***
Sarah Leeson had just lost her only child. She babbled that to him after he’d helped her up from the floor. She was unsure of what she was going to do now that both the men in her life were gone. What had she done wrong, she sobbed. “Why am I being punished,” she asked into the air, winging her arms out flamboyantly as if to punctuate the rhetorical question. Ben had no answers for her, so he simply and quietly escorted her to the cafeteria where he offered to buy her a cup of coffee, which she accepted, and some breakfast, which she declined.
At ten o’clock, the crowd in the cafeteria thinned. A few tables were randomly occupied with an assortment of visitors and hospital personnel. The conversations were varied and muffled, like those in a library before some bun-haired lady ordered complete and absolute silence. There was no such noise-monitor here, but sometimes circumstances beckoned silence. Ben led her to a table near the back, and then quietly and patiently sat with her.
Eventually he learned that the other man she’d lost had been her husband. He’d been stricken with cancer, though it had been a heart attack that delivered the fatal blow. Her son had been the victim of street violence. Ben vaguely recalled skimming an article about the incident in last week’s Duraleigh Standard. He listened without interruption, interjecting only when her pause seemed interminable, and then only to gently nudge her along. He asked her son’s age. Seventeen, she said. What a wonderful age that was, he said without thinking. She smiled and apparently understood he’d meant no harm by it. After all, her son’s death was still fresh to her as well. She asked his name, and afterwards if Ben was short for Benjamin. “Yes,” he answered. “But please call me Ben.” She repeated his name, “Ben.” It slid comfortably from her lips as if she’d known him longer than twenty minutes.
He thought about sharing his story about his mom. How he’d lost her to senseless violence as well. But the thought made him remember how he’d really felt after his mom had been killed. He’d wanted neither sympathy nor empathy. He’d wanted revenge.
“I’m an assistant district attorney,” he blurted out as if that fact alone was a sword to be used against any and all perpetrators.
She jerked ever so slightly and looked genuinely puzzled. Then, she abruptly pushed back from the table and started to get up. “I’m sorry,” she said, clearly flustered. “I didn’t mean to impose.”
Ben reached across the table for her. “Impose? You’re not imposing. Hold on a second. I’m one of the good guys.”
She pulled back beyond his reach and made it to her feet, snatching up her handbag in the process. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go. I have so much to do. I’m sorry.” She spoke rapidly and avoided looking at him as if she’d just found out his embarrassing secret.
“Sorry about what?” Ben asked following behind her. He had to break into a light jog.
“Please Mr. Lovison,” she said in a quavering voice. “Let me go. I have things I need to take care of.”
Mr. Lovison? Just a few moments ago, he’d been Ben. Why was she acting so formal all of a sudden? He stood a few feet back from her and watched as she entered the empty elevator. She punched the call button and then turned her gaze to her shoes as the elevator doors closed.
In Ben’s experience, some people on the low rungs of education and income held a deep distrust of the law and the people sworn to enforce it. That distrust often manifested itself through unreasonable fear or unfathomable hate. As one moved up the income and education scales, distrust gradually became understanding of the rules of law, and with that understanding, often came a deep respect for those individuals entrusted with defending and enforcing it. Of course, amongst the extreme upper end of the income scale there was sometimes a feeling that the rule of law could sometimes be a nuisance, and that policeman, prosecutors, and judges were mere lowly public servants, apt to overstepping their bounds from time to time.
Sarah Leeson’s behavior had been surprising only in the sense that she had appeared to be an educated woman of at least modest means. But then again, there were always exceptions to every rule. As he approached the hospital room where his wife had been moved, Ben dismissed thoughts of Sarah. He paused at the closed door. He heard voices inside the room.
He opened the door to find Mayo Fathers standing over April’s bed, smiling widely. April, though she looked a little feeble, smiled too. She had a new mother’s glow and she seemed… happy. Tired, but happy.
“There he is,” she said in a high whisper when she noticed him standing in the doorway.
Mayo turned around. “Congratulations, Ben. Twins, huh?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Mr. Fathers told me what a decent and honorable young man you were growing up. He said our boys will be fortunate to have you for a father.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Mayo.”
“Well, it’s the truth. I never had any trouble out of this one. He always had a deep respect for authority.” He smiled at April. “And you sweet one. Call me Uncle Mayo. We’re family.”
April smiled weakly, “Sure, Uncle Mayo.” She closed her eyes and seemed to nod off.
“I called your office and they told me what happened,” Mayo said to Ben.
“You didn’t have to rush down here.”
“I had someone else here to visit anyway.”
“Anything serious?” Ben quizzed.
“Nothing you should be concerned about,” Mayo deflected. “How are those babies?”
“Fine,” Ben said hurriedly also wanting to deflect. He nodded ever so slightly toward his wife.
Mayo caught the hint and smiled awkwardly.
“What did you want?” Ben asked rather harshly before softening it with, “You said you’d called my office.”
“Uh, right,” Mayo said, appearing somewhat surprised at the tone of the first question. “I wanted to confirm your participation at next week’s conference. But I guess in light of the arrival of the babies, you probably won’t make it.”
“No, I can make it. It’s an opportunity to give back.”
“Great,” Mayo said. “I also got a confirmation from Caleb.”
April opened her eyes and perked up a little at the mention of Caleb’s name. “Caleb Dawson, Ben’s old friend?”
“One and the same,” Mayo said. “The Bureau is giving him a couple of days off and he agreed to do it.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” April said. “I’ve heard so much about him.”
“I don’t talk about him that much,” Ben said, obviously embarrassed.
“They were two peas in a pod at one point,” Mayo offered. “Then Caleb’s father came back and moved the family away. But Caleb has always said the time he’d spent at Fathers House helped make the difference in his life. He and Ben are what the home is all about. Next week I plan to showcase both of them. Fundraising will go through the roof.”
“Anything I can do to help, just let me know,” Ben said.
“Just show up,” Mayo said as he walked toward the door.
After Mayo left, April looked warily at her husband. “Why don’t you call him Uncle Mayo?”
“Huh?” Ben asked.
“Uncle Mayo. I have never heard you call him that. But he says family calls him that. But you don’t. Why?”
Ben thought about her question for a moment. The answer was simple really. When he’d first started going to Fathers House he’d called Mayo, Mr. Fathers. After moving into Fathers House, he’d tried briefly calling him Uncle Mayo like everyone else had. But it felt uncomfortable to him doing that. Mayo wasn’t his uncle. He was of no blood relation, kind deed or no kind deed. So one day, Ben dropped the uncle moniker and started calling him Mayo. But he didn’t tell April any of that, instead he said, “I don’t know.”
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a pressing concern for April. She yawned and asked, “How do our babies look?”
Ben kissed his wife on the forehead. “Beautiful. Both o
f them are simply beautiful.”
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