Becca (19 page)

“Then what
is
okay?”

“That roll of quarters in
your pocket.”

“Totally involuntary. I’m
sorry.”

She looked up at him. Her
green eyes were moist with muted tears. “It kind of feels good—I mean, like
nothing’s wrong.” She smiled.

Bert could not smile. He
brought her face against his chest again. She held him tightly.

“Doctor London had some
good news, though,” she said, her voice a mumble. “He said it’s a primary
tumor—it didn’t come from somewhere else. But with that good news he also said
it might spread, so he’s going to start treatment right away.”

“Can he take it out?”

“He’s going to go back
in—that’s a helluva way to talk about an operation, isn’t it? ‘Go back in,’
like he’s climbing into something. He says if he can get it all, I have a
pretty good chance.”

“A pretty good chance of
what?”

“He didn’t say. I guess
he meant a pretty good chance of not losing my leg or my life.”

“Shit,” Bert said in
sheer frustration.

“I’m going into the
hospital tomorrow. He’s going back in on Thursday.” She moved and Bert released
her. “I’m scared, Josh. Let’s go to our favorite restaurant,” she said and
moved past him and off the porch.

Bert followed her. She flipped him her
keys.

V

“Do you pray, Josh?”
Becca asked when they took a seat in their booth.

“Do I pray?”

“An echo,” she said
sarcastically. “Yes, you know, down on your knees, hands clasped, head bowed,
eyes closed—do you do that?”

“Can’t remember the last
time I did.”

“Figures. I need some
prayers right now and I’m with a guy who doesn’t do them.”

He rested his hand on
hers. Her skin was satiny smooth and hot. She flipped her hand over and
entwined her fingers in his. Her eyes sparkled; her mouth formed a smile so
beautiful he stared at it and then smiled himself. “I’ll pray for you.”

She squeezed his hand. “I
need it.”

“What about you, Becca,
will pray for me?”

She watched their hands a
moment and then shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess? It’s
important that I pray for you but it’s not so important to pray for me?”

She slipped his hand from
his and leaned back in the booth, twirling her glass of Coke.

“Becca?”

She looked at him and
shrugged. “I don’t pray.”

“So that’s why you need
someone to pray for you because you can’t pray for yourself?”

“Don’t laugh at me, Josh.
Don’t.” She leaned forward. “I gave up on praying.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t work for me. I’ve
gotten down on my knees—eyes closed, bowed my head et cetera and I’ve cried and
begged that He help me and what do you think He did? He
ignored
me. Maybe
He didn’t hear
me. Maybe He was punishing me. Maybe I didn’t say the
right words, or He was too busy to listen to me—I don’t
know.
But He did
nothing
when I needed him to help me.”

“Becca, sometimes we
can’t stop what happens—”

She reached across the
table and put her finger against his lips to quiet him. “Stop,” she said. “Yes
we
can
stop things from happening. My father…my
father
could have
helped Alexander and then I wouldn’t have had to pray.
God
could have
helped
me
but he chose not to.”

After a pause, Becca
said, “I
want
to pray for you, Josh. But I’ve lost my faith. Not that I
was devout Catholic before, mind you.” She sighed heavily. “Have I told you
about Alexander?”

“He’s the one who went to
Vietnam.”

“Yes, but he didn’t have
to go to Vietnam. He went for me. Because he loved me. Let’s go, Josh.”

“Where to?”

“Just drive me until I
tell you to stop.”

Becca turned on the radio
when she got into the car. They traveled back across the bridge and on the
other side, Becca gave Bert directions, and some after some fifteen minutes of
silence, she told him to pull into a shopping center.

“Go to the florist’s,”
she said. Josh pulled against the curb and Becca grabbed some money from her
pocket book. “Wait for me.” She was back in less than five minutes with two
roses. “I’ll give you directions.”

After a couple of
minutes, Becca said, “I’m part of your life now, Josh.”

“You are?”

“You’re part of mine.”

“I am?”

“Stop it. Just
stop
it.
Quit acting so dumb, okay?”

“Am I acting dumb?”

“And quit—all the time
you comment with a question.”

“I do?”

She punched his shoulder
hard enough to make him wince and then she sat back in her seat and looked down
at the flowers.

They rode in silence for
a few minutes and then Becca pointed at a gate up ahead. Rain began to spot the
windshield. “Turn here.”

He made the turn and then
cruised slowly along the narrow road. Headstones of different shapes and sizes
sprouted up on the hillside, which overlooked the Allegheny River. Becca
directed him into a cul-de-sac and he parked.

“Okay, Becca, what the
heck are we doing here?” he asked.

She looked out of the
windshield, as if searching for something. “Visiting. Let me show you.” She
opened her door. “I come here a lot. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come
next.”

Bert had no choice but to
follow her down a row of headstones until Becca stopped suddenly and her body
grew stiff. She said nothing and stared at the headstone.

It read:

ALEXANDER JOHN MANSFIELD

SEPTEMBER 24, 1948 - FEBRUARY 1, 1970

BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

LIFE ENDS WITH DEATH. LOVE IS ETERNAL.

Bert felt Becca’s eyes on
him, as if she watched for a reaction. “Alexander,” he said.

“Yes. He went to Vietnam
whole and came back in pieces.”

“Oh…Becca—”

“I didn’t get to see him,
if you know what I mean. Just a box.”

Josh hunched his shoulders
against the raindrops that began to fall. “I’m…sorry.”

“He was more than my
boyfriend, Josh.” She took Bert’s hand in hers. He grasped it reassuringly. “No
joking now, Bertram. Answer me. Do you think I’m a nice girl?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there could
be anything that could change your mind?”

“No.”

“You don’t know a lot
about me.”

“I know enough.”

“No you don’t. I might be
someone you could never love, and that bothers me. But still I love you anyway.”
He did not respond to that as he stared at the headstone. “You don’t believe
me, do you?”

He looked at her. “I
believe you’re a nice girl, yes.”

She brushed hair from her
eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Josh. Please don’t joke now.”

“I’m not joking, Becca.”

“Ever love somebody?”

“No.” Her eyes lingered
on his for a moment and he saw a look pass across her face he interpreted as
disappointment or perhaps sadness.

“You should try it some
time,” Becca said. She twirled a rose between her finger and thumb, then knelt
down and placed it against the headstone. “I didn’t have a steady boyfriend in
high school—I know that’s hard to believe, but even though I was cheerleader
and voted the best legs I did not have a boyfriend.”

“Hard to imagine,” Bert
said, watching her as she rested her hand reverently on the headstone and
smiled a sad smile.

“I enjoyed not having a
boyfriend because I liked dating
all
the guys. My parents did not want
me to date until I was senior. Imagine that. I met guys everywhere—dances, movies,
parties, and I guess my parents kind of knew that but didn’t say anything
because I wasn’t serious about any one of them. And then I met Alex—you’re not
going to believe this—at
my
work. He came into the Foodland—that’s where
I worked then—and we just started talking. He was in college. I don’t know why
he should have been attracted to me. I saw him and it was like
wham
this
guy’s the one for me. Don’t ask me to explain it. I can’t. I just really fell
for hm. We had to keep our relationship secret because there was the age
difference and all. He took a big chance getting serious with me because I was
sixteen. I was jailbait…I guess that’s the term. But even if we were the same
age, my family, and friends wouldn’t approve. He was like you, Josh.”

“Like me?”

“Alex’s mother was black;
his father white.” She stood up.

“It’s raining harder,
Becca. Do you want to go to the car?”

“No, let me tell you
about this. Here. Because I need to do this…
here.

“My parents found out—I
had to tell them eventually because…” She paused and heaved a sigh. “I wanted
to marry Alex, but my father said no, and he had Alex arrested for statutory rape
and corruption of a minor.

“Alex was in college so
he was exempt from the draft. But he lost that exemption when he dropped out of
college. But if we had gotten married, he would have been exempt because of us.
Oh, but my father made sure that didn’t happen. My father had him arrested, and
everything changed. The judge felt sorry for us and gave Alex a choice: go to
the Army or go to jail. I guess he figured that we’d be better off if Alex was
not in prison, since he’d be able to support us while in the Army. Alex
enlisted, and the judge dropped the charges.”

“Us?”

She regarded Bert with
eyes filled with sorrow and something else that Bert thought might be worry. “You
said you liked me a lot and nothing would change that.”

“I mean it.”

“Well…I’ve got a
confession. Look.” She went around to the other side of the headstone and knelt
down. Her hand rested on a small brass plaque set in the ground in front of the
headstone. He read the inscription. She placed the rose on top of the plaque
when he finished.

ALEXANDER JOHN MANSFIELD, JUNIOR

June 1, 1970   June 10 1970

“Oh…Becca,” Bert said,
stunned.

Becca nodded and rubbed
her fingers across the letters, letting them linger on each one for a second or
two, as if drawing something from it

“My father was horrified
at the thought of having Alex as a son in law. He was disgusted with me and…well,
he just…he just turned so
cold.
Alex didn’t have to go over
there.
I
prayed hard and long for God not to send him to war. Every night I did that.
Every
night.
He didn’t listen.

“My father didn’t want a
bastard grandchild and told me to get an abortion. My mom stopped
that
from
happening. She didn’t want me to marry Alex, either, but she didn’t want me to
abort her grandchild and decided I should give the baby up for adoption. My
parents fought bitterly about it.” She sighed. “Alex’s parents wanted no part
of me or the baby, and they said they did not want to raise it.

“My father was so angry,
so
horrible
because I refused to get an abortion. He made my life
miserable—so bad that I ran away once. I stayed away a month until the cops
tracked me down and brought me back. My father really let me have it for that.

“I told Alex that when he
came back from Vietnam and I’d go away with him—married or not.” She dabbed at
her eyes with a sleeve. Rain, not more than a drizzle now, covered her with a
sheen of droplets. “But he came back this way, so that pretty much screwed that
up.” She traced Alex’s name on the headstone again, slowly, reverently.

“Alex’s family blamed me
for his death. It was my fault I was pregnant, my fault that he’d gone to
Vietnam, and my fault that he didn’t come back alive. They wouldn’t let me come
into the funeral home when they were there, so I had sneak in after they left
in the evening, or before they came in during the day—the funeral director felt
sorry for me. I saw Alex—I mean his box with his picture on top, and I mourned
for him and said my goodbyes to him alone. I didn’t go to his funeral—I waited
until it was over and the grave was finished before I came here.

“I received his GI
insurance. His parents demanded that I share it with them, but I said it was
for his child. We fought over the headstone, but they couldn’t afford one, so
his grandmother—who seemed to have some sense of feelings for me—told me to
provide one that wouldn’t offend the family. I couldn’t mention he was a
father.

“I never had contact with
them again…until after baby Alex was born. I prayed, Josh. I prayed that
everything would work out for my baby and me. Yeah, right. Some help God was
then,
too.
Baby Alex was beautiful.” She shrugged wearily and began to rise.