April & Oliver (38 page)

Outside he finds his father, brother, and the priest. “They took her to Saint Claire’s,” Hal says. “April’s with her.”

“It should never have gotten to this point,” Al says. “We should have taken her this morning.”

“We tried,” Hal said. “She was determined.”

“You ought to be with her, Dad,” Oliver says. “Go on if you need to.”

Hal looks at the church hopelessly. “I couldn’t.”

“Just go,” Oliver says.

“All right, then. If everything’s okay, I’ll try to join you at the reception. I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

“Call with news,” Oliver yells after him.

Some members of the congregation have drifted out to the lawn. “Okay,” the priest says gravely. “We’ll gather everyone up
as soon as you’re ready.”

Oliver finds Bernadette in the sacristy alone, her train spreading over half the floor. She moves her finger around the rim
of a chalice. The sun begins to break through clouds, and swatches of color from a small rose window fall across the white
of her dress.

“Bernadette,” he says, moving toward her.

She holds out her hand to halt him. “How is your grandmother?”

“They took her to the hospital.”

She cups her hands around the chalice, studying it with a troubled expression.

Oliver stands stock-still, to keep things from falling apart. He opens his mouth to speak, but she puts out her hand again
to silence him, the heavy gown rustling.

“Talk to me,” he says finally. “Is it because I saw you?”

“No, Oliver,” she says. “It’s because you didn’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart.

“Whatever was going on down there in the stairwell, I don’t want to know about it. I asked you never to talk to her again,
and you couldn’t even make it to the wedding.”

“Bernadette, there’s an explanation.”

“I’ve been praying to God for a sign,” she says, “something to tell me this is the right thing to do. I’d say I got more than
I bargained for.”

“No, I’ll make everything up to you.”

She stares at her engagement ring.

“Yo, Oliver,” Al calls from the doorway. “Time to move. He’s got another wedding at noon.”

“Not now,” Oliver shouts. “Give us a minute.”

“This is fate, Oliver. We can tell people we’re postponing on account of your grandmother.”

He looks bewildered.

She slips the diamond off her finger.

Oliver’s chest constricts, an enormous weight sitting on him.

Bernadette’s eyes redden. She drops the ring into the chalice. He moves toward her.

“Don’t,” she says.

He puts his hand on his chest; he feels he is dying. “Okay, we don’t have to get married today, but give me another chance.
We can talk things through.”

“You looked right through me, Oliver. There I was about to walk up the aisle, and you didn’t even see me.”

“How stupid of me, Bernadette. I’m sorry.”

She rubs her forehead in small circles, the way she does when there’s a headache coming on. She looks up at the stained glass,
the jaws of a whale closing upon the horrified Jonah. Oliver sinks to his knees.

“I knew from the moment we moved here, the way you looked at her. I have myself to blame.”

“Bernadette, you’re wrong. Please, let me prove it to you.”

“Oliver,” she says. “You just did.”

M
ONITORS BEEP
. the room smells of medication. April holds Nana’s hand, bruised by the IV, and looks into her stark, pale face. An oxygen
tube runs into her nose; another sucks fluid from her lungs with a faint, gurgling noise. Nana winces and coughs. April holds
her hand more tightly. She is only allowed five minutes. Hal was in just before her. Nana looks small in the bed, like a child.
One side of her lip is turned down; the limbs on half of her body are motionless.

Why didn’t April do something earlier? She knew from the moment she arrived at Nana’s apartment this morning that she wasn’t
well. April found her sitting in an armchair in her alcove, already dressed for Oliver’s wedding, clutching her purse and
saying the rosary. She was tired and drawn, not quite lucid, but April attributed it to the rehearsal dinner.

Nana’s eyes move beneath their lids, her forehead tense. April hopes she is not in pain. “Nana,” she whispers, but she doesn’t
hear.

April bows her head, stroking Nana’s hand. Suddenly Nana jolts, eyes riveted on the ceiling in an expression of fright, seeing
something April does not.

“Nana,” she says. “It’s okay.”

Nana turns and for an instant sees April. She shakes her head to say no, then looks back at the ceiling, beyond the ceiling,
to the wall behind the bed, her head thrown back like a corpse, or child tasting rain. April tries not to look at her gaping
mouth. She hears the long wheeze of each breath. Nana raises her good hand, wavering, and feels blindly around her neck, dislodging
her oxygen tube. April presses it back, then moves to the head of the bed, bending low so Nana can see her cross around April’s
neck. “Is this what you’re looking for?” April says.

Nana’s lips, bared over her teeth, cannot close into a kiss, so April presses the cool metal to Nana’s cheek. Her breath has
a singed, metallic aroma; death has already found its root. Her expression is hollow-eyed, alert and resolved. April wants
last words, a hug, a reassuring glance, but all she has is a look in Nana’s eye that says this is the part she must do alone.

Hal enters the room. April does not want to leave, but Nana nods slightly, telling her it is okay to go. April kisses Nana’s
forehead and squeezes her hand, then kisses the cross and slips it inside her dress.

B
Y THE TIME OLIVER ARRIVES
at his father’s house, it is early evening. He has spent the day working out a nightmare of details: canceling hotel reservations
and plane tickets, building a mental list of things to worry about later, such as returning gifts and retrieving possessions
from Bernadette’s apartment. The reception, which could not be canceled, went on without them.

In the church parking lot, Bernadette’s father and brother grabbed Oliver by the arms and promised a lawsuit, forty thousand
dollars for nonrefundable wedding expenses, and another ten for pain and suffering. Impressive, Oliver thought, that they
had already worked out the numbers. He didn’t bother to explain it was Bernadette who backed out. He had caught a glimpse
of her in the rectory courtyard, weeping in her mother’s arms. His first instinct was to rush to her; it felt so strange not
to be the one comforting her. Al’s Jeep is parked in his father’s driveway. Oliver noticed on his way home that April’s car
was still in the church parking lot, untouched since morning.

The house is quiet. Flowers cover the small table in the front foyer, a bridesmaid’s bouquet, a rose from Al’s lapel, and
Nana’s orchid wristband. The scent overpowers him.

He finds them in the family room, a Giants game on the television, which only Al appears to watch. Hal dozes in a chair, newspaper
spread on his lap. No one speaks. They are still dressed in their wedding garb, but with shoes off, ties undone. Dirty paper
plates and disposable cutlery litter the coffee table. In the center sits a partially eaten layer of wedding cake, the plastic
bride and groom still intact.

Oliver clears his throat. “How’s Nana?”

His father and brother look up. Al bites his lip. Hal rubs his eyes and folds his newspaper. Neither answers. On the table
beside the wedding cake, Oliver notices Nana’s pillbox hat. On the floor, her leg brace. He thinks he ought to feel something
awful. His father rises, comes wearily across the room, and puts his hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver slips off his ascot and tosses it on an end table. He taps his fist against his forehead, trying to jar his brain,
his heart, back into operation.

“It was a massive stroke,” his father says. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

Oliver runs his hands through his hair. Al clicks off the television and stands. He punches Oliver’s arm lightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Oliver tries to think. Nana had another stroke, is that what they’re saying? He can’t fit anything more in his
brain. “Is there more cake?” he asks stupidly.

“Enough for an army,” his father says. “We had it for dinner.”

“I have to get going.” Al gives Oliver a quick hug, slapping his back. Oliver feels ill at ease. He does not react. Al kisses
his father good-bye. “Call me tomorrow about the wake,” he says, squeezing his father’s shoulder.

Hal nods, staring at the rug.
Just lost his mother,
Oliver thinks. He ought to console his father, too. Offer some small gesture, but Oliver is at a loss.

Al slings on his rented jacket, small for his shoulders. “Can someone give April a lift back to her car?”

“We’ll take care of it,” his father says. “Let her sleep for now.”

Al leaves. Oliver turns the game back on. Nana’s dead, he thinks; the words might make the reality sink in. He eats a piece
of wedding cake and washes it down with beer. Then another piece and another until he feels sick.

During a commercial, his father lowers the volume. “Oliver,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He takes a swallow. “She changed her mind,” he says and raises the volume.

“Oliver,” he persists. “When was the last time you slept?”

Oliver considers this. Not last night. Not the night before. What does that make, seventy-two hours? “I’m not sure,” he says.

“Close your eyes,” his father says, “before you start to hallucinate.”

What if this whole day was a hallucination?
Oliver thinks, sliding back in the chair. In fact, it must be.

He supposes his father is right, he should close his eyes, but instead he manages to engage his mind, at least minimally,
on the football game, a kind of mental gum chewing.

His father keeps glancing over at him. “When you feel like talking, let me know,” he says finally.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Oliver says.

When the game is over, he goes upstairs to see if there are any clothes in his old bedroom he can change into. As he walks
up the steps, his thighs ache, every muscle exhausted. He begins to wonder if he will ever be able to sleep again, or if his
body has forgotten how. He finds nothing in his closet that would fit. He ought to head home anyway. It’s getting late, and
Nana is dead.

The door to Al’s room is closed, and he knows April has to be in there. It irritates him that she chose to sleep in Al’s bed.
At the same time, he does not want her anywhere near him.

He opens the door. The primrose-yellow dress is draped over the back of a chair. She is curled up, hugging a pillow, her satin
slip taut across her backside. Oliver kicks the metal wastebasket. April bolts upright, hand to her chest.

“If you need a ride I’m leaving in five minutes,” he says, and leaves the room.

In the family room he puts on his jacket, the damn tails that get in the way of everything. He stuffs his ascot in his pocket,
reminding himself to return everything by noon tomorrow. He says good night to his father. Five minutes have not passed but
he leaves anyway.

He gets into his car, covered with streamers and shaving cream. just married is written across the back window. Earlier in
the day, he almost yanked off his tailpipe trying to get rid of the beer cans. The night has turned cold. Days getting shorter.
He rolls up his window and turns over the engine.

April comes out of the house wearing the yellow dress and Hal’s suit coat, which he no doubt insisted she borrow. The sleeves
fall to her knuckles. One shoe is on her foot and the other in her hand. She opens the door, gets in, and slams it shut.

Her hair is half fallen from its bun, makeup lightly smeared beneath her eyes. “I could have used an extra minute for the
bathroom,” she says, slipping on the other heel.

He pulls out of the driveway. She takes a tissue from her purse, wets it with her tongue, and runs it under her eyes, which
are raw and puffy. She lets down her hair and rakes her hands through it, buttons Hal’s suit jacket and turns the collar up.
Then she folds her arms across her chest. He could turn on the heat for her, but doesn’t.

“I still haven’t called Mr. Bergfalk,” she says. “How am I supposed to do that?”

He drives over the limit, accelerating through yellow lights. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” he says hoarsely.

She looks at him with surprise. “Your father just told me a little while ago. I’m so sorry, Oliver, but I’m sure she’ll change
her mind. It’s just the confusion of the day.”

“No,” he says, tightening his hands on the wheel. “She’s not taking me back.” He feels throbbing in his head like a drug wearing
off.

“Give her time. Talk to her. Surely there’s hope.”

“We spoke three times today,” he says. “Each time she was more furious than before.”

“That’s a start.”

Oliver tastes beer and cake, the sickening blend. He turns hard into the deserted church lot. People in passing cars honk
and shout, presuming they are newlyweds. He pulls up next to April’s car and lurches to a halt. His headache is excruciating.
He leans back on the headrest for a minute. The instant he closes his eyes, the boat begins to shift and sway. A wave hits
them broadside, and his head smacks against the driver’s-side window. His eyes fly open.

“Oliver, you’re falling asleep,” she says. “Let me drive you home.”

“I just need some fresh air,” he says, getting out. He wanders down to the trunk, puts one arm around his middle, and covers
his eyes with the other. He hears her beside him. “You caused this, you know,” he says.

April rakes her hands through her hair. “I knew as soon as I got to her house,” she says. “She didn’t look well. I pleaded
with her to let me take her to the hospital. She said if she still didn’t feel well after the ceremony, we could go. How stupid
of me!”

“That’s not what I’m taking about,” Oliver says, drawing his hand down over his mouth, meeting her eye.