A Dove for Eddy

by Sherry Elliott

  Chapter 5

  “For Heaven’s sake, no rest for the wicked,” Eddy said as she stared at the door in disgust. “Who in the world could that be, at this hour?

  “Please call 911,” a woman yelled hysterically as she pounded on the door. “Please, help us - - Karen needs help. Please.”

  The woman’s voice was so filled with panic that Eddy felt compelled to put aside all suspicion and open the door. “Please, call an ambulance.” She held her cell phone up and shook it violently. “I can’t get a signal on my phone.” Eddy stood petrified. The woman grabbed her shoulders and yelled, “Help us!”

  The woman ran back across the street, as Eddy dialed the phone. Soon Eddy heard the sirens and saw the red flashing lights. She watched as Karen was wheeled out on a stretcher. Her mother followed closely behind them, wringing her hands. The little boy who had ran across the street earlier that day now stood motionless as he watched the medics load the girl in the ambulance. The boy looked no more than seven or eight years old, and he seemed so helpless. Eddy instinctively walked across the lawn and stood next to him. She remembered a time before barred windows when neighbors helped each other because it was the right thing to do.

  “He can stay with me,” Eddy heard herself say, “While you go to the hospital.”

  The woman looked around the area nervously as if trying to find someone else, but Eddy was the only other non-medical person there. “Aren’t you Mrs. McGrath?”

  “You can call me, Eddy.”

  “Oh . . . Would you?” She gave Eddy one more scrutinizing look, as if to convince herself that Eddy was trustworthy. “Son, you know the number. Call if you need me,” she said.

  The boy followed Eddy across the street with his head down as the ambulance sped out of sight. “She - she’s -- been sick a long time,” he said. “She - she -- says she’s fine, but she - she’s -- not. I don’t think she - she’s -- going to come back. I mean – mean -- I’m not sure if. . . ” His voice faded to a whisper.

  “Come on in the house,” Eddy said. She applied the hand sanitizer liberally and then handed the bottle to the boy and instructed him to do the same. Then she trekked to the kitchen and searched through the cabinets for something that kids like to eat. Pushing aside prunes and crackers, she found some sugar wafers in the back of the closet. Holding them up, she inspected them closely to see if the mouse had sampled them. When she was sure they were safe, she offered them to him. “Do you like these cookies?” He nodded his head yes, so she handed him a handful of wafers and served him a cup of hot tea. “I don’t keep milk, because it upsets my digestive system.” He looked at her perplexed.

  “What’s a – a – di - digestive system?” He asked. But Eddy didn’t answer.

  “You’re not one of those no good kids who come into people’s houses and case the joint so that they can come back and rob them later, are you?” Eddy said.

  “No – no,” he said.

  “Now you listen to me.” She pointed her finger at him. “What you see in this house stays in this house. Do you understand?”

  He lowered his eyes and nodded his head. He ate the sugar wafers in silence.

  Eddy dipped her sugar wafer in her cup, and then nibbled on the moistened morsels. Porter watched her carefully, then asked, “Why do - don’t -- you have any teeth?”

  “Of course I have teeth,” she said. “But I put them up for safe keeping. I don’t want anybody coming in and stealing them.”

  “Oh,” he said as he lifted the hot tea to his lips. He quickly jerked it away as his eyes filled with tears. “Ouch! That - that’s -- hot.” He held his fingers to his lips and rocked back and forth.

  “Its hot tea; it’s supposed to be hot.” Turning away from him, she muttered, “Don’t they teach these kids anything anymore?” She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. No wonder I never had any kids: I don’t know how to take care of them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve known that kids don’t drink hot tea.” She took the cup from him and poured it into the sink.

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “I guess you need to go to bed. I think kids are supposed to go to bed early,” she said as she motioned for him to follow her to the living room. “Tarnation,” she said as she snapped her fingers at the cat. “Get down, you old bag of fur.” Clucking her tongue, she motioned for the cat to get off the couch. Eddy brought a pillow and blanket from her closet and created a make-shift bed. “Here, you can rest on the couch till your mom comes to get you.” Then she noticed the baseball logo printed on his T-shirt. “Do you like to play ball, kid?”

  “I – I – used to,” he said. The boy pulled up his baggy pants before sitting on the couch, then he removed his scuffed up high tops and pushed them under the coffee table. “You better put those shoes by the front door, just in case there’s anything contagious on them,” she said, as she pointed to the entry way. “What do I call you?” He looked at her, baffled. “What’s your name?” she said.

  “Port – Port -- Porter.”

  She felt annoyed, not so much at his difficulty speaking, but that he obviously hadn’t received help to speak clearly. “I never heard of anybody named Port - Port - Porter,” she said curtly. “Do you mean Porter?” Porter nodded his head yes. “Here, repeat after me,” she said.“Por ter.”

  “Por ter,” he said slowly and purposefully.

  “One more time, Por ter,” she said. Again he repeated his name. “See, you’re getting the hang of it,” she said. “Before long you’ll be reciting the Gettysburg address.”

  She rubbed her chin, “I used to know a man who was a Porter. A long time ago, Porters carried your bags at a hotel or on the railroad.” Pausing, she took a moment to really look at Porter. His hair was bright red, and his face was crowded with freckles. How could someone who appeared so lively look so sad? Weren’t children supposed to be happy and carefree?

  “My mo - mom,” he said.

  “Slow down and try again,” Eddy said.

  “She . . . named me . . after my dad,” he said slowly and precisely.

  “Where is your dad?” she asked.

  “He lives - lives – in Chi - cago. They yelled all - all -- the time, so – so -- he moved out.”

 

  She touched the smooth gold ring on her left ring finger. “Life can throw you some curve balls, and you can’t always see them coming.”

  Porter had more than his fair share of curve balls, she thought. “Maybe one of these days you’ll hit one out of the park just like Babe Ruth. You know about him, kid?” Porter shook his head. “What are they teaching these kids in school?” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “He was the best slugger that ever lived, that’s all. But now you need to get some sleep, and I’ll tell you about the Babe some other time.”

  Eddy returned to the kitchen and lit a cigarette. It was past midnight, but she couldn’t sleep.

  Why has this child suffered so, and was his sister really dying? Why were there curve balls in life? More questions without answers swirled around her mind, taunting her until the early morning hours. Why didn’t God protect children from disease? Why had Fred died, leaving her all by herself? “Why?” Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator and the soft coo of the dove in the nearby cage.

  She began to pace the familiar length of the hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms. The same creak from the hardwood flooring outside her bedroom had been there for years. The reassuring, familiar sound seemed to say, “Nothing has changed, and all is still the same.” But she knew that wasn’t true. Things had changed, and they would never be the same.