Meanwhile, across the room, Sister Rebecca Katherine was watching Bea draw. Both of them had their jackets, since they had planned a short winter walk in the garden, and had just returned. The sister said, "Oh Dear, that picture is another lovely one! It's a Christmas tree, eh? Can we go back through your collection, maybe? I'd love to see them all again."
The woman nodded, slightly, and turned back the pages to the beginning of the pad after removing her coat and placing it over the chair. They went through each drawing, and Sister Rebecca Katherine carefully watched Bea's face and eyes. The picture of the lake once again stopped her. She ran her fingers over the figure of the child. Sister Rebecca Katherine, thinking she could be wrong about her assessment of the art, said, "Is that you?"
Bea did not respond.
"Ah, Dear, I think you will be safe, if you converse with me. If you want to write, just do so. Otherwise, we can just look at the pictures quietly. They're lovely." Back to the drawing, the nun pointed. "Is it a child by the lake?"
Bea looked up, slowly and deliberately, and met Sister Rebecca Katherine's eyes. She nodded.
"Children are such blessings, no wonder one should be in your sketch."
A noise distracted the nun. It was a patient, walking toward Tina, and as she walked, she said, "Hey you? You by the window."
Sister Rebecca Katherine and Bea both attempted to ignore the interruption. The nun said, "Now, it's a child, yes? We agree on that."
The woman nodded again. This time, the interruption was louder. "Hey, I'm talking to you. First, you were a nun, now you're not. What's up with you, anyway?"
Sister Rebecca Katherine attempted to keep Bea's attention on the drawing, but both of them were drawn to the scene unfolding across the room. Tina said, "Nothing, what's up with you?"
The woman said, "Don't get smart with me. I know what you're up to."
She does? If she only knew . . . "What? What am I up to?"
"You're not crazy. You're not sick, you're not helpless, you're not nothin' but a liar."
Sister Rebecca Katherine was intently focused on the interaction between the women, while Bea, looking toward the door, spotted Father MacNamara on his way in. She stared at the priest, and tilted her head, while Sister Rebecca Katherine kept tabs on the exchange between Tina and the other patient.
The hostile patient said, "Are you going to say anything, or just sit there with those big eyes bulging?"
"What do you want me to say?"
To Sister Rebecca Katherine, Tina appeared to be in perfect mental health.
Tina, seeing the nun's interested stare, said, "I'm just as crazy as you, now leave me alone, I want to read my book, and then, I'm going into surgery."
At this, Bea, touched Sister Rebecca Katherine's arm, and pointed to the priest. The nun patted her hand, and nodded, turning her attention back, yet again, to Tina.
"Surgery? What, you a doctor?"
"No, I'm a nurse, I help people." Damn it, that nun is in my business, and there's that priest!
"A nurse!? HA! You're not a nurse."
"Listen, leave me alone, I'm feeling kind of strange right now." Tina said, looking around her. The priest, Sister Rebecca Katherine, Sister Elizabeth Mary, Sister Agatha Joan, and a group of other residents and staff were watching them. She said, "Get away from me."
"Make me, you little hussy."
"Now, now, let's stop this," Father MacNamara said, approaching them.
"I saw you, the first day. You knew what you were doing, sneaking in here, pretending to belong with those nuns, but I knew. I knew you were lying."
Sister Rebecca Katherine hated to admit it to herself, but she had lost her ability to focus on Bea and was watching the events unfold. With her back turned to the woman, she did not notice Bea's rocking begin.
Tina, in a panic, looked at the priest who was scrutinizing her as much as the belligerent resident and Sister Rebecca Katherine were. Suddenly, everyone sucked in a bit of air, when Tina stood up and went to Father MacNamara, and threw her arms around his neck and said, "I want to have your baby! Please?"
Within a few seconds so much happened, that when Sister Rebecca Katherine tried to review it all later, she couldn't do so accurately. Bea's rocking picked up speed, unnoticed. The priest began to attempt to peel Tina off him, while she screamed, "I want your baby! I want to be a mommy! I know how to deliver babies. I do! I do!"
The priest said, "Please, Miss Moody, unhand me."
Sister Rebecca Katherine repeated it to herself, "Miss Moody? . .Is that her name? . . .I'd better help Father." The nun got up, and tried to help remove Tina from the priest's neck, as two orderlies entered. Tina, who was still shouting exclamations about her wanting a pregnancy, became louder, as the orderlies grabbed her on either side, and Tina, kicking and screaming, yelled, "I want my baby! I want a baby! My baby! I want to be a mommy!"
One orderly, grabbing Tina's arms, held her from behind, and the second, who was getting kicked, managed to lift her legs and put them under his arm, as the two of them carted her off. "This is not over! I will have that child, Father! I will. I want my baby!" she screamed in the distance.
Awkward silence filled the room. Sister Agatha Joan said, "My goodness, it's like The Thornbirds!"
"Sister!" Sister Elizabeth Mary shouted.
Sister Rebecca Katherine was frantic. "Bea?" She searched the room with her eyes, and in the chaos had no sign of the woman, and the sketch pad was on the table, with the lake drawing exposed. "My God, Dear Lord, please don't let her hurt herself. Please."
Father MacNamara was scribbling frenetically on his clipboard, as Sister Rebecca Katherine went to follow Bea to her room. She knocked, gently, saying, "Bea, Dear, let me in, I want to help ya."
Sister Elizabeth Mary was behind her, and said, "What happened to her?"
"She. . . was upset, I believe. With the commotion, I am not quite sure. Bea? Open the door, Dear."
Father MacNamara came up behind them with the passkey. "Let me open it, Sister."
The priest fumbled with the key, and upon opening the room, the three of them were startled to see that Bea was not there. "My goodness, where can she be?" Sister Elizabeth Mary asked.
"She's around here somewhere, we'll search for her." Sister Rebecca Katherine was concerned. Bea had witnessed Tina, screaming about a baby, and they had been looking at the lake picture . . ."Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph. We must find her."
Father MacNamara sounded the alarm that told all staff that a resident was missing or unaccounted for. Sister Elizabeth Mary went through the halls looking for her, while Sister Rebecca Katherine checked the family room, all the common areas, and the garden. While outside, she saw the bench where they had sat together, and the withered leaves of the Wall Speedwell made for a disheartening backdrop. Rubbing her own arms for warmth, and heading back into the main building, she met up with Father MacNamara in the lobby. She said, "She's not in any common area, Father."
He bellowed, "Do not tell me that we have misplaced a patient!"
Sister Rebecca Katherine felt her heart racing. "The poor thing, God bless her." she said.
***
"Fortunate your father loaned us a driver for the afternoon. I'll have him bring us to the penthouse, since there's a short walk to the project." Timothy said.
"The project?" Jack asked.
"It's time you discover what your father has done for me, young man, other than arrange for a piece of Creena's liver to attach to mine."
"What's this about?"
"It's a long story, but it starts with a bitter old man, who was given a second chance. This was because of the love of your family, my dear sister, and the fact that your father deserves a father in his life. I love him like my own."
Jack looked at Timothy, whose eyes were a sparkling blue, and realized he could never really be his grandfather biologically. He looked nothing like a Manning. But he knew it didn't matter to his father or to the older Irishman sitting with him in the limo. Timothy went on, "I found a lease on life, a way to believe, and hope to start over. It was easier to give up, but your father pushed me to fight. I had promised him to get into treatment and give up the drink. So, I did. But we both took it further."
The limo pulled up in front of the penthouse building, and instead of going in, Timothy directed Jack to the park, which they crossed. It was cold, but also brightly sunlit, which kept them warm enough as Jack followed Timothy across the park to the far end. He said, "This isn't the greatest area."
Timothy laughed, "Hmf. No, not for a blue-blood the likes of ya. This is my project. Your father is my financial backer, so to speak."
Jack looked around. Ten or fifteen homeless people lay on the street, two inside a cardboard house, and a couple over manhole covers and steam grates. His eyes darted to avoid a woman moaning and clutching a doll in one arm, and a bottle in her other hand. He saw a small doorway and a sign that said "Second Chances Mission."
Jack said, "This is the project?"
"Yes, it is. And my reasoning is this. It's not just for soup and a warm bed, I provide services for those whose lives have been ruined by alcohol and other substance abuse." He pulled the door open, and Jack was met with the comforting smell of cooking. He looked around, and several men, but very few women, were sitting in various areas, eating a bowl of soup or a plate of meat and potatoes. Timothy said, "See that man there?"
Jack said, "Him? The one with the missing teeth?"
"He was a Wall Street investor, until booze took over his life. He was fired because of it, and lost everything. His family, his home, his mind. He's barely able to keep a conversation with ya. He was beaten outside a bar, soon after he lost his home, and it was so bad, he lost some of his abilities." Jack swallowed.
Timothy continued. "The woman there, with the cap on? She lost her children to her ex husband because of her addiction and suffers from loneliness and depression. Many of the patrons here are alcoholics, not even addicted to drugs. The spirits, they're cheaper, legal and also lethal. Make you do things . . . you'd never believe you would do. This, Jack, is what you get for wanting to fade away and not feel."
Timothy walked, directing Jack, toward a patron who was slumped over his soup. Timothy said, "Anthony, are ya able to chat today?"
"Sure, Timothy," he said. He looked very tired and smelled very bad.
Timothy said, "This is my grandson, Jack."
"Hey kid," he said. "I've heard about you."
"Hey." Jack said, unsure what to expect from the grungy man.
Anthony kept eating his soup, but looked up and said, "So, your grandfather tells me you've taken to drinking?"
Jack looked at Timothy, and embarrassed, looked back to the man. "Uh, I guess."
"Look at you. A rich, spoiled kid. Think you got problems?"
"Sometimes."
"Think you got real problems?"
"Yeah, I got real problems. What's it to you?" His ire came forth without him expecting it.
"Nothing at all. But it should be to you. I was drinking, one night, and I drove myself into a tree."
Jack gulped, and lost his words. Finally, he said, "So, you survived?"
"If you call it that. I killed my wife and my baby son, because of my own weakness." Jack tried to imagine his father having killed his mother and Little Ray, and he had to push it away because it was too painful to even think of what would be left of the man he knew as Todd Manning. The man said, "I went into treatment, it worked for a while, then I relapsed, out of despair, I guess. I started drinking again, then ended up to lose my job, my house, what was left of my life. And here I am."
Anthony took another spoonful, "This guy here, your grandfather, he's agreed to be my sponsor and try and support me. I've been sober for a month now, thanks to him and this place. But, what are you going to do?"
"Excuse me?" Jack said.
"What are you going to do? Keep drinking? You see it as an answer? It's not. Believe me, I can assure you, it's just not."
Jack was overcome by both the man's words and the knowledge that his father and grandfather were responsible for this place, and the hope for some of these people. He took note of the appearance of the patrons; the men, disheveled, dirty. The skin on their hands and faces seemed rough, as if weather beaten. The women could not be told apart from the men, in their sackish clothing. Every patron's demeanor was what bothered him most; no one talked or seemed to have any spark of humanity, except for Anthony.
He looked at Timothy, "Can they get help?"
"They're getting help. The project aims to do three things: sober them up, provide them with counseling/treatment, and help them gain employment. If they want the help, it's there for them. If they need legal representation, I provide it, free of charge. Your father does most of the rest. Your father has paid for a great deal of medical bills and therapy already. "
"Why didn't Dad tell us?"
"He has a thing about it. Even swore your dear mother to secrecy. He never can accept accolades or attention, and you know how it is. This is something you need to think about, Lad. Think about how he doesn't disappear when it would be so easy to for him to. He stays, and he's there for ya. He does not want to be seen heroic, but son, there's no better way to describe him from the time I've known him."
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