A Small Matter (15 page)

Vickie sniffed the air, detecting a slightly
sour scent. With alarm, she realized it was coming from Mulroney.
Her mind reeled with the effort to contain her fear. She’d smelled
that smell once before--at the death of her mother! She glanced at
him, but he was still holding steady, albeit it seemed to her his
face had paled considerably. Father Larry was droning on--would he
never stop? She wondered if she’d make it to the vows.

“Within the bonds of marriage,” Father said,
“we find the highest level of commitment. We are not seeking in
marriage a life of comfort and luxury for ourselves--instead we are
embracing the opportunity to sacrifice ourselves for one
another.

“We do not take this commitment lightly--but
instead, we do everything in our power to live up to the
sacrificial spirit of marriage--we accept any amount of personal
pain and suffering that God allows if it will serve for the good of
our marriage partner.”

God help me, Vickie prayed. May my pain be of
some value tonight.

“Mulroney,” Father said, “I want to charge
you with the responsibility not merely to be a good provider for
your wife financially, but also to be a shining example of
spiritual providence to her.

“Vickie, I likewise charge you with the
responsibility not merely to be a good wife to your husband, but to
be also a source of light and faith to him, no matter what the
personal cost to you.”

Yes, she thought. I will. No matter what the
cost.

“I further charge the two of you,” Father
said, “to conduct your marriage in such a manner as to continually
point the way to God, recognizing that you have your example of
Christian marriage to share with others--an example which should be
an encouragement to anyone who comes to you in need of faith, hope,
and strength.”

“Excuse me, Father,” Vickie said. “But I’m
having a problem with pain.”

Mulroney put his arm around her. “How bad is
it?” he said. She noticed a slight sheen of oily sweat covering his
face.

“I wanted to be alert for the ceremony,” she
said, “so I stopped taking my pills--I think I’ve made a
mistake--it’s really starting to hurt me bad.” In spite of herself,
her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m spoiling
everything.”

“Why don’t we stop for a moment,” Father
Larry said, “while somebody gets your pills for you?”

“No,” Vickie said. “I want to go on--but I
wonder if we could hurry it up a little. Also, I need someone to
hold me up--I’m starting to lose feeling in my legs.”

“I’ll hold her up,” Mulroney said. But in
spite of his promise, she could feel his arm around her waist
growing weak. She leaned against him to better her chances of
remaining upright.

Father Larry moved closer. “Vickie and
Mulroney,” he said. “Have you come here freely and without
reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“We have,” they said. Mulroney kept shifting
his weight not to lose his grip on her. In the corner, Kilkenney
was acting agitated. Perhaps he could smell the sour smell coming
from Mulroney as she could. The pain in her back glowed hotter and
hotter, shutting off the feeling in her legs.

“Will you love and honor each other,” Father
Larry said, “as a man and wife for the rest of your lives?”

“We will.”

“Face each other and join your right hands
and declare after me,” Father said.

“Dalk,” Vickie whispered. “Hold me up.” She
felt her brother’s powerful arm slip around her waist, not only
holding her upright, but lifting her clear of the ground. Dalk was
solid as stone.

Father Larry began whispering the cues,
guiding Mulroney through the vows.

“I, Patrick,” Mulroney said, “take you,
Vickie, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times
and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor
you all the days of my life.” His grip on her hand weakened to the
point of soft, sweaty fragility, like a baby’s. He barely seemed to
be breathing.

Father began whispering her cues, leading her
on.

“I, Vickie,” she said, “take you, Patrick, to
be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and bad,
in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the
days of my life.”

Father Larry stood back. “What God has
joined,” he said loudly, “men must not divide.”

Mulroney lifted her veil. There was something
wrong. He was shaking badly, all color gone from his face, all
strength from his mighty frame. Kilkenney bumped and thrashed and
hissed loudly from his cage in the corner. Mulroney grabbed her
face and planted a whisper of a kiss on her lips.

“I’ll see you in the morning, my love,” he
said, and collapsed in a heap at her feet. Reflexively, Dalk
reached for him, letting go of Vickie. Her legs dead to all
feeling, she collapsed atop her husband. Mulroney’s eyes, wide and
staring, looked through her to a place far away, a place--she
realized deep inside her soul--where it was always morning. She
felt the commotion around her, the screams of the women, the hands
lifting her up, the wail from her own depths, all in a blur, the
outpouring of which bespoke but one thing to all--one thing
everybody understood.

Mulroney was dead.

Vickie felt the feeling return to her legs
and with the aid of Dalk, shakily rose to her feet. The crash team
swooped in and loaded Mulroney onto the gurney. They’d try to save
him. It was in the nature of things that they should do so, should
try to bring him back. But she knew it wasn’t possible.

“Yes, my love,” she said. “Yes. I’ll see you
in the morning.”

Chapter 23

“I’m confused and frightened,” Vickie said.
“Right now it’s all I can do to hold on to the memory of what it
felt like to be human.”

“Dr. Lerner’s on her way here,” Dalk said.
“There’s a chance they can bring Mulroney back. They’ve got him
hooked up to the machines. Don’t you think we should wait and
see?”

The brother and sister stood beside the limo
at the entrance to the Medical Center, attempting to answer the
question of what to do next, in keeping with the traditions of
those who had occasion to frequent hospitals only to find
themselves at the thresholds of unknowns. Dalk had finished loading
a caged Kilkenney into the limo. A light rain misted the mercury
vapor glare surrounding them, but a percolation of thunder promised
imminently a larger delivery of the wet stuff.

“I’m going home,” Vickie said. “Dr. Lerner
isn’t going to bring Mulroney back. Nobody is--he’s already gone--I
felt him leave when he gave me the kiss. He went right out through
the top of his head and took off into the sky. He’s not coming
back.”

“Where is home for you now?” Dalk said. “Our
old place in the Valley? Or are you, as Mrs. Mulroney, going over
to your new place, which used to be Mulroney’s place, in Santa
Monica?”

“I’m going back to the Valley,” Vickie said.
“I need solitude right now. I’m not up to seeing the new place. I
may never be up to seeing it.”

“I’m worried about you,” Dalk said.

“Worried about what?” she said. “Just because
I watched my husband die at my feet, and I’ve had 6 hours of sleep
in the last 24, and I’m at a standoff with food? The truth is, I
have to go home and sleep. I’m too tired to grieve--that takes
energy. At this point, I can’t feel a thing. I probably wouldn’t
rush back down here even if Mulroney should come back from the
dead. I’m too tired. If I could get my strength back, things would
be a lot better. I could at least do the things I’m supposed to be
doing at a time like this. I hope the others in our little wedding
party don’t think it odd that I split from the scene right as
Mulroney entered his hour of need.”

“No sweat,” Dalk said. “Everybody knows
you’ve done all you can.”

“I realize how bitter I must sound,” she
said. “I guess what worries me most is that I’m not feeling sorry
for myself so much as I’m finding it harder and harder to come up
with a reason for being here among the living myself. About all I
can think of is that somebody’s got to stick around to take care of
this stupid cat of Mulroney’s.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come with you?”
Dalk said. “You might need me.”

“You’re staying here with the others,” Vickie
said. “You can do more good here than with me. It’ll be a chance
for you and Mary-Jo to spend some time together--sorry it has to be
during a nightmare like this.”

“I’ll admit I’m stunned,” Dalk said. “I feel
cheated, somehow. I loved Mulroney--and I never even got to wish
the two of you good luck.”

“You’re such a rock,” Vickie said. “You were
so calm when he collapsed.”

“It scared me,” Dalk said. “When something
like this happens, it’s a shock. I guess we’re both in shock. It’ll
wear off soon, and then we’ll do our crying.”

“Dalk,” Vickie said, “what on earth is
happening to us?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I lost a friend and
I met what may be my new wife. I don’t know where I’m at right now.
The only thing I am sure of is that it’s a long way from here to
ever getting back to normal.”

The wind began to gust, wrapping the Flower
of Ireland tight against Vickie. Along with the gust came the
previously threatened big fat drops of rain. Vickie stepped into
the limo and Dalk handed in to her the little suitcase holding the
folded train of the dress. He shut the door and she powered down
the window. “Call me when Dr. Lerner’s through trying to do the
impossible,” she said. She signaled to the driver and they pulled
slowly away from the Medical Center. Vickie didn’t look back. The
big fat drops coalesced into a deluge as the limo splashed through
the streets of Westwood. She opened the window a crack and felt the
spitting hiss of the water on her face.

“It’s you and me now,” she said to Kilkenney.
“I’m sure you’re tired of that cage. If you weren’t so big, I’d let
you out to stretch your legs. When we get home, you’ll have the run
of the house, I promise you.” She intercom’d the driver. “Stop
someplace and pickup some kitty litter, a bunch of cat food, and a
cat box.”

She could no longer breathe freely, it
feeling as though there was a blockage in her lungs, a deep
stabbing pain somewhere above her stomach but behind it, towards
the back, which impeded inhalation beyond a certain point. She
fished a small bottle of Black Jack from the limo bar and washed
down two more Mulroney Specials before laying back on the seat,
supine and immobile, waiting for the meds to kick in, meanwhile
reduced to taking short, frequent breaths like that of a panting
dog.

“I can’t face you yet, Mulroney,” she
whispered. “I can’t face you lying in your bed hooked up to the
life support machines. This isn’t what I bargained for. I can’t
face cleaning up the mess you left behind. You big ape. You were
supposed to take care of me. You were supposed to help me die. But
I forgive you. I know God will have mercy on your soul. When you
see Him, tell Him about me. Tell Him you left a widow behind and
she doesn’t know what to do. Be sure and do that for me. Be sure
and tell Him.”

The limo sped up as it merged onto the
northbound 405 back to the Valley.

“Oh God, I am alone,” she said. As if to
disagree, Kilkenney coughed and stirred. With a sigh, she gave
herself up to rain, and rushing blackness, falling into a dark,
dreamless sleep.

Chapter 24

It was nearly 5 a.m. by the time Vickie keyed
open the front door on her Tampa Avenue home. Had anyone been
watching, the sight of a woman in a bridal gown carrying a small
suitcase--supervising the offloading from a stretch limo of a large
cat cage--complete with large cat and all necessary supportive
appurtenances to the care and keeping therewith--said sight and
observation of the watcher might have seemed surreal to the point
of giving rise to uneasy premonitions of things not right. A closer
observation would have revealed the woman’s face to be drawn and
shadowed in such a manner as to predict the possibility that a
chain of death, begun elsewhere, would not be stopping elsewhere,
but instead continuing on through the lives of woman and beast.

But there was nobody watching the surreal
ballet of bride, chauffeur and feline, due in part to the early
hour and more in part to the steady torrent of rain which bubbled
down from the low-hanging clouds, filling the air with a low-grade,
hissing rumble--a deluge which promised no sunrise--devoid, in
fact, of any hint of crepuscularity--and which further seemed bent
on overwhelming the massive network of Los Angeles’ concrete canals
and deeply cut streets, the end result of which would be massive
flooding on a grand scale.

Vickie heavily tipped and dismissed her
driver, shut the door against the downpour and flipped open
Kilkenney’s cage door. The cat departed in a flash towards whatever
place cats go to get their bearings before taking on new
realms.

Vickie set upon the counter a small suitcase
into which was folded the magnificent Flower of Ireland bridal veil
and train, diaphanously emblazoned with the image of the Blessed
Virgin. Unlike Kilkenney, and therefore having no secret place to
go to assess her new realm, she settled instead for removing her
vial of Mulroney Specials from her bag and entering the living
room, perching herself on the edge of the big red wing chair, her
face without expression. She examined the pills. The capsules
remaining numbered about fifty, but they were not all alike. Mixed
among the familiar white-and-green specked caps were several
unmarked bright green caps. The sheer sloppiness of Mulroney’s
handing over to her a vial contaminated by various and sundry
unmarked pills annoyed her, so much so that the annoyance rose
quickly to a heated anger at the entire sorry mess of the previous
hours of her life.

“Mulroney!” she cried. “You were supposed to
live longer than that!”