Childless: A Novel (11 page)

“And this,” the woman’s voice explained, “is the body of Sylvia Santos, identified at three o’clock this afternoon by her biological son, Jeremy Santos.”

Another shot of the wilted boy offering the faintest possible nod of confirmation.

“As you can see,” the woman said, pointing the camera back toward the floor, “Ms. Santos died shortly after a fall that appears to have crushed the occipital bone on the bottom posterior of her skull. According to an attending nurse who checked for a pulse at three oh-seven, Ms. Santos died within seconds of the injury. That assumption will be confirmed by the coroner in due course.”

The camera scanned the full length of the body. Other than signs of the nurse’s efforts to confirm death, it appeared no one had touched the body. Few of the crime scenes Tyler had recorded while on the force had been so well preserved. No one had even bothered to reposition Jeremy’s mother’s legs after her death. They seemed postured to receive a husband, or birth a child. Tyler felt a rare blush at a sight less graceful than a mother would want to appear when identified by her grieving son.

He noticed a scalpel lying beside the woman’s open palm. The alleged weapon the distraught mother grabbed at the last second to interrupt Antonio’s procedure?

Having seen enough, Tyler tapped the screen to halt the video. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said inadequately.

Jeremy bristled. “I don’t need your pity, you know. I’ll be fine.”

Tyler waited. Eventually Jeremy sighed.

“It was hard,” he began. “Not just that day. All of it. You don’t realize how incredibly dependent you become on someone depending on
you
until they don’t need you anymore.”

“Your mother?”

“Antonio.”

“I see.” Tyler glanced at the time, then sat back in his chair. The boy obviously needed to talk.

“Near the end, every minute of every day, everything revolved around Antonio. Of course, it hadn’t always been that way. At first it was just little things. You know, like helping him get from one room to the next when he didn’t have his crutches. No big deal.

“Of course, Mom worried about every little thing. I think that’s because she could see, even early on, how things would eventually end. Me? I was too self-absorbed to realize that this was only going to get worse over time. And as it did, I’d lose more and more of myself.”

“So, you felt bitter toward your brother?” Tyler asked.

“Yes and no. I wasn’t bitter at
him
, really. I mean, how could I be? It wasn’t like he chose his disease or could do anything to stop it. I mean, what teenaged brother really chooses needing his mommy or his only sibling to wipe his butt for him?”

Tyler thought of Renee’s parents. He thought of Gerry dripping water all over his carpet. In some ways it didn’t seem so different.

“But I guess I was bitter. What brother wants to do the wiping? It shouldn’t have been just me and Mom. It should have been my dad, too. No. It shouldn’t have been any of us. But I guess sometimes life deals you a crummy hand.

“Anyhow, eventually I had no life. Just helping take care of my brother. Even when I was at school, I felt guilty that I wasn’t there for Antonio. I could barely concentrate. It was ironic, really. Me, the one who had every hope of becoming somebody, of making something of myself…I was the one who started failing. And Antonio, the one who could do less and less almost every day, never ever gave up trying. He was an inspiration, really.”

Jeremy paused, choking back emotions. Tyler, however, was confused by his last statement.
An inspiration
? How could a helpless debit be an inspiration? Already, after just a few days, Renee’s parents were wearing him down. Wearing both of them down. Renee was too exhausted for sex, and her parents were sucking away any and all free time. Even now Tyler felt the resentment festering.

He thought of Renee’s face. Tired as she appeared, he had never sensed resentment. It was as if she was immune. As if she took pride in caring for her parents.

Tyler saw an echo of the same baffling pride on Jeremy’s face, now accompanying the salty puddles of moisture trying to escape the boy’s eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy finally said. “It’s just I never told him that. I never told him that he was an amazing brother. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened.”

“I’m sure he knew.” Tyler was still trying to comprehend how one drew inspiration from suffering.

Jeremy seemed to read Tyler’s mind. “I guess you couldn’t understand. Antonio made the most of each day he had. Even when he could barely communicate, when he had to struggle for each and every syllable that came out of his mouth, he would always find a way to make everyone else feel better. He’d tell a joke, or type an encouraging word. Sometimes that’s all he could do. One word.”

Jeremy wiped the embarrassment from his cheeks with manly verve.

“And I had the audacity to feel sorry for myself,” he said with a recovering snort. “I was such an idiot.”

“But you have nothing to feel guilty about. I mean, you gave up your life to take care of your brother.”

Jeremy shook his head. “No, Mr. Cain. Antonio is the one who gave up his life…for me. Or at least that’s what he wanted to do.”

“And would have done,” Tyler surmised, “if NEXT had accepted the court’s verdict.”

Jeremy nodded silently while Tyler reached for his own tablet, knowing this investigation had only just begun.

“Holy…!” Donny
groaned across the room, his voice stretched from an unexpectedly heavy load. “What on earth’s in this one?”

Matthew glanced up from disassembling an upturned kitchen table. “Sorry, man. My books. All seven of the boxes in that corner are pretty heavy.”

“Books? You have seven boxes of books? Ever hear of a digital reader? They’ve been around for something like a million years. Don’t you think it’s time to upgrade?”

“I have a digital reader, wise guy,” Matthew said. “Those are collector copies. You know, print classics.”

“Whatever,” Donny said, rolling his straining eyeballs. “I’ll send you the chiropractor bill.”

They shared a forced laugh as Donny took his tenth jaunt through the front door toward the small U-Haul trailer latched to the back of Matthew’s car.

“You sure that piece of junk is gonna make it all the way to Littleton pulling this load?” Donny teased upon returning.

“You let me worry about that,” Matthew replied. “You just worry about trying to find a new guy-flick buddy.”

“Already figured that one out,” Donny said smugly. “We’re gonna meet in the middle, Broomfield Virtual Cinema.”

Matthew paused his wrench to glare in Donny’s direction. “Broomfield isn’t in the middle. That’s about fifteen minutes from your place. I’d have to drive through Denver traffic. It would take me at least forty-five.”

“I’m not the one moving. You should have to drive farther than me.”

“I’m not the one who can’t find another friend.” Matthew realized it was the first time he had ever used the word to describe their relationship. “You’re the pathetic hermit.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy.”

Matthew winced at the jab, knowing he had lost the banter. It was true that he had joined the club of live-in senior-care workers. He, like Donny, could easily sink in the social quicksand of a job that entailed watching television or scanning porn sites while providing what his employer described as “caring attention for that aging loved one who wishes to remain in the comfort and privacy of his or her own home.” Matthew shook the image off by reminding himself the job was temporary. One year. Less if Judge Santiago decided the NEXT appeal as he should.

“Talk to your client yet?” Donny asked.

“In the morning,” Matthew replied. “They sent me a keypad code so I could settle in my stuff tonight. They’ll bring him over after breakfast.”

“Name?”

“I forget.” He felt slightly embarrassed by the admission. He remembered Donny’s thoughtfulness while caring for Matthew’s mother. Donny had always been careful to use her first name. He never called her Ms. Adams or ma’am. Always Janet.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Dunno. I think he’s just old and ornery. The daughter said they put him in a pretty nice senior home but that he keeps offending the residents and staff.”

“A dirty old man?”

“Who knows? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

Thirty minutes later they loaded the final piece of furniture into the trailer. Donny followed in his car as the two drove the hour to Matthew’s new temporary residence. Turning east off Santa Fe Drive onto Church Avenue, Matthew saw the familiar campus of Arapahoe Community College, the one his favorite high school academic counselor had said Matthew should attend. A good idea in retrospect, since he could have completed his freshman and sophomore years with little hassle or expense. But the suggestion had offended him at the time. Way beneath his aspirations, even if fitting for his grade point average.

Turning left onto South Curtice Street he watched the campus shrink in the side-view mirror. Two hundred yards later a dashboard voice announced his arrival at the intended destination.

“What a dump!” Donny said as he folded his arms across his chest while leaning against the hood of his car.

It was. Brownish strands of thirsty grass had succumbed to invading weeds now claiming territorial rights. Faded mulch infested with stringy, naked vines filled flowerbeds that might have once displayed annual and perennial colors. Part of the gutter above the dented garage door hung loose. The exterior paint, a deep green that had been quite popular two decades earlier, offered glimpses of wood siding that should have been replaced back in the mid-twenties.

“Home sweet home,” Matthew said with a sigh. “For now, anyway.”

After tapping the keypad code Matthew eased the front door open like a man worried about waking a sleeping child. But the house was empty. His client had been away for months. The
HOUSE FOR SALE
sign leaned against the wall just beneath the entryway light switch, remnant of an abandoned plan A. According to the job notice, the old man was leaving a senior center to move back into his own home the following morning.

“What’s that awful smell?” Donny muttered, holding his nose.

“Whew! Something must’ve died.” Matthew opened both front windows to invite fresh air into the room. “The guy’s daughter said she checked on the place every couple of weeks.”

“Well she hasn’t checked lately.”

They spent the next ten minutes searching for the source of the foul odor. A small stream of dark blood on the kitchen floor led them to a jellifying rat hidden behind the refrigerator, an apparent victim of the small mousetrap still clinging to a rear claw.

“Must have tried dragging itself to shelter,” Donny surmised. “Not a good omen for you, my man!”

Two hours later a dusk-lit breeze blew away much of the smell while the two men emptied the U-Haul trailer of the few belongings Matthew had decided to keep. The furniture, appliances, and decorations had met his mom’s needs while she was alive. Now they entombed her memory. Matthew had decided to give most of them to charity.

“What do you say we order a pizza?” Donny said, looking up from a horizontal posture on the floor. “I’m starved and exhausted.”

Matthew scanned the room to confirm the job had been accomplished. His new pillow sat on top of a floral bedspread that must have belonged to his client’s daughter when she was a teenager. Beneath that was a mattress he feared would further stress his already aching back. But buying a new bed was out of the question, since he intended to save every penny possible to pay down his loan. Whether the inheritance money came or not, he had no intention of making live-in senior care a long-term career.

His books sat stacked along the wall that would have to double as a shelf. Most of his clothes hung on a dozen hangers in the closet or had been folded and placed in two open drawers. The rest of his belongings remained in a large box labeled “miscellaneous” on top of a dresser, where Donny had placed it compliantly.

“I guess I’ve gotten enough work out of you for one day,” Matthew said with a grateful smile. “You’ve earned a meal.”

Donny raised his head from the floor. “And a movie?”

“Can’t,” Matthew replied. “I need to shower and take care of a few things tonight and then get a good night’s sleep. Gotta rest up. You know, first impressions and all.”

“Do I ever,” Donny said with a reluctant push against the floor. “And you might want to learn your client’s name before he arrives in the morning.”

“Good tip,” said Matthew.

As Donny pulled away from the house, Matthew offered a single wave before clearing the empty pizza box and soda cans from the porch. They had decided to eat outside rather than defile the scent of pepperoni with the lingering stench of rat decay.

He showered away the grime of heavy lifting in the August heat, then moved into the front room to try enjoying his last evening alone by settling into what must have been the old man’s favorite chair before the daughter moved him into an assisted living facility. Beside the chair was a small table on which sat a familiar icon. His mother had kept something similar beside her favorite chair. But her cross had been attached to rosary beads; this cross appeared on the cover of a book. Matthew flipped to the title page.

He turned the book on its side and noticed dozens of dog-eared and worn pages in the last third. The Bible appeared quite old, possibly even from the glory days of early-twentieth-century publishing. Matthew recognized it as a leather-bound classic like one he had removed from the box Donny had complained most about carrying. Probably a collectible more valuable than the old man realized. Certainly too valuable to leave lying around in an empty house.

Matthew closed the Bible and placed it back on the table with gentle care, then tapped his tablet awake to find something that might distract him from a sinking feeling that had engulfed much of his day.

One message appeared. He glanced at the sender’s name. It jolted him out of despondency.

Matthew stood while rereading the note for a second opinion. After validating his good fortune he realized that he was standing. He sat back down to shoot back what he hoped would be a cleverly perfect reply. Before he could type a single word, however, he felt a slight panic. Did he even have a picture to send besides his license and student ID photos? He could shave and dress to take a shot with his tablet camera. But he felt like a goof when taking his own picture, and it always showed.

He quickly tapped his
FAVORITES
folder. He found several saved images of Maria and about a dozen other smiling beauties, but nothing of himself. He cursed. Then he remembered adding a headshot to his social network site about three years earlier. Two taps on the screen brought him to his home page. He smiled at the satisfactory image. But there was too much hair on his head. Maria would immediately peg him as insincere for posting such an outdated shot. He quickly replaced it with one of the stock cartoon images people used to conceal their own faces.

He considered sending a reply with no picture. But he didn’t want to risk refusal, banishing him to the eternal torture of what might have been.

The seed of an idea rescued Matthew from total defeat. He set the tablet aside and walked to the bedroom to search through the unopened box filled with last-minute junk. Two minutes later he found what he’d hoped hadn’t been discarded. Charles Kohl had taken a picture on the day of his mother’s transition. He looked at his own face first. Not bad. Modest digital doctoring might even make him look ruggedly handsome. A relief!

Then he looked at the other face. He had never really examined it before. The photo had been hidden away in a drawer since the day it fell out of the envelope containing a thank-you note from Aspen House, which had included the picture as a memento of his mother’s heroic choice. He saw it as a reminder of the burden he had borne and didn’t care to recall.

Her eyes were more downcast than he remembered. Matthew had worked hard to make it a special day, to avoid any hint of what was really happening. He had told her they were visiting Aspen House so she could spend more time with the nice gentleman they had met earlier. A date, not an appointment. A chat, not a procedure. But the eyes staring at him through the photo now seemed to tell a truth he had refused to consider.

“I knew, Son. Sure, I went along. But I knew.”

Matthew felt his hand start to tremble. He forced his gaze away from hers, then flipped the photo over. He walked to the living room, where he placed it on his tablet’s scanner. Dragging the image into a photo-editing application, he isolated his own face. Moments later it looked like the kind of man he hoped Maria would want to meet, but enough like him to appear genuine.

He attached the picture to a note he decided to keep short but sweet.