The Hawk: Part Three
By Anna Scott Graham
Copyright 2015 by Anna Scott Graham
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my husband. And for my Father.
Chapter 40
On the final Sunday of October, in the last pew of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, Eric sat beside his wife. They had wanted to get there at the same time as the Aherns, but a phone call from New York had delayed them. Now as worshippers filed out, Eric gripped Lynne’s hands, waiting for their friends. Eric hoped Renee would immediately sit on Lynne’s other side, for Lynne was still shaky, and Eric remained slightly despondent. Stanford had felt badly, calling right as the couple was out the door, but truthfully, church was the best place to go after his unpleasant news.
Eric looked up, then met Sam’s gaze, which was at first pleased, then worried. As Eric nodded, Renee sat beside Lynne, but Sam stood at the end of the row, still staring at Eric. Eric didn’t need to speak; Sam seemed to sense the latest about Seth, but Renee embraced Lynne, who warbled that they didn’t know if he was going to pull through. The he didn’t need to be qualified; Eric and Lynne had told the Aherns all about Seth’s setback when they returned from New York. Sam had considered writing to Seth, but hadn’t, yet Eric didn’t think it would have made any difference. Seth Gordon’s mental and emotional damage was far too crippling even for a fellow vet to soothe.
Not that Eric thought he could do any good, but he also didn’t feel his letter had exacerbated Seth’s illness. Stanford wasn’t sure what the family would do next. Seth had overdosed on sleeping pills, was alive, but in a bad way. If he recovered, he’d be moved to another facility. Stanford briefly mentioned McLean Hospital in Massachusetts, or the Caffey-Miller Institute in Minnesota. Eric had heard Sam mention Caffey-Miller in passing, a few vets having been sent there. When a moment was free, Eric would ask Sam about it, wanting Seth to receive the best possible care. McLean was a top hospital, but if Caffey-Miller had a special unit for veterans, perhaps that might be where Seth should go.
It would be far from New York, not that Eric thought the location mattered. At this point, the only consideration was Seth’s health, which Lynne mumbled was precarious. Sam nodded, then sat down, scooting next to Renee. A few parishioners slowed, but no one intruded, as Lynne continued to cry.
The foursome didn’t move until Lynne was calm, then they left church in a huddle, only Sam saying goodbye to Father Riley. Eric ushered Lynne to their car, and he didn’t need to speak to the Aherns, who got into their vehicle and followed the Snyders home. Renee and Sam said little on the drive, but Lynne spoke, that Seth needed to be moved to Caffey-Miller, he needed treatment especially for a veteran. Perhaps that hadn’t been fully taken into account in Vermont, but if that aspect wasn’t given the proper due, Seth wouldn’t survive.
Lynne used her nurse’s cadence, for which Eric was relieved. Better for her to approach this as a professional, less painful on her. As for Seth, Eric wasn’t sure; McLean Hospital had an excellent reputation, and it would be much easier for Seth’s family to visit him in Boston than to travel to Minneapolis. But maybe Seth needed a change of scenery, then Eric sighed. Perhaps the note he had written and how much Seth was loved would make no difference. Some people survived, but not everyone.
Eric hadn’t paid attention during the liturgy, trying to prop up Lynne, and make sense of Stanford’s call. Not that Stanford’s message had been oblique, but he had never sounded that vulnerable. If Stanford was so touched, how were Laurie and the rest of Seth’s relatives? Eric had taken his mother’s death quite hard, but then she’d been all he’d had. Yet in larger families, was the pain accentuated? Eric had no idea, and of course Lynne came from a similarly limited background. But many people loved Seth, and all were helpless. Eric gripped his wife’s hand, then shivered. This was how she had felt every time he’d changed, and Sam and Renee had worried about him too.
Now they all pondered another fragile man, and Eric sighed, then pulled into his driveway. Sam parked parallel to the road, and all four walked through the gate, then into the house, no words spoken. Once the women had removed their jackets chatter emerged, but it was in somber tones, as Eric started a fire with Sam’s assistance. Sam cleared his throat, as Renee asked if they wanted coffee. Sam nodded, and Eric said yes. Then Sam motioned Eric toward the sunroom.
Eric followed him, staring out at golden leaves blowing in the slight breeze. Had it been warm out, or cool, Eric wondered. Then he shook, as Sam spoke. “He should be at Caffey-Miller. If there’s any chance of you passing that along….”
“Of course, I can call Stanford now. Do you think it would make that big of a difference?”
Sam nodded. “I don’t know anything about other hospitals, I mean, I’m sure there’s great ones on the East Coast, but Caffey-Miller has a fantastic program for vets. It’s new, I mean, the system’s only been going for the last couple of years, but all that we’ve sent there have made amazing progress. We haven’t lost a man yet.”
“Stanford mentioned it, as well as a very good hospital in Boston. But I don’t know what’ll happen. They’re not even sure if he’ll recover.”
Sam gazed outside. “Well, if he does, Caffey-Miller’s the best place for him. Maybe they’re thinking of treating him like an artist, I mean, he is, from what you’ve said, but he’s also been in a far darker place.” Sam looked at Eric. “Very few would understand, I mean, you do, but then you’ve been in a pretty scary place yourself.”
Then Sam shook his head, again staring outside. “Eric, what happens to you is similar to what I know, Seth probably too. You change into something so alien to who you are, at this very minute.” Sam looked at Eric. “You’ve changed, I mean.”
“I might change again, who knows?”
“Well maybe, but what I mean is that war alters men, but I can’t describe it to someone who’s never been there because they just wouldn’t get it. And some of the ones who have been there might not understand either, not unless they….”
Sam faced the windows. “Not unless they were in combat. It’s one thing to wear the uniform, but unless you’ve had to defend yourself.” Then Sam sighed, glancing at Eric. “But you have. That’s why you painted the blue barn.”
Eric nodded, but didn’t speak.
“You painted that barn because whatever happened, you didn’t wanna let that stay inside you. When Renee told me you’d turned into a bird, I just wanted to slap her. My God, I’ve never wanted to hit her, but it was so damned ridiculous.” Sam shook his head. “Then when I confronted Lynne, I’m sure she’s told you about that.”
“Yeah, she did.”
“Of course she did, because I came over here acting like….” Sam chuckled. “Well, I don’t know, but she asked me what I thought was in that barn. And I told her and….” Sam choked up. “And I couldn’t believe how blind I’d been, not that I believed her about you, but about myself, me and Renee.” Sam turned to face Eric. “You put the worst of yourself in that barn Eric, but it didn’t translate into something awful. You freed yourself, and anyone with a shred of hope in their lives sees the best things inside it. My God, how’d you do that?”
“I really can’t tell you. I just painted what I remembered from that day.”
“Mmmhmm. Well, you did one hell of a job, I’ll tell you that. I wonder if Seth ever saw it.”
“Stanford said he did, several times. And that when he saw it, he was feeling well.”
“I’m not surprised about that at all.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I shoul
d send it to him. Maybe it might….” Sam grimaced. “Shit. Right now not much is gonna help him. You’re a great painter Eric, and a little touched. But not even that barn can reach him.”
Eric wondered if maybe this man could help Seth, but he said nothing, as Renee announced that lunch was ready. “Well, I’ll call Stanford this afternoon, and give him your take on Caffey-Miller. From how he talked, if Seth recovers, it sounded like they were thinking about McLean, it’s so close to New York. But maybe the Midwest would better serve him.”
Then Eric shivered, as Sam’s gaze bore into Eric’s soul. Nothing was said, but Eric couldn’t escape the sentiment, which ran contrary to everything he wanted. Then Renee called again, and Sam answered her, stepping out of the sunroom, leaving Eric alone.
Over lunch the foursome didn’t speak about Seth. Instead they talked about the Snyders’ second visit to St. Anne’s as a couple. Renee asked if this would become a habit, and Eric said that he wanted to attend some Protestant services. Renee smiled graciously, then noted that she hoped they would again come to midnight mass. That was several weeks away, but as if reserving that date, Renee added that they could share Christmas Eve dinner together, a late supper even, so that Lynne could rest in the afternoon, to stay up until midnight. Eric chuckled, agreeing that would make midnight mass more feasible. Lynne was feeling much better, but fatigue was still a factor, and by Christmas, she would be six months along, needing all the rest she could muster.
The meal ended on a pleasant note, and the Aherns left without any mention of the morning’s unrest. Lynne fell asleep on the living room sofa, as Eric built up the fire, still feeling a chill. Then he went into the sunroom, thinking about Sam’s unspoken missive. But Eric couldn’t change into a hawk at will. It happened spontaneously, and right now it was the last thing he wished for. Not even for Seth Gordon did Eric want to leave his pregnant wife.
While Lynne slept, Eric went to the studio, but he couldn’t get Sam’s words from his head, and not only those about Seth. The painting of the blue barn now seemed like years in the past; Eric had started it not consciously thinking of the fight with the falcon, but that battle had indeed rattled him. Was it akin to what Sam and Seth had suffered, and so many men before them? Eric had been driven by hunger, not hatred, but the instinct to wound, or even kill, had been impossible to ignore. He had swooped upon that falcon with no hesitation, and while the mice had fled, Eric hadn’t considered that loss in the melee. Sheer selfishness had propelled him toward the other bird, but perhaps animals didn’t feel arrogance. It was self-interest, Eric conceded, gazing at paintings of Lynne in various poses. He’d had to eat, to return to his wife, nothing else to matter. But his two last transformations had taken Eric far from her, and while the result had been positive, his absence had caused her deep suffering.
Then Eric shook his head, bending his left ankle. No pain remained, nor hardly any memory of that injury. And now Lynne was pregnant, making Eric smile. He did want to attend different churches; he wanted to impart other lessons to Seth. Eric didn’t want to leave his wife, he wanted to paint more of her, but another series nagged at him. Yet just as painting his wife had been time in coming, Eric had little recourse to further what else he ached to set onto canvas. He could do no more about that than he could for Seth’s mental health.
The sun had warmed the studio’s interior, perhaps Eric and Lynne could enjoy a few more outings before the temperatures forced them inside for winter. Eric removed his sweater, then stretched his arms over his head. He tidied the space, but that took only moments, for now he was fastidious in here, which made him laugh. How many changes remained, he wondered, admiring his beautiful wife sleeping, then awake, enticing him. Eric was lost in Lynne’s teasing smile, when his left arm twitched. The niggle was slight, and he cracked his knuckles, not giving it a second thought.
But minutes later, his right arm ached, pulling him from his reverie. He stared at that limb, lifting it over his head. A cramp forced him to shake it out, then he grimaced. As he did, an ache in his guts flared, making him double over. He closed his eyes, wishing to cry out, but Lynne might hear him. Or perhaps, if he stayed silent, all of this would disappear.
Then he shook his head, standing upright, taking several deep breaths. The only thing slated to vanish was himself. The question was when, and to where.
Chapter 41
The Hawk: Part Three Page 1