Angel of Mercy (6 page)

Everyone gazed at her, the sons looking surprised at first and then a bit grateful; the daughters-in-law simply looked a bit amused.

“There, see. I’m still in the hands of an expert,” Tommy said.

His daughters-in-law kissed him and his sons hugged him. Then they all moved out. Tommy followed them to the door. Shortly afterward the caterers left, too, even though there was cleaning left to do.

Tommy voiced his annoyance.

“It’s all right,” Faye said, gathering the dirty paper plates. “I told them to go.”

“You did? Why?”

“At a time like this, you don’t need a bunch of strangers lingering around the house, banging pots and pans and vacuuming. You need peace and quiet, meditation time.”

“But why should you…”

“I don’t mind. I used to work as a maid, you know,” she said. “While I was attending nursing school, I hired myself out and made what I needed for living expenses.”

He stood there watching her sweep through the living room, adjusting furniture, fixing pillows, brushing crumbs off the coffee tables.

“Most of my father’s extra money went toward medical bills in those days.”

He closed his eyes and the moment he did, he swayed. Faye was at his side instantly.

“Easy,” she said. “You’re far more mentally and emotionally exhausted then you realize. Come on, get to bed. I want you to rest.” She had looked around the house when she first arrived, so she knew where to lead him. He followed obediently, surprised and frightened by his weakness.

“All of a sudden,” he explained, “my legs felt like they had turned into sticks of butter.”

“Not unusual.” She brought him to his bed. He sat down, dazed, and watched as she began to undo his tie and then unbutton his shirt.

“Got my own private duty nurse, huh?” he said, smiling.

“Oh,” she said, pulling back suddenly, “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, that’s all right. I appreciate what you’ve done and what you’re doing, Faye. Thank you. I’ll undress myself and lie down awhile.”

“Did the doctor give you any sedatives?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll need any.”

“Yes you will,” she said authoritatively. “You’re exhausted, but sleep isn’t easy to come by when you’re as emotionally wounded as you are now.

Believe me, you’ll drift off, but you’ll keep waking up with a start, hoping this has all been a nightmare.”

He stared at her. What she said made sense.

“Sylvia must have had some sedatives. I’ll look in your medicine cabinet,” she said. She already had and knew what was there. A few moments later, she returned with two red-tinted gelatin tablets and a glass of water.

“What’s that?” Tommy asked. He had taken off his pants and was under the blanket.

“Chloral hydrate. It’s a common sleeping pill,” she added to relieve any anxieties he might have. She wouldn’t tell him that this compound when given in larger doses was more famously known as a Mickey Finn.

He nodded and smiled.

“Forgot I had a nurse.” He took the pills and chased them down with some water.

“You just sleep,” Faye said. “I’ll stay as long as I can before leaving for the hospital.”

“You shouldn’t spend your time here, Faye. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time off than care for a grieving husband,”

Tommy said. He closed his eyes when he felt her hand on his forehead: It made him feel secure and relaxed and he drifted off.

Faye stared at him and watched him sleep. He reminded her a little of her father after he had come into her room and crawled in bed beside her, moaning about how lonely he was. Mother hadn’t let him sleep with her for some time. He always began by telling her he just wanted to feel someone he loved beside him.

He just wanted to hold someone he loved, touch someone he loved. She kept her eyes closed but it happened anyway, and then afterward he fell asleep and looked just like Tommy Livingston, dead to the world.

When Susie thought Daddy was too lonely and should join their mother in heaven, Faye didn’t stop her. He should be dead to the world, she thought angrily; and then afterward she thought, maybe Susie was right, if not about Daddy, at least about other people. Maybe people who were really in love and together so long really couldn’t stand being apart.

She never told Susie, but she wished there were something like eternal love between two people, because if it existed, maybe it would exist for her one day.

She looked at Tommy Livingston again and recalled how he had shuddered and cried when he came into that room and looked at his wife’s picture, and then she was struck with an idea.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she thought, if when he woke up, Susie was already here caring for him, easing his suffering. She knew how anxious Susie was.

She rose quickly to call her, but at the phone, she hesitated.

I shouldn’t do this, she thought. She knew what it would lead to, didn’t she? But when she looked back toward Tommy Livingston’s bedroom again, her resistance waned.

“I can’t help it,” she muttered. “Susie should be here. He does need her and she… needs to help him.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then she made the call.

The thing of it was, she didn’t feel like she was in a strange house.

As the twilight came, Susie felt herself drifting back through time. This kitchen, this living room, these halls and these walls, even the vases on the tables and the painting above the fireplace had a certain familiarity. When she closed her eyes and inhaled, she thought she drew in the scents and the aromas of her own home. Not the home she was living in now with Faye, not the apartment on Palm Canyon Boulevard South, but her real home, her home when her mother and her father were alive and they lived in Pacific Palisades.

She noticed the Livingstons’ family albums were still there on the glass-top center table, just as they had been in her own home. Someone always brought out the family albums at times like this, she thought.

It was as if he or she were afraid Death would wipe the memories out of their minds, so they had better reinforce them quickly.

But when she sat down and opened the first one, in stead of two little boys, she saw a pair of twins, and instead of Sylvia and Tommy Livingston thirty-someodd years before, at the threshold of their marriage and their lives together, she saw her own parents. She sighed.

How young and beautiful they were, how handsome and strong, how healthy and vibrant. Why couldn’t they always be that way? Why did they have to grow old and sick, and why did one of them have to die before the other?

It made her angry. Couldn’t God have figured out a different pattern, something more pleasant for people so in love? Why have something like love anyway, if this was going to happen? While He was at it, He could have prevented all this grief and sorrow with a swipe of His divine hand. Instead, she had to be called upon time after time after time.

She rose and moved slowly through the vaguely lit house, moving like an apparition that had just arrived and was unsure of its haunting grounds.

She limped down the hallway and slipped into the bedroom.

Tommy Livingston slept so soundly. He resembled a corpse laid to rest in some funeral parlor. On his back, his nose up, his Adam’s apple prominent but still, his breathing barely discernible, he metamorphosed before her eyes and became her daddy in his coffin. She could even hear the organ music off to the right and behind her.

She moved to him, her hands clutching her handkerchief. The tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Vividly recalling, she reached out slowly and put her hand over his forehead. He felt stone cold.

“You’re happier now, Daddy. I know you are. Good night, sweet Daddy.”

She smiled through her tears and removed her hand.

She was going to go to her knees and offer a prayer when suddenly the phone rang and shattered her memory like a window pane, the shards of precious images falling all around her.

Angry, she stabbed at the receiver and lifted it before the second ring disturbed Tommy Livingston.

“Hello,” the voice on the other end said when she said nothing.

She reached around the phone and pulled the jack out of the base. The receiver went dead. Then she cradled it and went to her knees, only it was no good. The ringing continued when whoever it was called back.

Frustrated, she rose and went out to the kitchen to answer.

“Mr. Livingston’s residence,” she said.

“Huh? Who is this?”

“Susie Sullivan.”

“Susie Sullivan?” There was silence for a moment.

“You’re the nurse?” the man asked.

“No. I’m her sister. I was called here to stay with Mr. Livingston.”

“What? Who called you?” the man demanded.

“Mr. Livingston asked my sister to call me. I keep the house clean and care for him during his troubled time,” she explained. “Who is this, please?”

“This i. “Todd Livingston. Where’s my father?”

“He’s sleeping. My sister gave him something to help him sleep and he’s sleeping soundly, finally,” she said, emphasizing the ‘finally’ so he would make no request to have her wake Tommy.

“Well, if he should wake up before you leave, will you tell him I called?”

“Of course, but Faye said he would sleep through the night now.”

“Oh. Well, do you think I should return?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m staying.”

“Oh. Well, call me if you need me. No matter what time. My number’s…”

“I know your number, Todd. My sister put all the important numbers on the bulletin board here in the kitchen.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“No need to thank me,” she said. “Good night, Todd. Try to get some rest.”

“Right. Good night,” he said.

After she cradled the receiver, she returned to the bedroom to be sure Tommy hadn’t been disturbed.

Then she moved quietly through the room, gazing at everything: Sylvia’s cosmetics, combs, and brushes on the vanity table, the pictures on the dressers, the clothing in the armoire and in the closets, and even the clothing in the drawers.

She did the same thing with the rest of the house: walking into every room, inspecting every closet, every drawer, studying every artifact, every picture.

She knew where Tommy Livingston kept his rifles and his fishing poles.

She knew where the supply of toilet paper was stored. By the time she retreated to the sofa in the den, she knew everything there was to know about this house and its contents, just as she had known everything about her parents’ house.

Satisfied, she made a little bed for herself in the den.

Then she got down on her knees, clutched her hands, closed her eyes, and recited her usual nighttime prayer.

“God bless Faye for all the wonderful work she does to help people who are sick, and God bless Mommy and Daddy in Heaven. Amen.”

She took off her brace, snapped off the lamp and dropped herself into the comfortable warm darkness.

Nighttime made her snuggle. She whimpered a little like a baby for a moment and then she closed her eyes and envisioned the photographs in the album, only this time the people in them could move and smile and laugh, especially the lovely couple: Tommy and Sylvia. Tommy was so happy, he positively glowed when he had Sylvia in his arms or beside him. And now, look at how unhappy he was.

But Tommy won’t be unhappy long, she thought.

No, not for long. Faye had brought her here to help him. And she would.

Tommy Livingston awoke with a start. It was almost as though Sylvia had nudged him. He half expected to hear her familiar “Wake up, Rip Van Winkle.” He turned and gazed stupidly at the empty place beside him in the king-size brass-framed bed.

Her place was untouched and cold, her pillow without a crease. None of this had been a bad dream. Sylvia was gone for good.

He sat up slowly, feeling years older than he was, and scrubbed his face with his dry palms. Funny, he thought, how he hadn’t noticed how quiet the house had been with Sylvia in the hospital. Now that she was definitely gone, that silence was emphatic. In fact, if he concentrated, he could hear the whir of the refrigerator motor.

For the moment he couldn’t remember how he had gotten into bed or when he had undressed. His mind was so cloudy. He recalled greeting people after the funeral and then… when did he go to bed? He hated this confusion. Damn it, he thought, shaking his head as if he expected to shake his thoughts and memories loose. Instead he felt nauseous and dizzy and had to lie back again. After he got his breath, he sat up and gazed around the room.

Everything was neatly put away, no garments hanging over chairs, the closet doors and dresser drawers closed, the curtains drawn. When did he do all that?

His gaze went to the telephone and clock on his night table. It was nearly ten o’clock. He had slept that long? He never slept that long.

He was a morning person. What surprised him even more was that no one had called to see how he was doing. Where were his sons, his relatives, his friends? Everyone else hadn’t overslept, had they? But when his eyes trailed the telephone wire, he noted that the phone had been unplugged. He hadn’t done that; he would never do that.

He started to swing his legs over the side of the bed when she appeared in the doorway.

“Good morning,” Susie said, smiling. She limped quickly across the room to open the curtains and let in the sunlight. It was so abrupt and the rays were so bright, reflecting off the cream-colored walls and the mirror over Sylvia’s vanity table, that he had to cover his eyes for a moment.

“What’s happening?” Tommy asked. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” she said quickly. “My sister called me last night and told me to come over.

She had to go home to get some sleep because she’s expecting to be scheduled for private duty shortly.”

“Sister?” He thought, his eyes blinking rapidly.

“Oh,” he realized, putting together her limp and her longer hair. He realized also that this woman was dressed in a maid’s uniform and not a nurse’s. “You’re ú.. the twin sister?”

“Yes. My name is Susie,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my being here.”