Blood Ties (16 page)

Her grandmother didn't make much sense when she called Martha at the office, and it was difficult to discover what exactly had happened, but her grandfather was flying to his son's side. Vivian was obviously in no condition to go.

Maurice was the one person she felt really related to, no matter that she was adopted. He was the black sheep, a notorious disappointment, though in the past few years he seemed to have redeemed himself in California. Martha called Sheila to get a more coherent report.

“He collapsed on the golf course.”

“Oh my God. His heart?”

“We're waiting for Grandpa to call. Amos Cadbury flew out with him.”

Amos Cadbury, the pillar of strength. Of course he would accompany his old friend Henry Dolan. Perhaps he thought of Grandpa as his young friend. Whenever the family faced a crisis, Amos Cadbury was at their disposal. It was he who had gone to California a few years ago to oversee Maurice's entry into the driving range business, which seemed tailor-made for her vacillating uncle. Anything connected with golf was Maurice's cup of tea. It had seemed the perfect solution, and apparently had been. At noon, Martha went up the street to St. Peter's and prayed for Maurice. Tears came at the thought that she might never see him again, that what had happened to him would prove fatal. She lit a candle for him before the state of St. Anthony of Padua.

That afternoon, Bernard came in. “I looked for you at noon.”

She told him about Maurice and how she had spent her noon hour. He put his hand on her shoulder. Across the office, Willa turned discreetly away.

That morning, Martha had not mentioned her new ring, but it seemed to announce its own presence, glittering on her hand. Willa had finally noticed it. Her squeal had brought everyone around Martha. The newest paralegal asked who the lucky man was, and the others laughed.

“Bernard Casey, my dear,” Willa said. Her manner might have suggested that she had arranged the match.

The call bringing the news about Maurice cut into this triumphant conclave.

Now Bernard said, “I called St. Hilary's and spoke with Father Dowling. Saturday morning at ten.”

4

Martin Sisk had convinced Grace Weaver that Hazel meant nothing to him, wondering how she had learned of the evening he and Hazel had spent watching
From Here to Eternity
at his place. The truth was he was almost frightened of the predatory Hazel. During the beach scene, while Burt and Deborah tumbled in the surf, she put her hand on his knee as she leaned against him. Her breathing had become heavier.

“My wife hated this movie,” Martin said, his voice high and nervous. Hazel ignored the remark. Her hand moved, though her eyes remained on the screen.

She grunted approvingly when the stabbed Ernest Borgnine, the beast who had beaten Frankie, fell dead of the wounds inflicted by Montgomery Clift. She wept openly when Clift played “Taps” for Frankie. She had slid down a bit on the couch, to equalize their heights, and now she lifted her face to his. Martin patted her cheek and leapt from the couch and began to fuss with the VCR. He was assailed by two thoughts. One, that Hazel would offer little resistance if he returned to the couch; indeed, she would be the aggressor. The second thought was that it would be a deed from which he could never step back. It was one thing to flutter and flirt, to engage in amorous banter, but to go for the big enchilada was a possibility that had ever lain over the horizon of his mind.

He escaped. They finished the popcorn. He had turned on all the lights in the living room. Hazel followed his movements as a cat follows a mouse. The important thing was not to rejoin her on the couch. And he didn't. He yawned, faking it at first, but then it became real.

“You're right,” she said. “You'd better take me home.”

When he had, he opened the passenger door for her to get out and said good night to her on the curb.

She smiled and patted his cheek. “You are a gentleman.”

The gentleman watched her go to her door unaccompanied. When he drove away he felt as Adam might have if he had refused the apple.

But they had been observed. Two days later, Grace confronted him. He tried to lie, but he had never been good at lying. Grace hit him with a pool cue, and after the ensuing public disgrace, they reconciled. They went for a walk, going back and forth between the school and rectory, where he dismissed Hazel. He explained how he had met her.

“What were you doing in a lawyer's office?”

“My financial affairs are complicated. Secure, but complicated.”

“What's the lawyer's name?” Her tone was skeptical.

“Tuttle.”

He thought of telling Grace exactly how he had fought off the secretary's advances, but good sense prevailed.

All was peace again, until Hazel called to say that Tuttle wanted to see him. Before she put him through, she told him of Grace's call. Martin wished that he had not given Grace the name of the lawyer.

“Aren't you the busy bee? I had no idea I was being recruited for a harem.”

It was good to be restored to the role of Lothario when no immediate danger threatened. Still, he had sense enough to insist that Tuttle meet him at a neutral site.

“I've never been here before,” he said when he found Tuttle in a booth at the Great Wall.

“I can't tell you how much business I've conducted right here. Take a pew.”

Tuttle used again the phrase he had used on the phone, “Mission accomplished.” He had found the mother of Martha Lynch.

“How did you do it?”

Tuttle held up a hand, his expression suggesting arcane knowledge beyond Martin's capacity for understanding.

“More important, who is she?”

Tuttle adopted a serious expression. “Martin, we have reached a point when I have to know why you want this information. I cannot be party to disturbing the peace and tranquility of innocent lives. There has to be a reason why it was so difficult for me to dig up this information.”

“I told you. Vivian Dolan wants to know.”

“Am I to be her lawyer or yours?”

“She doesn't even know I've come to you. I'm doing this as a favor.”

Tuttle sat back and adjusted his absurd tweed hat. “That puts a very different complexion on it.”

“What are you talking about? I'm your client. I gave you twenty dollars.”

For answer, Tuttle got out his wallet and put it on the table. He did not open it.

“And I signed all those papers with your secretary.”

“Ah, Hazel. You have made a conquest there, Martin.”

Good God, had she told Tuttle about
From Here to Eternity
? Martin managed not to blush, but he was uneasy.

“Tell me who the woman is.”

“Knowledge is power, Martin, as the poet says. How do I know how you would use the information if I told you?”

“I would pass it on to Vivian Dolan. Period.”

Tuttle nodded. “In that case, I think I will eliminate the middle man.” He opened his wallet and took out five dollars. He pushed the bill toward Martin.

“But I gave you twenty.”

“Chalk it up to expenses. The main thing is, this concludes our professional relationship.”

Martin was furious. He refused the offer to have lunch, no matter how good Tuttle claimed the sweet and sour chicken was at the Great Wall. He felt that he had delivered Vivian to the male counterpart of the predatory Hazel.

For all that, he wanted credit for the effort he had made on Vivian's behalf. And he might warn her about Tuttle. Too late, he was remembering the little lawyer's reputation around the courthouse. He decided that he would pass on the good news to Vivian, but when he called, she was almost hysterical. Something dreadful had happened to her son, Maurice, in California. Henry had flown there, accompanied by Amos Cadbury. Martin offered to come sit with her, but she seemed not to understand. So he went walking with Grace and told her about poor Maurice Dolan.

“That boy was always such a trial to them,” Grace said.

“How are your children, Grace?”

“Scattered to the four winds, absorbed in their families, as they ought to be. I am as alone as I was before I married.”

Her arm was warm against his side. The incident with the pool cue was forgotten. One thing about Grace, if they danced she would let him lead.

5

Once it had been simply St. Joseph's Hospital; now it was the St. Joseph Medical Center of Fox River. Its management had passed from the nuns to a national organization adept in the manipulation of insurance claims and government grants. Henry Dolan was glad he had been born when he had been. The hospital, which had once been as familiar to him as the back of his hand, now with additions and rearrangements had altered almost beyond recognition. He began to wonder why he had brought Maurice all the way from California to this impersonal place. But then Dr. Wippel swept into the room, and soon he and Henry were in close consultation. Other old colleagues joined them. The charts Henry had brought from California were studied. Then Wippel went in to examine his patient.

The next few hours were satisfyingly busy. Maurice was put through an MRI; lab tests were hurried to completion. Afterward, first to Henry in the hall, and then next to the bed so Maurice could understand what lay ahead, Wippel outlined what he would do.

“The back is a delicate mechanism,” he began. He had a series of illustrations in different colors, displaying the delicate intricacy of the human back. His buffed nail pointed to the lower spine. “The problem is there.” He gave Maurice a somewhat less graphic description of the operation than he had given Henry in the hall.

“And that will take care of it?” Maurice asked. He had been following the explanation attentively.

“There is less than a five percent chance of failure.”

“But will I be able to golf again?”

Wippel answered reassuringly.

Vivian came in. It was the first time she had seen her son since Henry had brought him back. She seemed surprised at Maurice's alertness. Her weeping was under control.

“Don't worry, Mom. They say I'll be able to golf.”

“Oh, Maurice.” She tried to take him in his arms, but Wippel eased her away. Henry gave his son a reassuring look and led Vivian out.

There was no need to go into the gory details with Vivian. Wippel said a few words to her and went off to prepare. Henry had decided that he would stay away from the OR. The fact was, he had been a little unnerved by Wippel's explanation. He had reduced the chance of failure to five percent, but that didn't eliminate the possibility that Maurice might come out of this permanently handicapped. How altogether typical of Maurice to wonder if he would be able to golf again. What would life mean to him if he were kept off the golf course?

Wippel operated on Maurice the morning after the young man was admitted to the hospital. Both Henry and George experienced the anxiety, unfamiliar to them, of those waiting for news of a loved one. Vivian sat staring at a huge photograph of a Japanese garden, doubtless chosen to induce tranquility. It seemed to be working. Vivian had finally got herself under control. The alarming news had unleashed all the years of worrying and fretting about Maurice, but now, with the operation under way, she sat staring at the picture. Sheila seemed unable to sit. Henry took her outside.

“Has Martha been told?”

“Of course.”

The answer was almost snapped at him, as if his question had been laden with implications.

“Everything will be all right.”

“Dad, I long ago stopped worrying about Maurice. Everything always turns out all right for him.”

“Things like this have a way of putting other things into perspective.”

She looked at him warily.

“Amos has talked with Martha's mother.”

“Martha's mother? I am Martha's mother!”

She screamed this, then turned and hurried away. George looked out from the waiting room.

“She's upset,” Henry said.

“I heard her.”

“I must learn to keep my mouth shut about Martha.”

George did not comment on stupid remarks, or on most other kinds of remarks, for that matter.

Henry said, “I talked with Amos Cadbury.”

“Ah.”

George nodded and went off down the corridor after his wife. Incredibly, in less than an hour the operation was over, everything done with miniature remote devices, description of which made Henry feel that his own practice had not been far removed from the days of bloodletting. Well, of ether.

“It came off well?”

Wippel nodded. That five percent chance of failure seemed forgotten. Perhaps Sheila was right. Things usually did turn out all right for Maurice, eventually. Henry would have liked to tell Vivian of the young woman in California who seemed so close to their son, but now was not the time. Nor did he want to encourage the hope that Maurice would marry at last and father children who would be genuine Dolans.

The thought just came. Henry was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He actually beat his breast in contrition.

6

Amos Cadbury returned to his office to receive the good news of Maurice's successful operation. Henry chuckled over the phone when he said that Maurice would be out on the golf course in a matter of weeks. After he hung up, Amos turned his chair toward the window. The course of wisdom would be to go home and nap. He had slept fitfully on the flight back, but such sleep never truly refreshes.

He had done several things while in California, the first being to confirm that Maurice and Catherine Adams did share a condominium on the seventh fairway of the club of which Maurice was a member. She was not at the driving range when he stopped by, and he left a card and the number of his hotel. Finally, the woman's name and his conversation with Madeline Lorenzo had connected. When she called, he invited her to dinner. As they were led to their table, Amos was pleasantly aware of the eyes that followed them. Perhaps the other diners thought them a couple.