Caregiver

by Rick R. Reed

  “So just come to the front visitors area tomorrow. Theyll take you to

  Adam.”

  “Okay.”

  “Take care, Dan.”

  “Thank you.” Dan hung up the phone without even saying goodbye.

  He was saving his good-byes for tomorrow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE next day, Dan drove north on Florida State Route 75, heading up to Raiford. The day was cloudless, the sun baking the flat lands stretching out on either side of the road. Every once in a while, Dan would spy an armadillo scurrying along the side of the road. Slash pines, palms, and cypress trees lined the highway, stalwart sentinels against the heat. Every once in a while, a billboard interrupted the tropical foliage and broad expanses of rough grass. He passed exits for towns with names like Wesley Chapel, Ocala, and Gainesville. Strip malls, motels, and fast-food joints dotted the landscape here and there.

  The humid, hot air tousled Dans hair as he drove, all four windows down, making him feel like he was in some sort of oversized convection oven.

  He was not listening to music. He was not counting the bugs splattering on his windshield. He was not recalling his bosss dismayed reaction when he had called in sick this morning.

  He was not thinking.

  He knew from his calculations that the drive would take approximately three hours, which was a lot of time to think, to worry, to cry. He didnt want to do any of those things. He wanted to be strong, confident, calm, and compassionate.

  Adam deserved that much.

  All too soon, Dan found himself pulling up in front of the gates of the Florida State Prison. He drove through the gates and into the parking lot, looking up at the cold and imposing façade, having difficulty believing his friend was inside. This all seemed like a bad dream, some sort of nightmare from which he would wake.

  But the front of a prison staring one down, complete with high walls topped with guard towers and barbed wire, had a way of snapping one back to reality. Dan rolled up the windows, locked the car, and got out.

  Wasnt this where Ted Bundy had ended up?

  He stood for a moment in the stillness and heat, grateful that he had abandoned the completely absurd idea hed had that morning of bringing up his boom box, a selection of Barbra Streisand cassettes, and a Thermos of Mai Tais. For one, they probably would have never allowed him to bring such things into the prison; for another—and this made him very sad—Adam would probably not feel up to enjoying them anyway.

  Inside, a guard searched him, making him take off his shoes and empty his pockets.

  A different guard led him to the infirmary. Dan didnt pass any cells. The prison interior was cool and quiet. Dan felt almost alone here.

  The infirmary itself had only a few beds. Dan supposed most prisoners, if their illness was long-term, went somewhere else for treatment.

  He knew why they didnt send Adam elsewhere.

  The guard, a stocky guy with dark, curly hair, gestured toward a drawn curtain. He said softly, “Hes over there. He might be asleep.” He walked away, leaving Dan alone to wring his hands and wonder what he would say.

  Just go. This isnt about the right words or being entertaining or amusing. Its simply about being here for a friend, a friend who needs you. Put one foot in front of the other and walk over there.

  Dan forced himself to move. He drew aside the curtain and forced himself not to gasp when he saw Adam.

  He was asleep, as the guard had said. Warm sunlight illuminated his supine figure on the bed. An IV dripped into his arm; oxygen tubes were up his nose.

  Dan turned away, breathing hard.

  Thats not Adam!

  It couldnt be Adam. The wraith on the bed looked nothing like his friend. No, the skeletal man lying on the bed, mouth open, appeared to be much older. His pale face was lined and careworn. His blond hair was sticking up, looking dry and brittle.

  Dan looked around, hoping to see Adam lying on another bed. Yet the rational part of his mind knew this was his friend; Dan just didnt want to believe it.

  The worst part of it was the lesions that covered his skin like purple blots, raised, crusty wine stains on his alabaster flesh. Dan thought of Adam writing him about how the other inmates called him „Spot and his heart lurched.

  He moved closer to the bed.

  Adams eyes fluttered open, and if Dan had had any doubt about who was lying on the bed before him, one glimpse of those twinkling blue eyes erased them. A glimmer of a smile turned Adams lips up for just a moment when he recognized Dan.

  “You came.” Adams voice was whispery, dry as a husk.

  “Of course I did. I drove all the way up here to tell you that you have to get better. You still owe me a dinner date at Jimmy Macs.”

  Dan could see Adam try to laugh and also saw how the simple effort pained and exhausted him. Dans heart started to break.

  “How are you?” It struck Dan then that there was nothing clever to say, nothing powerful or meaningful. Again, it was just being here that meant something.

  “Peachy,” Adam whispered, then coughed. His eyes fluttered closed again and Dan leaned in close to verify that he had actually fallen asleep. He had.

  They talked in this odd, in-and-out-of-reality-way for the next half hour, Adam nodding off with no warning. He would drift off mid-sentence. Dan didnt know if it was the illness, the medications, or a combination of the two causing his flagging connection to consciousness.

  One thing Adam did stay awake long enough to talk about was the visit from his parents. “Mom just broke down when she saw me.” And Dan pictured a prim woman, in a skirt and jacket, collapsing as she came face to face with the worst nightmare a parent can experience. “It was nice of them to come down.”

  “Of course they came. Youre their son.”

  “I am now.”

  Dan had started to ask about Sullivan, but Adam fell asleep once more.

  The guard came to stand at the doorway to the room. “Five more minutes.”

  Dan looked back at him and nodded.

  He took a deep breath and leaned close to Adams face. His breath was rank, but Dan didnt care.

  Adam opened his eyes and gave him a suspicious look that appeared very close to the old Adam. “What are you doing? Are you making a pass at me, Mr. Calzolaio?”

  Dan laughed. “Yeah, thats right. I want to take advantage of you while youre vulnerable. Pretty foxy of me, huh?”

  He almost expected a witty comeback, but Adam only swallowed hard and stared up at him.

  Their eyes met and held. Finally, Dan leaned in and placed a kiss on Adams cheek, his lips brushing across one of the crusty lesions. He reached down and stroked Adams skin.

  “I love you,” Dan said.

  “Me too,” Adam whispered back. Then he fell asleep.

  Dan crept from the room.

  THE chaplain called Dan the next afternoon to tell him that Adam had passed away during the night. “It was painless and quiet. He went peacefully.”

  Dan wondered how he knew. Had he been there in Adams final moment? Was that all Adam got at the end of his life? A prison chaplain?

  “Thank you.” Dan was about to hang up the phone. “Dan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think he hung on just to see you.”

  Dan groped for some words to say, some expression of

  gratitude, but his vision was suddenly clouded by tears and his throat choked by a sob. His mouth opened, then shut. “Gotta go,” he whispered hoarsely and hung up the phone.

  He sank down to the floor, the phone in his hand, and simply stared forward until the light outside faded from dusk into night, not thinking a thing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  IT WAS only a few days after Adams passing, a Saturday morning, when Dan was surprised by a knock at his door. He turned the heat on under his teakettle and hurried to answer it. He wondered who had come to call this early. Glancing at the clock, he confirmed that it was only a little after nine.

  The knoc
k sounded again.

  “Coming!”

  Dan peered through the peephole and saw Sullivan standing

  outside. He didnt know how to feel; the man had been so standoffish toward him during the whole prison ordeal. Dan opened the door. For several moments, the two men simply stared at one another. A family passed on the walkway behind Sullivan, laden down with stuff for the beach: an umbrella, towels, net bags, bucket and shovel. The two children, a dark-haired boy and girl, laughed and chattered happily to one another.

  Another world.

  Dan returned his gaze to Sullivan, who looked thinner in his jeans and Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt. Before Dan had a chance to say anything, Sullivan blurted out, “They took him away.”

  “What?” Dan shook his head and opened the door wider. “Why dont you come inside and sit down? I just put the kettle on for tea.” Dan stood back to admit Sullivan. It was obvious the man was shaken.

  Dan followed him into the living room. Sullivan took the couch and Dan a chair across from him.

  “They took him away,” Sullivan repeated, his voice bordering on a strangled cry. Unshed tears stood at the corners of his eyes. These looked like they would not be the first to fall today. Dan wanted to touch Sullivan to reassure him, but thought better of it. He sat back in his chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “His parents. Adams parents! They took him away. Had him shipped back to Illinois right after he died. The same day it happened!” Sullivan looked longingly at Dan, the pain apparent on his features. “I never even got a chance to say good-bye,” he rasped, voice husky and raw.

  Dan closed his eyes, all of it coming clear now. Reverend Lucas had told him that there would be no funeral services, at least not here in Florida, and that Adams parents were taking him back to the Chicago area with them for burial. It left Dan hungry for some sort of closure, but he had neither the time nor the resources to make the trip back to Chicago and wasnt even sure how welcome he would be at the funeral.

  But it hadnt occurred to him that they would so utterly leave the man who had loved Adam out of the proceedings, denying him access to any formal grieving process. That seemed so cruel.

  Dan realized he had never known what kind of relationship Adam had had with his parents and certainly didnt know if they knew, or even cared about, Sullivan. He had seen many gay friends families who simply chose to look the other way when it came to their loved ones significant others—and that was often a best-case scenario. Often, parents and siblings could be outright hostile to their gay childs lover. Or treat him or her as something less than they would have if the person were of the opposite sex.

  It was the way of the world.

  But it wrenched Dans heart to know that Sullivan was not only mourning this man he loved, but that he had been denied the opportunity to have a final moment with him, even if that moment was with a corpse.

  The kettle chose that inopportune moment to begin its shriek, startling both men. Dan hopped up from his seat. “Ill be right back. Youll have some tea, wont you?”

  “Sure.”

  Dan quickly threw two teabags in mugs, poured boiling water over them, and left them to steep. He hurried back to the living room and sat next to Sullivan on the couch. Sullivan stared out at the lake fronting Dans apartment. He looked lost in thought.

  He looked lost, period.

  “Im sorry about that. You were saying?”

  “I was saying that his parents didnt even think enough of our relationship to give me a call to ask if Id like to say good-bye to him.” Sullivan shook his head and turned to Dan. “I met them a few times. They insisted I call them Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt. And I was always referred to as „Adams friend. So that probably gives you some idea of what they thought of me as a partner to their son.”

  Dan nodded sympathetically.

  Sullivan stretched his legs out before him. “So I suppose its not all that surprising that they wouldnt have thought enough of our relationship to check with me, to see what I might want to do. I guess I didnt count, least not in their eyes.” Sullivan bit his lower lip and Dan could see he was trying very hard not to cry. “Theyre just ignorant people. They may have money, but they have no class. You know? Adam was an embarrassment to them, always was, even before he started getting in trouble. They had all but disowned him until they heard he was dying last week. Then, they were rushing down here to be with him, all loving and parental again.”

  Dan remembered how Adam had told him his mother had broken down at the sight of him. No matter what had gone before, Dan knew that, for a mother, seeing her child die so horribly would be an awful thing. He sympathized with Sullivan, especially as a gay man, but his heart also went out to Adams parents, who were feeling the pain of great loss, he was sure.

  However, he felt the last thing Sullivan needed to hear at this moment was a plea for understanding for Adams parents. So he said, simply, “I am so sorry, Sullivan. This must be killing you. It was really unkind of them to take Adam away, but it doesnt sound like they ever really understood what you shared. Sometimes, theres no convincing people like that. Im afraid you just have to let it go, and remember Adam in your own way.” Dan paused. “He brought a lot of happiness to you, didnt he?” Dan knew hed brought a lot of grief as well, but now was not the time.

  “Oh yes.” Sullivans lower lip quivered and a tear slid down his cheek. “I just wish I could have said good-bye. Its hard for me to make his death real, you know? I keep expecting the phone to ring and itll be him. Or I wake up in the middle of the night and reach for him in bed. When hes not there, I listen for him pissing in the bathroom.” Sullivan touched Dans arm briefly, staring into his eyes. “I wanted to forgive him for what he did to me, there at the end. I know he was out of his head. I wanted to tell him that it didnt matter, that I understood.” He slowly shook his head. “But I never had the chance. He died thinking I hated him.”

  “Didnt you go see him?”

  “I did. Once.” Sullivan hung his head. “He was really out of it. I dont even know if he knew I was there. I shouldnt have waited so long. I should have somehow made him listen. I wish I just had another minute—just one minute—with him, so I could tell him I love him.”

  “I know. I know.” Dan placed what he hoped was a comforting hand atop Sullivans own. Sullivan gently moved his hand out from under Dans.

  Dan got up to get the tea. He brought the mugs back and set them on the coffee table. It felt weird here alone with Sullivan, his body an uncomfortable presence on the couch next to him. Steam rose from the mugs as both men stared out of the sliding glass doors, contemplating another perfect Gulf Coast day, so at odds with the turmoil and sadness both of them obviously felt.

  Dan didnt know what to say to Sullivan. He hardly knew him, really, and that fact aside, what was there to say? For that matter, was it really necessary to say anything? Perhaps Sullivan just wanted someone to talk to, to vent with, to share his heartache.

  I can be that person. I can touch him and hold him and it doesnt have to be a betrayal.

  It was odd that, suddenly, Dan had taken such a central role in two peoples lives that, such a short time ago, he didnt even know existed.

  It made him think about fate, about timing, and about how people appeared to one another at times when they most needed each other. His mother used to say that people came into our lives for a reason, for a season, or for a lifetime.

  He wondered if he was here now for Sullivan for only a reason. He turned to him and, without thinking about it, moved over on the couch and put his arms around him. He didnt say a word, just held Sullivan. He thought that Sullivan might have been surprised by the gesture, or worse, didnt want it, because he didnt wrap his own arms around Dan but merely sat stiffly.

  But then Sullivan leaned into him and slowly brought his arms up around Dan, letting his head rest on his chest. Dan breathed easier. He made small circles on Sullivans back, comforting, he hoped.

  They sat like that for a long time,
neither moving, neither talking nor crying.

  Finally, Sullivan broke away. “I need to go.”

  Dan felt like he was coming out of a fog. He had gone somewhere else with Sullivan, to a quiet place, where the pain was muted.

  “Okay.”

  “You helped,” Sullivan said. “I know you probably didnt think you did much, but you helped.” He stood up and looked down at Dan. “I dont really have anyone to talk to about all of this. You came along at just the right time, it seems. Thanks for letting me share. Thanks for holding me.” He laughed. “And not trying to take advantage.”

  “You can talk to me anytime, Sullivan. My doors always open. It may have not been in the same way, but we both loved Adam and I think we both know what the other is going through.”

  Sullivan nodded and headed toward the door.

  Dan continued, “You know, it doesnt matter that you werent actually there to say good-bye. Not really. I think Adam is looking down on you now. I think you can still say good-bye.”

  Sullivan cocked his head. “I hadnt thought of that. Youre probably right. Maybe Ill head over to Passe a Grille beach right now—one of my honeys favorite spots—and just stare out at the Gulf and bid him farewell. I kind of think if Adams spirit went anywhere, it might be hovering around a beach. He loved the water and the sand.”

  “He loved the Lighted Tree… and the bar.”

  Sullivan chuckled. “That too.” Sullivan opened the door. “You wanna come with?”

  Dan had enough sense to know that Sullivan would be better off having this moment alone. “Nah, thanks, but Ill stay here.”

  Sullivan nodded. “Talk soon?”

  “Soon.”

  And with that, Sullivan left.

  Dan found himself alone, staring at two untouched mugs of tea, gone cold. After a while, he got up and slid open the glass doors and stepped out onto the patio. A balmy breeze blew and it was fairly peaceful around the complex, especially for a Saturday. Dan stepped back inside with the watering can and returned to the patio with it, giving the herbs and schefflera Mark had planted a drink. The sphagnum moss around the schefflera was dry and Dan was sorry he hadnt been more attentive. He yanked some weeds out that had sprouted among the herbs. He sat back on his haunches, facing the glass door.