Failings of the Fathers: 49

The following day, the sun was brighter than before.  It was Sunday, and the kids were home again.  Jack had slept in, Sam was up, bright and early, and poking in and out of Shaun's room to taunt him into waking.

Blair stirred, ready to nurse Jewel.  It was feeding time, and the little girl was awake, but just quietly playing with her feet.  Blair turned over and looked at her baby daughter, who could be seen over the rim of the basket.  "Well, hello, you!  You're awake before Mommy, and you didn't even cry!  Come here," she said, lifting her and bringing her to her breast.

Meanwhile, Ray was throwing toys out his door and calling Sam to get them.   Sam, on the other hand, was running between Bitsy's room, where he was teasing Shaun with a feather off his Native American Thanksgiving costume from a few years back, and Ray's room, where he was fishing toys out of the hall.  Finally, he plopped down in Ray's room, at the foot of his toddler bed, and said, "Can you stop now, Ray?  I'm tired."

"No.  No stop."  He shook his head and threw.

"Then you have to get the toys yourself, because I'm not going to anymore.  I'm pooped."

"Sam pway with me.  Get toys, and I throw toys."

"No, you're not supposed to throw toys.  What did Dad say to you?"

"Daddy said be good boy."

"Right.  So cut it out."  Sam got up and walked out, but not before a stuffed zebra bonked him off the back of the head.

He decided instead to take Mixie and go outside.  He stopped by Blair's door.  "Excuse me, Mom, can I go outside?"

"I guess so.  Is anyone out there?"

"Just that new guy.  I think he's working on the garden you wanted."

"I guess.  Just stay near the house where I can see you, and you can hear me.  No woods, at all, whatsoever."

"Okay," he said, and ran down the stairs.  He woke Mixie, and took him on his leash outside.  The air was fresh and very cool, and Sam wondered how the snow in places was still there with all the sun.  Malcolm was working, so he decided to ask him about it.  He marched himself over, with his dog in tow, and said, "Hey, Mister.  Why doesn't the snow melt?"

"It's cold, that's why."

"Oh.  But, there's sun."

"The sun doesn't take away the cold.  It just warms it up a little."

"Okay.  What are you doing?"

"Plotting out this garden that your mom wants."

"Okay.  Is that hard?"

"Not really."

"Oh.  Can I watch you?"

Malcolm looked up, and made eye contact with the little boy.  Sam was, again, unsure of how to take the man's expression, until he smiled, and said, "Yes, why not?"

Sam waited there, watching, quietly, until the man was finally done with measuring out and edging the patch that would be the vegetable garden.  Then he said, "You're quiet for a young kid."

"I can be.  But Dad says I can be a loud mouth, too."

"Your Dad.  Tell me more about him."

"You already know him.  You met him in Swiggerland, remember?"

"In Switzerland, yes, I did.  But, what else do you like about him?"

"He's nice.  He loves me.  He takes me places, and he does things with me.  He saves us.  He saved us last week, when a bear came."

"A bear huh?  A real one?"

"A mommy one.  She was upset about her babies.  Dad saved us, he made us run to safety and faced her alone."

"So, he can do just about anything, can't he?"  Malcolm said.

Something about the man puzzled Sam.  He said, "Yeah.  He's a good father."

The man drove the shovel into the ground, and leaned on the handle.  He said, "You know Sam, this is hard work."

"Yeah, it looks like it."

"Why don't you come with me to my cottage, and we can have a little glass of lemonade?"

Sam looked up, and studied Malcolm's expression,  He felt himself backing away and sad, "No, I don't really like lemonade.  Thanks, anyway."

"Well, what about some soda, or some milk and cookies?"

For some reason, Sam thought about the bad man that had his father in Ireland, and then, his teacher's words at school.  Don't go with strangers.  If you're scared, yell "stranger danger" and run.

"No, but thanks.  I think I will go back in now.  Come on, Mixie," he said, and Malcolm just stood, watching.

Sam opened the glass doors, and went inside, and straight up the stairs to Jack's room.

Jack said, "Geez, Runty, you woke me up.  What the heck is going on?"

"I don't know, but that guy is weird."

"What guy?"

"The new garden man, from Swiggerland."

"Cut it out.  I was asleep."

"I mean it, Jack.  He's weird.  He just is."

"Okay, so he's weird.  So what?  Just let me sleep a little longer."

Sam shrugged and went to Shaun's room.  He pushed Shaun's shoulder until the man turned over.  "Yeah, what, Buddy?"

"I just wanted to say that guy's weird."

"What guy?"

"The new garden man, from Swiggerland."

Shaun laughed, beside the fact that he was still listening.  "What do you mean?"

"I dunno.  He's just weird."

"Okay.  I'll get up and go talk to him, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks.  Me and Mixie felt weird," he said, and went to Ray's room.

Ray said, "Sam!  Sam pway!"

"Okay, I'll play.  It's better than being outside right now."

***

"That's Miguel, isn't it?"  Todd asked.

Timothy said, "Yes.  That's him."

They headed toward him.  The younger man was sitting alone, eating.  Todd said, "Hey do you mind?"

"No, not at all, come on and join me."

They both put their trays down, and sat. 

Miguel finished chewing and said, "So, how is Aiden doing?"

"It's more of the same.  He's in a coma, non-responsive."

"God."  He said, putting his fork down.  "I'm sorry."

"It's not over yet."  Todd said.  

"No, it can't be."  Timothy added.

"We'll just keep hoping," Miguel said.  "He's a great guy."

"So, you're pretty much on your own, without him, huh?"  Todd asked.

"Yeah, I guess so."  Miguel ate his dinner with gusto.

"I know Malcolm got there okay, he's already started getting into his work."

"Really," he said, wiping his mouth and swallowing, "that's good to know.  I haven't been able to reach him by phone.  As a matter of fact, I was going to try again tonight."

"He seems to be adjusting well enough, according to Blair."

"Well, good.  I can only assume Blair is your wife?"  Miguel asked.

"Yep."

"Tell me about her, I can use the distraction."

"She's . . . I can only put it how Malcolm did about his wife.  She's everything."

"I see.  Any pictures?"

"He has a bloody menagerie,"  Timothy said.

"Well, break them out," Miguel said, and Todd was very willing. 

Ray, his long curls and little smile.  Jewel yawning in her basket.  Blair, her hair tucked behind an ear, hugging Sam, whose glasses were crooked.  Starr, petting Hope's head.  Jack, arm around Jenna, smiling.

Miguel handed the phone back to Todd.  "They're awesome.  All yours?"

"Not the little blonde toe-head.  She's my granddaughter.  And, that's my son's girlfriend."

"You're lucky.  A nice family."

"Thank you."

"They're great folks.  Maybe ya can meet them someday."  Timothy said.

"Maybe.  If I ever get back to home, to America."  Miguel was finished.  He put his napkin on the tray and said, "Well, it's been really nice speaking with you.  I'm off to group therapy.  I will check in on Aiden later, and hope to give a quick call to Malcolm.  I never thought I would miss him much, but  . . . I was wrong."

Todd noticed the man was a little wistful, as he carried his tray to the front.

Timothy said, "Sad.  Something very endearing and sorrowful about that boy, eh?"

"Something like that.  Remind me, Dad, to tell Blair to tell that guy to answer his phone.  Maybe Miguel forgets the time difference."

"I'd have to agree.  It always messes me up and confuses me.  But of course, I'm an old man, and y'ar young."

"I don't feel so young.  I have a granddaughter!"

"Yes, indeed.  But in spirit, you're a boy, like Jack."

"Really?  I was thinking more like Sam."

***

Tina was sitting, her hands clasped over Aiden's, her face stained with the remnants of tears.  She had just finished another of her crying bouts, at his bedside.  She hadn't had a meal recently, and couldn't remember the last time she ate.  Worse, she didn't care anymore.

She looked at him, his handsome, chiseled features marred with hospital tape, nose tube and bandages.  She longed to see his stunning blue eyes, and wished, constantly, for them to flutter open and him to say, "Little Tina," to her.

Watching the clock didn't make it happen.

She went into her purse and pulled out the rosary.  It was given to her at St. Anne's and yes, she, Tina Lord Clayton Etcetera, had learned how to say it.  She began it quietly by his bed, forcing her tears to stay back from falling.  "I believe in God, the Father Almighty . . ."

She looked up.  At the door was Sister Rebecca Katherine.  She got off her knees and ran to her, sobbing onto her shoulder.

"There, there, Tina, Dear, it's all right."

"Oh Sister," she cried, "Sister, I can't."

"What can't ya do, Dear?"

"I can't watch him die.  He's so alive.  It's so wrong, like that," she could barely utter her words, and cried more onto her friend's shoulder.

"Tina, Dear, listen.  There is nothing ya can do but let the good Lord do His will.  Ya know that."

She cried like a child in the clergywoman's arms.  She said, "I tried to pray, I was just starting.  How you taught me."

"Ya should finish."

"I can't, Sister."

"Ya can, and ya should.  Why not?  The Lord hears.  Come on," the nun put her arm around Tina and turned her toward the chair.  "Come, let's sit together."

The two of them went to the chairs, one they had brought in, because there were never enough chairs in the room with all the guests he'd been having.  She realized that the RA21 boys had left, after the surgery had failed, and said their own tearful goodbyes, while at the same time, never really admitting that Aiden was gone, or would be.  Most were "I'll see ya later, Pal," and things like that.  But their faces when they left were filled with such sadness, she had crumbled when they departed.  

She picked up the rosary, that was on Aiden's bed, near his hand, where she had dropped it.  She held it and said, "I never cared about this stuff before."

"There's always a first time."

"I . . . feel guilty asking for help when I never cared what God thought."

"I understand, but He does, too.  He doesn't care about the past.  Y'ar His child.."

She closed her eyes.  When she started again, Todd and Timothy walked in.  Todd said, "What the heck?  Who's that strawberry blonde with the beads?"

"Todd," the nun admonished.

"Sister, I missed ya," he imitated.  He went to her and hugged her out of her chair.

"Well, I was not expecting that, nephew.  Brotha," Sister Rebecca Katherine said, now that she was standing.

His face twisted in grief.  "Creena," he croaked out.

She went to him and held him in her arms, and said, "God be with ya, I'm sorry for this trouble."

"Creena, I am glad to see ya, even though it's sad circumstances."

"Heck, the guy's not dead, no wakes allowed," Todd said, and sat by Tina, who was still distraught.

"I was going to pray," Tina said.

"You?  Are you sure God gets your channel?"

"Todd, now," the nun said.

"What?  Just asking."

"Stop it, y'ar acting a little bit like a child."

"See, Dad, you were right earlier."

Timothy could not help but smile, and knew that Todd was deflecting.  He'd forgotten how hard the emotion around his adopted son was for him, but it was showing.  He'd called Todd, the evening before, right after his phone call with Blair, and could tell he had been crying.  Timothy knew, but never acknowledged it or even tried to bring it up.  Todd would be overwhelmed with the emotion of others, and beat it into the ground with snark and humor.  He said, "I was, but rather, ya were, when ya compared y'arself to Sam, not Jack."

"Yeah, that's about right."

The nun said, "Todd, shouldn't ya be getting back to the hotel?  I think that Blair was wanting to talk to ya about y'ar mother and some plans."

"Okay, it is almost about that time when she calls me.  Jewel goes down for a nap and she usually Skypes then.  You're right."  To her amazement, Todd leaned down and kissed his sister's head.  "It's going to be okay," he said, in a different, softer tone.  "He's tough, like his father."

He went toward the door, and stopped in front of Timothy.  "I love you, Old Man, for what it's worth.  Don't give up on him, he's just . . . resting."  And he was gone.

The nun said, wiping under her eyes, "That boy, he never ceases to touch me, right here," she pointed to her heart.

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