Authors: Lynne Hinton
F
ather George was not pleased to be driving Trina to the hospital. It had turned into an all-day event. After receiving the phone call from Malene about Alex’s hospitalization, he had planned to make a visit to Albuquerque to see him, but he had not intended to take anyone with him, especially not Trina. He stopped at the diner for a quick bite before heading out. When she approached him about the ride, he tried to think of a way to tell her no, but her argument for them to go together was persuasive, and in the end he could not refuse her. Besides, George was not quick on his feet. He needed time to think about things before making decisions, especially if some kind of deception was involved. And even though he thought that if he bent the truth a bit and told Trina that he couldn’t drive her, it wouldn’t be held against him as speaking dishonestly but rather seen as an effort to protect necessary boundaries, he just couldn’t tell the girl no. He hadn’t had the nerve to deny her request while others watched. He hadn’t had the sense to just say he couldn’t do it. Once again he was stuck with this bothersome young woman.
His hesitation about driving her didn’t have anything to do with worry about attraction. Even though he felt anxious around her, it wasn’t that he was concerned about staying true to his vow of celibacy. It wasn’t that he believed it was wrong for a man and a woman to be alone in close quarters together, as some of the older priests did. He didn’t want to drive her to Albuquerque or anywhere in Pie Town because he knew it just didn’t look good. He knew that people talked and that scandal made them talk even more. And he knew that even the hint of a scandal for a new priest in his first assignment would stay with him throughout his entire career. No matter how much good he might do in service to his parishioners or how tirelessly he worked for the poor or how diligent he was in his commitment to God, he would be remembered for the whispers that followed him from place to place.
“It doesn’t matter what you do, it’s what the parishioners think you do.” That was Father Leon’s golden rule, and George had taken it to heart. He had already noticed the looks he got, the rumors he heard. Bernie King had even made a point to bring it up at church, asking the priest if Trina came to Confession. George believed that his choice to continue driving around this young displaced woman was going to eventually heap trouble on his head, but in spite of his grave concern about his reputation, it seemed that Trina always got what she wanted from him.
“Alex looks really sick, doesn’t he?” Trina commented as she slid into the passenger’s seat, preparing to head home. She shook her head and then pulled down the visor in front of her. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was bright and shining right into her eyes. “I’ve never been to an intensive care unit. That place is scary.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and turned to George, who was getting into the car. “Can we stop and get something to eat?” she asked. “I didn’t have a chance to grab anything before we left and I’m starved.”
Father George got behind the wheel and pulled the seat belt across his waist. He thought about telling Trina to buckle up, like he did the other time they had been in the car together, but decided against it. “I need to get back for six o’clock Mass,” he responded.
“Oh.” Trina pulled her legs and feet up on the seat and wrapped her arms around her knees.
George turned on the engine and put the car in reverse, and then headed to the exit.
“Malene is exhausted,” she noted.
George nodded.
“I guess she hasn’t slept all night,” she added.
“That was a nice prayer you prayed,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“What did you put on his head?” she asked.
“Oil,” he answered.
“It wasn’t the Last Rites or anything like that, was it?”
Father George shook his head. “Just a prayer of anointment for the sick.” He eased out into the road.
“Good,” Trina responded. “I don’t think I could take it if Alex dies.”
George glanced over at her. “Well, maybe you need to prepare yourself for that in case it happens,” he said. “His condition appears to be very serious.”
She looked at the priest. “No,” she said. “I will do no such thing. Alex is going to be fine. You heard Malene and Roger. He’s come through pneumonia lots of times. He’s strong. This is just a minor setback.”
Father George drove carefully toward the interstate. “I just know the boy is very sick and we must be prepared for the worst.”
“What? No,” Trina said again. “That boy is not going to die, and you need to do whatever you do to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She sat up straight in her seat.
George merged into the southbound traffic. “Trina, I’m a priest, not a miracle worker. And maybe you’re right and the boy will be fine, but I just think we need to—”
“I don’t care what you think we need to do,” she interrupted. “That child cannot die. And you need to make sure he doesn’t.”
George picked up speed and shook his head. “Why do you care so much about Alex? You just met him. And what on earth do you think I can do?” He looked in his rearview mirror, making sure he was not pulling in front of anyone.
“I care about him because he was the first person in this town to actually welcome me here. I like Alex. I like the thought of getting to know him, watching him grow up, and you shouldn’t have to ask me a question like that. And as far as what you can do, why don’t you pray, sprinkle some of that holy water on yourself, use some more of that oil, say some magic words you learned in priest school? I don’t know. I just know there has to be some reason you do this kind of work. You have to have something up your sleeve that keeps an innocent boy from dying.” She slumped down in the seat and stared straight ahead.
George started to laugh.
“This is not funny,” Trina said.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he corrected. “I’m just trying to explain that priests don’t have any magic powers to keep children from dying. If we did, don’t you think there would be a whole lot more people at Mass on Sunday mornings?”
Trina didn’t respond.
George looked over at the young woman. He could see that she was upset. He blew out a breath, trying to think of what else he could say. “I will say the rosary for Alex. I will pray all the designated prayers on his behalf.” He paused. “But, Trina, in the end it isn’t up to a priest whether a child lives or dies. Those decisions are in God’s hands.”
“Then Alex will be fine,” Trina declared.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“If God is good, like you say He is, and it’s up to God if a child lives or dies, then what is good will happen and Alex will live.”
George rubbed his eyes. He was tired from the day’s travel, the visit with the sick child, and Trina’s nonstop chatter. “That sounds logical, but it doesn’t work that way.”
“Then tell me how it works,” Trina wanted to know.
“I don’t know how it works,” he answered her.
“You don’t know how it works? Then why are you in this business?”
George shrugged. “Because it was the only business I was good at,” he replied, surprising himself with his answer. He had never said that to anybody. He didn’t even realize he had thought such a thing.
“Well, you don’t sound very good at it today,” Trina noted.
George drove without responding, and the two of them sat in silence for what seemed to be a long time.
Finally George decided to return to their conversation. He thought that maybe he should offer some counsel to his passenger, that even though he didn’t really like her, perhaps he owed her some kind of comfort. “Look, Trina, bad things just happen. Children sometimes become sick and die. It doesn’t mean God isn’t watching or doesn’t care. These things just happen.” He looked over at the young woman.
“These things just happen?” she repeated. “What is wrong with you?” She glared at George. “Don’t you even care about Alex? I mean, I know we’re new in that town, new to Alex and Roger and Malene, but still, anybody can see that they’re good people. Why aren’t you upset? Why isn’t it important to you that everything is going to be okay?” She thought about what the priest had just said. “And ‘these things just happen’? Is that what you plan to say to Roger and Malene? Because if it is, you might want to rethink your bedside manner, if that’s what you call this kind of counseling.”
“And what do you suggest I say? What do you think I should be feeling at a time like this?” George sounded angry.
“Oh, I don’t know, how about, ‘this is really fucked up’?”
“Okay, I do not need to hear that kind of language in my car!” he shouted.
“All right, how about, ‘this is really messed up’? Or maybe you could show just a little bit of disappointment or anger that this innocent boy is suffering.” She studied George. “Aren’t you even the least bit mad about this? I mean, he’s your parishioner. He’s in your care. Doesn’t it piss you off that God doesn’t hear your prayers?” She turned away, rolled down her window, and stuck out her arm. “Don’t you want God to give you some reason for this? Don’t you want to understand why this is happening?” She turned back to George. “Are you not human at all?”
George could feel his face flush. “I don’t have to answer to you,” he responded.
“Oh right, because I’m not Catholic. Because I’m a woman. Because you think I’m just a common slut.”
“You don’t know anything about me and what I feel or what I think about God.”
“Well, please tell me, Father George. I’m dying to know what is going on inside you since the only emotion I ever experience from you is annoyance at me or fear that somebody is going to see you with me. Honestly, I’m not sure if you feel anything at all, since you seem to button all your other emotions behind that black shirt and stupid white collar.”
“You don’t know me,” he said again.
“Right,” Trina responded. “So let me know you. Tell me what you feel about a boy you think is going to die. Tell me what you say to God when you think those kinds of thoughts.”
George didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead.
“Just like I said,” Trina noted.
“How many more times do you plan on breaking into the church to have sex with Robbie Chavez?” George asked. Trina appeared surprised at the question. “Guess you think I’m an idiot as well as a phony,” he said.
Trina didn’t answer.
“I could report you to the police for breaking into the church.” He waited. “I know there has been more than one night you’ve been in there. I know you stole the communion wine and that you think nobody sees you or knows what you’re doing in there with that guy.”
Trina rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Go ahead, George. Turn me in. That will really help you look better in front of the church folk. You can say you’ve caught a fornicator and a heathen, even though I have not had sex with Robbie Chavez. That should really get you some bonus points. Maybe you could even lead them in burning me at the stake. You priests seem to have a history with that kind of thing, right?”
George didn’t reply right away. He saw the turnoff for Highway 60 and Pie Town, and he signaled to exit the interstate. “You just need to shut up about the things you don’t know anything about. You just need to mind your own business and not worry about me and my faith and worry instead about the trouble you’re making for yourself in this town.”
“Just let me out here,” Trina said, sitting up in her seat and reaching for the door. “I’ll find another ride the rest of the way.”
George didn’t slow down. “I am not letting you out seventy miles from Pie Town,” he responded.
“Because God can’t be trusted to take care of me?” she asked. “Or because you’re worried I might tell somebody you let me walk home?”
“Because it’s not safe and you’re being immature.” He picked up speed.
“George, you either let me out of this car or I swear I will open the door and jump.” Trina reached for the handle.
Father George had had enough. He pulled over. “This is your decision,” he said. “I am not responsible for what happens to you.”
“Well, what a relief for you,” Trina said as she opened the car door and stepped out. “Good thing I’m not asking you to be responsible for me because it sounds like that may be the real reason you’re a priest after all. You don’t have to be responsible for anything. Just let God take the blame. I’m sure that makes him real proud.” She slammed the door and headed across the road.
Waiting a few seconds, George considered ordering her to get back in the car or putting on his emergency lights and following her for the last seventy miles of the trip. He glanced down at the clock on the dashboard. It was four-thirty. He had an hour and a half before he had to say Mass.
Father George pulled back into his lane and sped past the girl on the other side of the road. He had not felt this angry in a long time. He drove west and never looked back.
H
ey, Lena,” Roger whispered from the hospital door, calling out to his ex-wife, who was asleep in the chair beside Alex’s bed.
She didn’t respond.
“Malene,” he whispered, and she blinked her eyes. “Hey, why don’t you go home? I’m here for the long haul.” Roger had just gotten to the hospital. It was the fifteenth day of Alex’s stay in the intensive care unit. He stood at the door until Malene noticed him standing there.
She yawned and raised her arms above her head and stretched. She had only recently fallen asleep. “What time is it?” she asked.
Roger glanced at his watch. “Eight-thirty,” he answered. “I’m prepared to stay a couple of days. Why don’t you go home and come back on the weekend?” He moved into the room and stood next to the little boy.
“He’s doing much better,” Malene told him. She slid her hand across the top of her head, trying to fix her hair. “And he sat up for most of the afternoon yesterday,” she added.
Roger nodded. “Is his fever down?”
“It’s been normal since yesterday evening when I called you,” she replied. She stood up from the chair where she had been resting and began folding the blanket she had been using. “I think we’re finally out of the woods.”
Roger stepped into the room and moved over to his grandson. He stood by the bed and reached for Alex. An IV line was taped to the back of Alex’s hand, and his arm was bruised from all the needlesticks. When Roger touched him, Alex opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and smiled.
“Well, look who’s awake,” Roger said.
“Hey, Sheriff,” the boy said, his voice sounding soft and weak. “You coming to take me in?”
Roger smiled. “That depends. Have you broken the law?”
“I stole Grandma’s heart,” he replied. It was a familiar conversation for the two of them.
“Well, that may require jail time, trooper,” Roger said.
Alex winced as he tried to sit up a bit in the bed.
“You hurting?” Roger asked.
Alex shook his head. “No, I feel a lot better,” he replied.
Roger grinned. “Then maybe we’ll get you home soon,” he noted.
“That’d be nice,” Alex responded.
He closed his eyes, and Roger stood next to the bed for a few minutes, watching as the boy slept. He finally walked around the bed, pulled out another chair from near the door, and sat next to where Malene had been sleeping. She had moved over to the mirror and was brushing her hair.
“You look terrible,” Roger commented.
“Well, thank you,” Malene said. “That’s always nice to hear.” She moved back over to her seat.
“You know what I mean,” Roger said. “Go home. Take a shower in your own bathroom. Eat at your own table. Take a nap.”
Malene considered the instruction.
“I left Danny in charge for the rest of the week. I brought my stuff. Go,” he ordered. “The car is parked on the top level in the lot.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out the set of keys, and placed them on the table between them.
Malene nodded. She blew out a breath. “He does seem better,” she said. She glanced over to watch Alex as he slept. “I need to go by work and make sure they’re handling things okay. I know I left them in a mess. We were already understaffed before I took off.”
Roger stuck his hands back in his pockets. “I went by yesterday. Christine’s pulling double shifts, and a couple of the nurses are working overtime. They’re fine. They asked about you.”
Malene reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle of water. She took a swallow. “You seen Daddy?” she asked.
Roger nodded. “We had dinner together last night at the diner. He seems pretty worried. He wanted to come with me today, but he decided he would cook some stew and take it over to your house for you when you come home.” Roger stretched out his legs in front of him. “He figures he’ll drive you when you’re ready to come back.”
“So you told him you were sending me home,” Malene commented. “This is already planned.”
Roger grinned. “You need to go home. You’ve been here the entire two weeks, Lena.”
Malene took another swallow of water. “I just couldn’t leave him this time,” she commented. “I wasn’t sure he was going to pull through.”
Roger glanced over at their grandson. “He looks good now,” he noted.
Malene followed his eyes. “Finally,” she responded. “But, Roger, this time was so much worse.” She turned back to her ex-husband and shook her head. “I don’t know how many more times he can do this.”
“Well, the good thing is that today we don’t have to worry about that,” Roger said. “He came through this crisis, and that’s enough for now.”
Malene glanced up at the door as a nurse walked into the room. “Hello, Mr. B.,” she greeted the sheriff. “You here to relieve Malene?”
Roger stood up. “I’m trying to get her to go home,” he replied. “But you know what a hard-head she is.”
The nurse began checking Alex’s IV bags, the line in his vein. “She loves this boy” was all she said. Syringe in hand, she pushed the fluid into a portal in the IV line. “The doctor wants him to keep taking the antibiotic,” she explained. “But only for a couple more days. It looks like the infection is mostly gone.”
Alex opened his eyes and smiled and then fell back to sleep.
“She tell you about last night?” the nurse asked Roger.
Malene answered before Roger could reply. “Hadn’t gotten to that yet,” she said.
The nurse shook her head. “We’re still talking about it,” she said. She pulled out a pad of paper from her front pocket and made a note. “Alex is a special kid.” She grabbed the stethoscope from around her neck, placed the end on the boy’s chest, listened for a few seconds, then looked at his vitals blinking on the screen above his bed. She took the stethoscope out of her ears and wrapped it back around her neck. “Sounds good,” she reported. “Finally normal.”
“No rattles?” Malene asked.
The nurse shook her head. “Nope, sounds clear. I think the staff wants to do something special for Alex,” she said.
Roger appeared confused. “Why?” he asked as he sat back down.
“I’ll explain it to you later,” Malene replied.
Having finished what she came in to do, the nurse gently patted Alex on the foot. “He saved that little girl’s life.” She shook her head as she watched her patient sleeping. “I still don’t know how he knew,” she said. “Children . . . I guess they’re just more attuned to stuff than we adults.” She sighed. “Okay, I’ll be back after a while to change that IV and to give him a bath. I’m hoping we can take him out for a spin around the unit later.” She smiled. “I know he’d like to visit some of the other patients.”
Roger turned to his ex-wife to hear the story about what had happened the previous night.
Malene met his eyes. “Alex had a dream,” she said. “He woke up about three in the morning and called for me. He told me to go and get the nurse.” She glanced over at the boy. “I thought he was sick or needed something, and I kept telling him that I would get him what he needed, but he insisted that I go and get the nurse on call.”
Roger waited. “Was something wrong?” he asked.
“Not with him,” Malene answered. “He had a dream or a message. I don’t know.” She stopped.
“What?” Roger asked.
“He told the nurse that the little girl down the hall . . . the little girl who came in a couple of days ago from the car accident I told you about, remember?” she asked.
Roger nodded. He recalled hearing about the terrible crash that had killed both of the child’s parents and her two siblings and almost killed her. The staff at the hospital had been trying to contact family members, but they lived out of the country and had not been located. Malene had called Roger to see if he knew any way to assist them. He had made some calls to other sheriff’s offices and to a few contacts across the border into Mexico, but he had not found any additional information.
“He told the nurse that something was wrong and the little girl was in trouble,” Malene reported. “We tried to talk Alex out of it, tell him that he was just having a dream. We thought maybe his fever had spiked again, but he finally got so adamant that she go down the hall that she did.” Malene shook her head again.
“And?” Roger asked. He had moved onto the edge of his seat, waiting for the rest of the story.
“And somehow the electric cord to her alarms had come unplugged,” Malene said. “When the nurse entered her room, the little girl had gone into cardiac arrest and wasn’t breathing. They did a code blue and saved her.” She took the last sip of her water.
“And Alex knew this?” Roger asked.
Malene nodded. “He knew it before it happened. It was crazy.”
“Has he talked about it this morning?” Roger asked.
Malene shrugged. “He woke up at six and asked about her, but that’s been it.”
Roger looked over at his grandson. He knew Alex was a special boy, had some relationship with Malene’s dead mother, was more sensitive than any child he had ever met, but Roger had never known anything like this to happen. He glanced back over to Malene. “And how is the little girl?” he asked.
“Critical, but alive,” she replied. “And still has no family with her.”
“I’m sure the local force will figure it out,” Roger responded. “They’ll track down the grandparents.” He watched Alex sleeping, and the conversation paused between the two.
“What do you think this means?” Malene finally asked.
Roger shrugged. “It just means he’s more special than we even knew.”
Malene didn’t respond. “I’m afraid it means he doesn’t have much more time here,” she said softly.
Roger turned to his ex-wife. “I don’t think that’s what it means at all,” he said. “Why would that have to be what this means?”
“Mama,” she answered.
“What about your mama?” he asked.
“You know that she had this extra way of knowing things just before she died,” Malene replied. “She knew Angel was going to give us trouble. She knew we were getting divorced. She knew Lawrence was getting deployed.” Malene shook her head. “It was just like this,” she said. “And it was just a couple of months before she passed.” A tear ran down her cheek.
Roger leaned over and wiped the tear from Malene’s face. “It’s not the same,” he said. “She was sick and he’s just . . . he’s just a little boy.”
“Still. . . .” It was all Malene could say.
“Still nothing,” Roger noted. “It’s not the same,” he repeated. He turned back to look again at his grandson, who was resting more peacefully than Roger had seen him do in more than two weeks. “He’s just special” was all he could think to say while Malene nodded, dropping her face away from him and trying to trust what Roger was trying so hard to make them both believe.