Songs in Ordinary Time (95 page)

She laughed bitterly into the kettle’s mounting steam.

“Don’t laugh, Helen,” he said quickly. “I mean it. This time it’s going to work.”

“I’ve heard
that
before.”

“But it was never like this before. You see, I have this calm inside, this feeling of…of goodness. Of peace.”

“Well, that’s typical,” she snorted. “Thanks to you, everyone else’s life is in shambles, and still you have the nerve to sit there with that smug look on your face because you’ve managed to stay sober two whole weeks.” She waved her hand contemptuously. “Don’t tell me about peace, or calm, or goodness.”

“Eight weeks, Helen. I’ve been sober eight weeks!”

She glanced back at him. “My God, you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He stared at her a moment, fists clenched, then threw back his head and laughed. “You can’t stand it, can you? It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it? But no matter what happens, no matter what you do or say, I am a calm, happy man.”

He left the kitchen chuckling. It was true. Goddamn it, it was true. He could still hear the lawn mower across the street as he went into the bathroom and filled the sink with water. When the mower stopped, angry voices rose from the street. He ran into the bedroom and watched through the window. A long, black car was idling in the rectory driveway. Two priests, one on either side of Father Gannon, were walking him to the car while 464 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

Howard followed with the suitcases. Father Gannon turned suddenly and embraced Howard, their faces as close as if they were about to kiss. The priests grabbed Father Gannon and hurried him toward the car. When they got him into the back seat, they took the suitcases from Howard and tossed them into the car. One priest slid behind the wheel, and the other climbed in back beside Father Gannon. Howard waved goodbye as the car pulled onto the street. Sam looked toward the rectory and in a second-floor window saw the Monsignor’s haggard face. They both ducked back.

He returned to the bathroom and lathered his face with shaving cream.

There was an uneasiness in his stomach. He could not raise his eyes to the mirror. Who was he kidding? Helen was right, he
was
ridiculous, a complete failure who had destroyed everything. The ruin and rubble were everywhere.

Nothing ever changed. No matter how hard he tried. Nothing. He felt panicky. He’d call in sick, go back to bed, and sleep. No. No, goddamn it, not this time. Whatever had happened was not his concern. It was out there, and he was here, in this moment, his toes curling on the cool tile floor, his hand lifting the razor to shave, simply to shave. That was all he had to do right now, all he had to concentrate on, to shave, just to shave. He took a deep breath and began, staring at himself, leaning so close his breath fogged the mirror.

The phone was ringing. Helen came down the hallway, complaining how sick she was of “tenants and their leaky faucets and their plugged-up toilets and their broken windows…”

The phone would never ring, he thought, if it weren’t for the tenants—and old Mr. Cushing, who called Renie every morning at six-thirty to say he was ready to be picked up. “Nothing but a glorified chauffeur,” Helen had muttered the other day as Renie headed out the door in his new gray suit and tie.

“What?” Renie had asked, stepping back into the kitchen. “What was that?”

Helen had hurried in to change Bridget’s diaper.

“Sam!” she called now, and the razor jerked, knicking his chin. He opened the door, pressing his finger to the cut.

“It’s for you,” she said holding out the phone. “It’s her.”

He grabbed a towel and dabbed his bleeding chin. “Marie!” he said happily before the phone was even at his ear. “How are you? It’s so nice to get a call from you. I mean that,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Helen lingered by the table. He motioned her away, and she reached up and snatched the stained towel from him.

“How’s Alice doing?” he asked, and seeing Helen roll her eyes, he waved his arm again. “Talk about timing.” He thought of the young priest, but said nothing. “I was just on my way out to buy her some candy. She still likes caramels, doesn’t she, the ones with nuts and chocolate?”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Helen muttered at his elbow.

“She does,” Marie said, “but she’s not home.”

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 465

Sam covered the mouthpiece. “Do you mind?” he said to his sister. “I’m talking to my wife.”

“She’s gone to the lake for a few days,” Marie was saying. “She needs a change of—”

“Ex-wife,” Helen spat.

“Her friends work there. Sam, there’s—”

“Just a minute,” he interrupted, covering the phone again. “Get the hell out of here. Now!” He waited until she was gone. “Marie, I’m back. I just had to get rid of Helen. She was hovering. She can’t stand it that I’m doing so well. It kind of tarnishes her image, you know, losing one of her afflictions.

But I am, I’m just feeling so good; so damn good, I can’t even explain how good I feel. It’s like I just woke up after a long sleep. It’s like everything’s finally falling into place. Finally making sense for me. Christ, in a way it’s almost like being a kid again. I—”

“Sam, I’m at work. I can’t—”

“No, I know, but just wait a minute. Just listen, Marie. I don’t want to lose it, this feeling I have, it’s like the whole world is singing, Marie, and I’m the only one who can hear….”

“Sam, please, I don’t have much more time before Mr. Briscoe comes back. He doesn’t like personal calls. And at night you’re at work.”

“I’m sorry. I haven’t let you get a word in edgewise, have I, pet?” He laughed and in the cold silence heard his own breathing. He heard the lather drying on his itchy cheeks. He heard her say she was going to marry Omar Duvall. His head jolted back and the ruby drool of blood trembled from his chin, seeping into his undershirt like a squashed bug. “Why? For money? Is that it?” he demanded.

“Of course not.” She sounded insulted.

“Then why? Tell me why!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Sam,” she said in a small voice.

“I said tell me why!” he groaned.

“Because. Because I need some security in my life.”

“Security!” he scoffed.

“And because,” she said, her voice rising. “Because we love each other.”

“Don’t tell me that. I don’t believe that, Marie.” He jabbed his fist into the air. “You’ve never stopped loving me, just like I’ve never stopped loving you.” Tears streamed down his face, dissolving the lather. “I can take care of you!
Now
I can. I can take care of all of you. I just need a chance.”

“A chance,” she started to say, but he cut in.

“I know, I know, but this time’s different. Listen to me, pet.”

“I have to go, Sam. Mr. Briscoe’s coming.”

“Don’t! Don’t hang up! This will kill me. You understand? You’re all that’s kept me going. You, goddamn it!”

“No, Sam, that’s a lie. That’s a lie we both told ourselves. And now it’s time to be honest. Omar’s a good man, Sam. He’s good to the kids, and he’s helping me start a new business. In fact, he and the boys—”

466 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

“Jesus Christ, how can you do this to me? I’m trying so hard. I’ve never tried so hard!”

“Sam,” she whispered. “Mr. Briscoe’s out in the warehouse. I have to—”

“Fuck Briscoe! You listen to me! You listen!”

“He’s—”

“I said fuck Briscoe…Marie? Marie! You bastard!” he screamed into the dead air. He hurled the phone at the table, knocking the small bisque lamp to the floor. “You bastard! You selfish bastard! You don’t give a shit about
me
,” he panted as he ran into his bedroom. “I know what this is all about, that bitch. I know what she’s doing.”

In the parking lot behind Briscoe’s a large red truck was parked. The driver had just stacked cartons onto a dolly. Sam cut in front of him and hurried into the warehouse.

“What do you want?” Marie demanded as he burst into her office. She pushed herself back from the typewriter.

“Here!” He slapped his paycheck and bankbook down on her desk. “From now on, this is the way it’s going to be. I’ll drop it off every Saturday. I told you Helen says all the trust money’s gone, and I can’t prove otherwise, but when Mother’s gone, you can sell the tenements. In the meantime you’ll have this every week. I promise, Marie. And if it’s not enough, if Alice needs more for school, then I can get work during the day. Hell, I’ve got so much energy lately I could probably work three jobs.” He laughed. “Use the weekends to sleep. It’s amazing what you can do once the brain dries out.”

She picked up the check and looked at it. She was probably comparing it to Duvall’s salary. “It just occurred to me. I could probably get overtime, time and a half, where I am now. In fact, my boss is such a rummy I’ll probably be pushed up to his slot anyday now. Are the boys home? I’ve got a few errands to run; then I thought I’d maybe stop by the house and see how they’re doing.” She wanted to say something, but he had to show her, to make her believe. “Things can change, Marie, just like people change!

I’m not the same person anymore. I’m better. I’m—”

“And I’m not the same person anymore,” she said in a low voice.

“Of course you’re not. How could you be?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her out of that seat and into his arms.

“Sam, listen to me. I’m marrying Omar Duvall. I am!”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t do this to me!”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m not doing it to you, Sam.” She looked up now. “I’m doing it for me. Not even for the kids. For once I’m doing something just for me.”

He stood there, staring down at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, with such pitying finality that he was afraid to look away. If he even blinked, he would be lost forever.

“You’d better go. Mr. Briscoe’s out there with a delivery.” She got up and stood by the door. “Please, Sam.”

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 467

His ears were ringing. He kept gesturing as if to snatch some elusive object from the air. “I can’t,” he stammered. “I can’t do it alone. If I don’t have you and the kids, I’ll…I’ll die.”

“What are you talking about? You haven’t had us or even wanted us for ten years, Sam.”

“That’s not true! I’ve always wanted to be with you and the kids. You know that! I’ve just never been strong enough, but now I am. I can do it now. I know I can!”

She left the door and stepped closer. “You really think it’s all up to you, Sam, don’t you? Well,
you
may finally be ready now, but it’s too late, Sam.

It’s just too damn late!”

“No!” he cried. “It’s not! It’s not!”

The door swung open. “Is everything all right in here, Marie?” Ferdinand Briscoe asked, red-faced and glaring. “I thought I heard yelling.”

“Sam’s just leaving now, Mr. Briscoe,” Marie said.

Briscoe held the door open. “Sam?”

“I’d like a minute alone with my wife, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Marie nodded and Briscoe looked at him, then stepped back and closed the door.

“I’ll go, but first I want you to tell me one thing,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

She looked up, lifting her chin as if for an expected blow. “I don’t. Not anymore, Sam.” She almost seemed surprised.

He made himself smile. “Well, I love you, pet. Always have and always will. And I’m going to prove it. You’ll see.”

It was almost dark when he found Duvall, who had just pulled into the driveway next to Mayos’ boardinghouse. He called to him, and Duvall turned with a quizzical smile.

“Of course, of course,” Duvall said upon hearing the name. He extended his hand over the car door in a brief grip. For a few moments the chatter was all Duvall’s. They had met before, though under rather more difficult circumstances, the oily-faced man was saying as he patted his chin and fleshy neck with a wadded handkerchief. And of course, as in any small community, people’s paths were bound to cross, and recross, their lives often converging at the strangest times, in the most unexpected and certainly most unplanned ways.

“If you marry my wife, I’ll kill you,” he said, pointing, his forefinger and cocked thumb like a quaking gun. “I mean that. I really will.” His voice broke and he took a breath.

Now Duvall stepped out from the car door. He closed it slowly, then came toward Sam, once again extending his hand, the hand that now held a knife.

“No, you won’t, Sam, ’cause you’d have to get past this first, and besides,”

he drawled, head tilted, his smile oddly attractive, almost affectionate, over the glinting blade, “you’re just not the type. I would expect the only man 468 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

you’ll ever kill, Sam, is yourself, you been at it for so long now. And that said, you have to know I hold no ill feeling for you. None, none whatsoever.

You see, all we’re trying to do here in the little time we got left is find some happiness. That’s all! No ulterior motives! Nothing against you, and I have no intention of turning your children against you, sir. All we want is just a little happiness. And surely you can’t begrudge Marie and those fine children that, so whyn’t you go on back now to your sister and your dear old mother and leave the rest of us be.”

He slipped into his car and closed the door. Turning, Sam watched him drive down the hill. The full pint banged against his thigh as he began to walk. The seal on the bottle was not even broken and yet the old intoxicant surged through him. He no longer needed to drink for courage and resolve.

He now felt so, so intensely alive that the evening air was spangled with prisms of early starlight, and the chirping he heard was not a monotony of cricket sound, but thousands, millions and millions of bent-legged insects pulsating under every leaf and blade of grass.

Duvall had brandished a knife, a knife, he kept thinking with such giddy confidence that by the time he had run up the stairs and down the hall past the dark parlor where Helen dozed in her green velvet chair, he had begun to pant and had to concentrate on his breathing, on every breath, to slow it all down—the eddying fragments of voices, his own, his son’s, in his brain, in his ear. Hello. Hello? Hello? And around the corner, his mother’s lungs heaved and wheezed. “Benjy, let me talk to your mother,” he demanded.