All Roads

by Peter Murphy

  Christ! He was sweating badly. A cold, clinging sweat, and his heart was off beat. He had to remind himself to breathe before he drained the can. That was the end of it. There was no point in kidding himself anymore. He’d die if he didn’t stop.

  *

  Deirdre wasn’t that surprised when the call came—a call from a total stranger who had tried so hard to sound sincere and comforting. She always knew it would happen—sooner or later—but why did it have to be now, just before the holidays?

  She rose from her desk and closed the door of her office; a sign to her staff that she was not to be disturbed. She didn’t want anyone barging in while she took a few moments to sort her feelings out. She’d always been so careful to keep them private, even through the worst years.

  She walked toward the window, taking her phone with her. Was there really a good time for bad news? her mother’s voice asked from just beyond the veil that divided the living from the dead.

  A part of her was a little surprised that she considered it bad news. Sometimes, when life with Danny had become impossible, she’d almost hoped for it, but now that it was happening . . .

  Her reflection reproached her, looking ghostly against the gray clouds outside, so she smiled. She just needed a moment to compose herself.

  Men were not the center of her life anymore. Both Danny and Eduardo had been replaced by her professional life. She had earned the respect of the old boys’ club and had been promoted all the way to the glass ceiling and, as far as they were concerned, she was completely un-besmirched by any hint of failure—professional or personal.

  Not that she considered her life with Danny a total failure. They had their fair share of good times once, and they had a family together. She was detached enough to see all of that. But he was still the father of her children and this was something the whole family had to deal with.

  She straightened her skirt and tugged gently at the flaps of her jacket—pulling herself together. She was ready to manage this just like every other crisis life threw at her. Her years with Danny had taught her many transferable skills. She would break it down and deal with it piece by piece, and she would delegate. She folded one arm across her waist, flicked her phone open and called.

  “Martin.”

  “Oh hi, Mom. I’ve been meaning to call. What’s up?”

  “I just had a call from St. Michael’s.” Deirdre paused. She knew it was going to be difficult; his initial reaction was always the same. “Your father is in a coma and it doesn’t look good.”

  She waited for him to speak as the snow fluttered down outside, slow and lazy. It was mid December and the winter had just begun. It would take and hold Toronto for months. The salters had been out—they were always so eager at the beginning of the season—even though the fresh white flakes quickly dissolved into mush. She stood above it all, aloof and alone.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He almost sounded as he did when he was a child and tried to act as though he was unaffected by all the turmoil that was life with his father—even when his voice quavered and his little face reddened.

  “Yes, Martin, and no matter what else we may feel, he’s still your father and he is seriously ill.”

  “I am sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to sound so indifferent. It’s just that I’m swamped at the moment.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “What else would you like me to say, Mom? Of course I feel bad for him, but what can any of us do? We all knew this would happen.”

  “Well I think, given the season and the fact that we will all be getting together, we all need to try being a little more compassionate and you could offer to be of some help.” She returned to her chair in case she had to negotiate with him. She rearranged the greeting cards on her desk—insipid wishes for a Happy Holiday Season to every race and creed.

  “Okay, Mum. What can I do to help?”

  “I’m going to the hospital and I would like you to come with me.”

  “Mom, it’s a bad time right now. Work has been so crazy lately and I promised Rachael I’d be home for dinner this evening.”

  “How are Rachael and MJ?” Deirdre rearranged the cards from naive to insidious as she waited for his response.

  “They’re fine, Mom. Getting excited for Christmas—and looking forward to seeing you,” he added like an afterthought.

  “That’s nice, Martin. Family is what Christmas is really about.”

  She knew she was being mean, but she didn’t have time to be more diplomatic. Sometimes it was better just to reach into him as she did when he was young and didn’t have the right words to express himself. And now she would wait patiently for a moment or two.

  “Martin?”

  “Okay, okay. Let me just check and see if I can get out of a few things and I’ll get right back to you.”

  “I can’t wait, Martin. I am going over right now and I could use your support.”

  She swiveled toward the window and watched snow drift down on the solid, old brick town of “Old Fort York,” one of the few parts of the city that still had some of the old character from before Toronto began to fret about its place in the world. She preferred that part of town. It was not as sterile and restrictive as the bland, polished glass towers. “This place is soulless,” Danny often reasoned when he came home drunk, when they first started living together, and she thought it was a phase he would outgrow. “You can’t expect someone like me to be able to survive here without blowing off a little steam every once in a while.” That used to frustrate her, but now it just made her smile.

  “What about Grainne?”

  “She’s didn’t pick up and I need to go right now.”

  She hadn’t actually called her yet but he didn’t need to know that. She knew her family and she knew how to get them to do what had to be done. She just had to seem impassive all the time so she could seem impartial when she had to dictate. “This is not about him, Martin. This is about you. How do you think you will feel if he dies?”

  “Relieved?”

  “Martin!” She ignored his attempt at black humor—something he had inherited from his father. “You’ve always had a tendency to be a little judgmental when it comes to your father. It’s probably time you grew out of it.”

  That was a little harsh but she was growing impatient with him. This was life; sometimes you had to deal with things you didn’t want to.

  “That’s not fair, Mom.”

  “Please, no part of life with your father has been fair.”

  She knew her tone would register with him, tinged as it was with more than a hint of righteousness wronged—the voice of the real victim in it all. She hated guilting him but it was the fastest way. She was doing it for his own good. If she didn’t force him to deal with it, it would just become another lingering issue. She wanted to protect them all from any more of those. What mother wouldn’t? But she couldn’t help feeling that she was using him as a foil.

  “Okay, Mom. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be waiting outside.”

  She called Grainne while she waited for the cab but she didn’t pick up—probably fussing over her Christmas shopping. Deirdre wanted her to know as soon as possible to avoid touching off simmering sibling rivalries that might mar an already delicate Christmas. And she wanted to tell her in person. It wasn’t the type of thing that she would leave in a message: “Grainne, dear. It’s Mom. Just called to let you know that your drunken father has landed himself in the hospital. He might even be dying.” Instead she just said, “It’s Mum, hun. Call me as soon as you can.” She called Martin, too, to let him know she was on her way as she slid into the back seat of the teal and orange cab. “Bay and Queen, then St. Michaels.”

  “Very good, Madam. Would you like me to take Richmond?”

  The driver seemed eager to talk so Deirdre just nodded and pretended to be busy with her
phone as they inched along. The snow fluttered down and most of the passing pedestrians shivered as they waited to cross at the lights, across ridges of shoe-destroying slush. It took two lights to cross Yonge, where someone always got stuck in the intersection.

  “These people don’t know how to drive in the snow,” the driver complained in a thick accent.

  His name was Abdullah and his license photo made him look like one of the faces she had seen when she Googled the Taliban, right after Canadian soldiers started dying in Afghanistan. “And it’s the same thing every year!” He looked back through his mirror. He had very deep, sad eyes.

  She wondered if there was a Mrs. Abdullah and if she was the reason his eyes were so sad.

  Perhaps she had become westernized and had renounced all that had once been their way of life. Deirdre had seen it often enough at work and, as a woman, she automatically agreed with them and went out of her way to help those she could, making sure they knew about promotions and other opportunities. She had never stopped to think about the impact all that would have on a couple trying to stay together in a strange new land.

  Perhaps it was because she was on her way to see Danny, but she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Abdullah and stole a quick glance at the rear-view mirror. He had fine cheek bones and bright white teeth, and for a moment she tried to imagine what he would look like on the back of a stallion, riding across a Persian landscape.

  She shuddered a little when she realized where her mind had gone. It was beginning to do that. It was starting to rebel against the regime she had followed for years. It had worried her at first but now she just smiled to herself and tidied it away as she watched the storefronts pass by. It was almost Christmas and had been since Halloween, but the snow added credibility to the glittering in honor of the ancient festival of excess, jangling with jingles about peace and love, all gift wrapped at no extra cost.

  “Pull over here.” She nodded toward Abdullah who was still stealing glances at her through the mirror. It was a no-stopping zone and traffic was tense, so she smiled at his frustration and brushed her hair behind her ear. Men were so easy to deal with.

  Except the ones you really care about, she reminded herself as Martin dashed toward them and climbed inside. He was beginning to look more like his father, except while Danny had always been languid, Martin did things so frenetically. She kissed him on the cheek as Abdullah turned away and reasserted his place in traffic. They crawled along Queen, behind a lumbering streetcar with fogged up windows, and waited to turn into the hospital. Deirdre wasn’t in a hurry. She was carefully rearranging her emotions.

  “Would you like me to wait for you?” Abdullah offered as he tried to touch her fingers when he reached for the twenty.

  “No thank you, but you can keep the change.”

  “Thank you, lady. Thank you very much and have a merry Christmas.”

  “You too, Abdullah!”

  Martin held the door as she stepped from the cab. “Mom!”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to visit your dying husband!”

  He hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of her seeing anybody since Eduardo so she usually kept that part of her life to herself. She’d even tried to be on her own for a few years, but it just became too lonely. While Martin and Grainne grew up and had lives of their own she had waited, and now it was time to move on.

  “Ex-husband,” she corrected and walked towards the door. She’d wanted to tell him but now wasn’t the time. There was someone.

  She hadn’t gone looking for him. They met at the supermarket and got talking when he stopped and asked for her advice. Deirdre had hardly noticed him until then. He was trying to buy feminine hygiene products and was quick to explain they were for his daughter. He was divorced but had the kids every other weekend.

  That made them both smile and she couldn’t help but notice his eyes and his teeth. He was probably about seven or eight years younger than she but he didn’t seem to notice. His daughter had cut her last visit short because it was “her time” and she didn’t have “her things” with her. Deirdre could see that he was embarrassed and nodded to spare him. “It must be hard sometimes?” she had asked to encourage him as they pulled their trolleys over to make room.

  “Sometimes? Try all the time.”

  She turned and picked a few items from the shelves, explaining each one as she handed it to him and moved farther down the aisle. He followed, pulling both carts effortlessly. He was smiling but she knew he was still embarrassed.

  When they reached the end, they both lingered. “Well, I am here around this time most Saturdays—if you ever need help again.” She couldn’t believe she had said it but he seemed happy that she did.

  “My name is Ritchie and if you tell me your name I could have you paged—in case we don’t bump into each other?”

  “Deirdre.”

  “Deer-dra?” He repeated as though he was committing it to memory. She liked the way he said it, as if he were savoring it.

  They met a few more times before she decided to let him ask her out for coffee. He had seemed delighted when she agreed, but was a little more hesitant when they did meet, fidgeting with his spoon and looking over each shoulder.

  “You are divorced?” she had asked as flippantly as she could. She could see he was uncomfortable—like he was afraid of bumping into someone he knew—and she was beginning to regret it all. He seemed to pick up on all that and turned to look at her directly, as though he’d just been caught in a lie. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not ready to do this.”

  He waited for her reaction but she took her time. He might be one of those that got their kicks trolling while doing the family grocery shopping. Most of them were younger and none of them ever hit on her in the feminine hygiene section. But he didn’t seem like that. He had that look that all divorced people had—a wariness that never really went away.

  “Ready for what, exactly?”

  “Dating again.” But even as he said it, he began to smile. “What did you think I meant?”

  They had laughed at that and, after a second coffee, agreed to see each other again. They had begun spending Saturday afternoons together, walking around Yorkville or through the cemetery as fall gave way to winter.

  They’d started to sleep together, too, and he was anxious to meet her children. She had been deciding the best way to do it, but now . . .

  Damn you to hell, Danny Boyle. She almost chuckled and prepared to return to the past. The hospital was just around the corner from the Windsor. She hadn’t been there in years. Not since the kids. But they’d had a few great years, too, when they were warm together sharing the good and the bad. Danny, in his old-fashioned way, had once won her heart and softened her hard edges.

  However, the little glow that memory rekindled was quickly doused when the nurse explained: Danny was suffering from severe alcohol poisoning. He had collapsed on the Queen Street platform and the paramedics had got there just in time. “He is stable now but he’s in critical condition. I’ll have a doctor drop by to talk with you. Try not to be alarmed. His skin looks blue.”

  “Your poor father,” Deirdre whispered as she tightened her grip on Martin’s arm and entered the ICU. “He’s going to die looking like a Smurf.”

  *

  “Oh Mom, I came as quickly as I could.”

  Grainne crossed the sterile room with her arms extended like someone in a trance, her face contorting as she grew near. “But I’m here now so we can get through this together. Oh Mom!” She closed her arms around her mother and squeezed a little. “I’m here for you.”

  She finally loosened her grip and turned toward her father. “And how is Daddy? Is he going to be okay?”

  “We just have to wait and see, dear.”

  “Can’t they do anything? Have you checked with the doctors? You know when we came i
n here with Doug’s father—they weren’t very good. They didn’t find anything wrong with him.”

  “That must have been very disappointing for you.”

  “Oh! Hi, Martin. I’m surprised you could tear yourself away long enough to visit your father.”

  “I’m here for Mother’s sake so let’s not make this into an emotional sideshow.”

  “Martin, Grainne, please!”

  This was what Deirdre had been dreading. For all her efforts to normalize their life together, anything their father did could always turn it upside down.

  “Well at least I’m not afraid to show my emotions.”

  “Grainne!”

  “No, Mother, he needs to hear this. Otherwise he’ll sit there like a constipated fool and if Daddy dies, he’ll be riddled with guilt. I’m only thinking of you, Martin. I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

  “I was until you came in.”

  “Of course you were. You just love seeing him like this.”

  Deirdre just gave up and walked away, looking for somewhere quiet to sit, somewhere she could think in peace. Somewhere she could talk with the doctor alone.

  “If he does pull through,” the doctor said, “he’ll probably need constant care for the rest of his life. We have to expect brain damage, especially if his coma is prolonged.”

  Deirdre turned away from him. She didn’t want him to see her struggle. You mean more brain damage? But she couldn’t say that aloud. Danny would have seen the funny side to it, though.

  “Rest assured, Mrs. Boyle, we will do everything we can for your husband.”

  “Ex-husband,” Deirdre corrected, reflexively.

  “Sorry.” The doctor seemed a little flustered and Deirdre wondered if he was really old enough to understand. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, but he managed to compose himself and continued. “We will keep him in the ICU and monitor him as the alcohol leaves his body. After that . . .” He seemed unsure how he might phrase it. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”