that I didn’t say over a problem—requires talking it through, until it is no longer weighing someone down to the point that it’s incapacitating.”

  He looked around at the people sitting with him, hoping he had explained his vision of the discipline he practiced. The five were nodding and had positive expressions on their faces, prompting Roman to feel that he had done a fair job. Someone called out to them, “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

  Wyatt Wainwright came back to the solarium, looking like a completely changed man. He stepped over Mona, who was lying at Ben Girard’s feet, and said hello to all while taking a seat. Roman asked if he’d like coffee, Wyatt said he believed he would, and they both got up, Roman wanting to warm his cup up anyway.

  “What’s happening?” Roman asked those in The Group. “Would anyone like to speak?”

  Hope Canard halfway lifted a hand. Judging by the expectant looks on their faces, Roman thought he knew what everyone in The Group was waiting for—the chance to hear Hope speak for the first time—and he silently shared their anticipation. “Hope, go ahead,” he invited in a soft tone, seeing from the woman’s body language that she was nervous. Mona got up, repositioning herself beside Hope’s chair, and Hope relaxed a bit, automatically reaching down and stroking the dog.

  “My name’s Hope, and I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’ve been sober for three months and twelve days.” The woman paused to look down at Mona’s sympathetic blue eyes. “My husband, Daniel, was a State Trooper. He…ah…stopped someone for driving without his lights on—it was late at night, on one of the backroads—and when he approached the car, the guy shot Daniel in the face and drove away. Daniel died there...all alone.”

  Grimacing in shared pain, Wyatt asked, “Did they catch the guy?”

  Hope nodded. “He was a drug dealer, who had a large supply of meth and amphetamines in his vehicle.”

  Gloria asked, “When did this happen, Hope?”

  “Two years ago. I was three months pregnant, and I…lost the baby. Drinking became the only way I could get any relief from the pain of losing them both.”

  “Rage that’s turned inward,” Roman quietly acknowledged.

  Again, Hope nodded, and every p
erson in the room could identify with it, and could testify to the fact that rage—an intense form of anger—can lead to a deeply depressive state that drinking seems to temporarily calm, but that ultimately compounds the depression, and makes the goal of grieving, living with loss, exponentially more difficult.

  Iris said, “I’m so sorry, Hope.” The woman’s face and mannerisms conveyed her heartfelt emotions.

  Gloria said, “We never, ever, forget the ones we’ve lost to senseless tragedy. But when we gather with others who courageously share their losses with us—and any of the gains they’ve made—we can begin to crawl, inch by inch, toward life again, without that fickle friend that only serves to deceive us.”

  Roman replied, “I could not have said that any better, Gloria.”

  *****

  The All Saints Episcopal Church was fully packed for the Easter Service on Sunday morning. All members of Molly’s newly combined family, including her Great Aunt Ruth, were in attendance, and had gotten there early enough to sit together, filling a pew and half of another near the front of the sanctuary. Patrick, Danny and Aden took seats on the pew behind the others. All three dressed in suits and presented themselves in a manner that stylistically highlighted their essence as mature, good-looking young men.

  Molly sat at one end of the pew and bent forward a bit to look at her family. As usual, she was self-assured and smiling, and her family was reassured by her radiant look. Speaking softly, Roman said, “How many chocolate eggs did Old Saint Nicholas the Rabbit leave for you this morning? I forget.”

  Molly went along with the charade, cheerfully whispering, “You’ve got the holidays all mixed up.” She quietly giggled, but then she said, “That’s okay. Been a while—right?”

  “Yes, it has,” Roman confirmed with a terrific smile at the girl who would officially become his daughter by marriage in less than a week. “You’re so beautiful, Molly, that you take my breath away.” She was dressed in a charming light blue dress that wasn’t all frills, but that looked totally appropriate for a nine-year-old girl who was on the cusp of adolescence. The sides of her blond hair were pulled back like her mother had arranged hers, anchored at the back of their heads with barrettes.

  Just for him, Molly admirably smiled before she said, “Thank you.”

  Chuck cracked open the choir-room door, motioning to Molly, and she got up, walking toward him, where he ushered her into the room and quietly shut the door again. Judge Dorothy Mannis joined Molly’s family in the space Molly had vacated, nodding and smiling at everyone on the pew and to those around her. The organist began playing prelude hymns, and shortly thereafter, the choir walked in from the back of the church, singing praises to the Lord and to His Son, Who He had resurrected.

  The choir director asked everyone to stand and join in praising God, everyone singing a familiar Easter hymn. The congregation, along with the choir, rejoiced and lifted their voices in celebration to the Almighty.

  As soon as everyone was seated, Molly walked out with Reverend Mannis, both of them dressed in white choir robes. Reverend Mannis took a seat at the grand piano, adjusted his mic a bit, and began playing the prelude to The Lord’s Prayer as only a gifted pianist could. Molly had an almost invisible cordless mic fitted over her head. Together, and apart, they sang the universal song of praise, Molly standing with her hands folded in front of her, and looking at the Reverend.

  “Our Father…Which art in heaven…”

  Jess took a deeper breath, attempting to control her emotions. Roman did the same.

  From the moment they began singing, Roman was transported to another dimension, one he imagined as a duet being sung by two angels who had come down to earth. When Jess held his hand, he closed his eyes, unable to imagine that God have ever created any purer sound than this.

  “Hallowed be Thy name…Thy kingdom come…Thy will be done…on earth…as it is in Heaven…”

  He took a moment to glance down the row at others who were seated on the pew, to Julia and Ruth, two women holding one another’s hand, while their eyes were glistening with tears.

  “Give us this day our daily bread…And forgive us our debts…As we forgive our debtors”

  Cheryl and Eli, both sat transfixed by the exquisite vocal harmony of Molly’s mezzo soprano and Reverend Chuck’s magnificent tenor voices.

  “And lead us not into temptation…but deliver us from evil…”

  From behind him, he heard a distinct sniff, and then another.

  “For Thine is the kingdom…and the power…and the glory forever…”

  The magnificent ending portion of the Prayer brought Roman and Jess to unabashed tears of parental love and joy.

  And then, as Chuck played the magnificent piano crescendo, the full choir joined them in singing, “For Thine is the kingdom…and the power…and the glory…forever…Amen.”

  Not a soul applauded. Reverend Charles Mannis had a strict rule in the church where he was called to serve, that all hymns, and anything lauding the Trinity, were to be regarded as prayers and praises presented toward God. Thus, songs sung as tributes by mere mortals were to be regarded as sacred prayers or praises, and not performances. However, The Reverend’s smile at Molly spoke volumes.

  After a particularly uplifting sermon devoted to Christ’s supreme sacrifice and all that it means for those seeking to believe, Chuck motioned for Molly, who was sitting with the choir, to join him as the two walked down the aisle together to the back of the crowded church, while he spoke the benedictory blessing. The double doors were opened wide, the organist began his postlude of hymns, the All Saints Episcopal Church bells tolled across the city, and Molly stood beside Chuck, shaking hands with a few, but receiving hugs of admiration from most.

  CHAPTER 40

  When the phone rang, Julia picked it up, and listened to Ruth Fenwick’s greeting before excitedly responding with hers.

  “Julia, I’m so happy about the kids getting married that I could dance in the street!”

  Laughing at the thought of that, Julia replied, “They’re a perfect match.”

  “Made in heaven,” Ruth completely agreed.

  “They don’t know that I saw them that day in Mayer’s Fresh Market,” said Julia. “It was so funny, how I pulled that off, walking right by, like I hadn’t seen them. They both looked like teenagers, standing there in the plant section, four eyes all-a-twitter, while they stood there sort of flirting with each other. I hadn’t seen Roman look so alive and so… excited about meeting someone…maybe ever.”

  “And look where it went!” exclaimed Ruth. “Our children are gettin’ married and we’re the lucky mother-in-laws and grandmas!” Both women laughed.

  “Did you call Jessica’s mother?”

  “I did!” said Ruth. “She and her husband were on their way to Singapore and Malaysia for three weeks, and she said there’s no way she can drop the plans and come home. But, I called Carson, Jess’s brother who lives down in Florida, and Sandy, his wife, and they both said they wouldn’t miss comin’ for the wedding on Saturday.”

  “Well, I called Frederick and his family in Louisiana. They’re overjoyed too, and flying up on Thursday. It’s going to be a very nice, combined family wedding, don’t you think?”

  “I do!” agreed Ruth. “But we’re not to tell a soul—remember?”

  “Nope! Not a soul!” said Julia.

  *****

  Roman decided to be a walk-on on the ferry the following Monday morning. The sun was shining brightly, he felt totally renewed and refreshed, and the wedding would soon be out of the way so he could relax with his bride and the kids. He would do all that he could to help Ms. Wentworth with her photo essay book of Maine, and enjoy watching Aden play baseball and shoot for this season’s all-star team.

  He was the first into the office. Placing his laptop down, he unlocked a drawer in Rene’s desk to retrieve the list of those who he was scheduled to see that day after Ben Girard’s appointed time. Just then, Rene briskly entered the fro
nt door.

  “Good morning,” she sang while depositing an armload of things on her desk.

  “Good morning to you, Mrs. Sampson,” said Roman in an equally cheerful voice.

  Before Rene could utter a remark about Roman calling her Mrs. Sampson, the front door opened again, and Cynthia Ralston appeared before them. Portentously, the woman stood dressed all in black, an extravagant outfit that looked out-of-place, except for perhaps an elaborate funeral. Even from a distance, Roman and Rene could see the garish amount of make-up that she had applied to her face. Her eyes were grotesquely over-emphasized in an unnatural way, and she wore dark rouge, bright red lipstick, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a lopsided arrangement that made her seem to be listing to one side. She managed to look incongruous, menacing and dazed all at the same time.

  Rene started to speak, but then didn’t. Roman felt a cool buzz in the air, the beginning of something ominous about to happen. Her face a mask of sadness, Cynthia pulled a gun from her purse. In a tinny voice that sounded very much like a child’s, the woman said, “I don’t want to have to do it, Dr. Roman, but I can’t live without you.”

  Images of those he loved most—Jess, Aden, Molly, Mona, his mother—rapidly flashed before his eyes. Was his life going to end like this? Was he going to draw his last breath thinking about Aden and Molly being robbed again of a father, losing again someone to trust and rely on?

  He forced himself to remain calm, speaking in a soothing voice, even as his heart was beginning to wildly hammer in his chest. “You don’t have to, Cynthia. We’ll talk in my office, just like we used to, and we’ll sort everything out.” He remembered something that Eli or Cheryl had said about approaching someone you think has a gun. If possible, turn your body sideways, giving the shooter less body mass to hit. Turning toward Rene, seeing the stark fear that was freezing her in place, he said, “DOWN RENE!” and pushed his secretary to the floor.