Club Sandwich (42 page)

Dr. Merritt pulls off his surgical cap, revealing a rumpled head of straight, dark hair finely lined with gray. “It went fine. None of the arteries were completely closed, so we were able to do the procedure. You should see a real improvement in her.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” I reach out to shake his hand.

“You’re welcome. I’ll fill Dr. Smart in on everything, and he’ll be getting with you. In the meantime we’ll be moving her down to ICU. I don’t know which room yet.”

He takes his leave. Brett and I pull out our cell phones and begin to make the rounds.

I sure wish I had an Internet connection here at the hospital. I’m dying to check my e-mail, having no idea how Rusty’s going to respond.

You know, I thought I had it in me. You hear about women who can support their husbands in difficult career choices that take them far away for long periods of time. And then, when the man retires, the couple rides away into the sunset together to spend the
rest of their lives at ease, enjoying and appreciating each other’s company.

But perhaps they find they have nothing to say to one another anymore, and they separate, and those years of forbearance, of setting the teeth and swallowing hard, meant absolutely nothing.

Fact is, “It is not good for the man to be alone.”

If God saw that, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t Rusty?

The dialysis machine cleans Mom’s blood, whirring and twirling its parts, blood-filled tubing jumping around a bit. And she’s sitting up in her bed watching
The Lawrence Welk Show
on public television.

“You know, girls, I actually feel hopeful. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”

Brett leans forward and takes her hand. “The doctor says if you take good care of yourself, you’ll have lots of years ahead of you.”

“I’d sure like to see the grandchildren all grow up.”

“Me too, Mom,” I say.

“Do you remember when you girls used to do duets together in church?”

“Oh yeah.” Brett clears her throat. “Ready, Ive? How about the HASH Chorus. Got your alto on?”

“Ready when you are.”

She begins, her clear soprano ringing truer than ever. “This world is not my home …”

I join in on the harmony. “I’m just a passin’ through. My treasures are laid up … somewhere beyond the blue.”

We sing softly, hymn after hymn, chorus after chorus, and Mom drifts off, sleeping soundly as we tiptoe from the room, homeward bound.

Brett shakes her head. “Good grief. All those songs seemed to be about dying and going home to heaven.”

“I know! Do you think she realized it?”

“Let’s hope not!”

I take her arm, and we chuckle as we set foot to the ugly carpeting.

B
rett turns onto Allegheny Avenue. “That was a good day, wasn’t it, Ive?”

“Far better than I dared even hope.”

“She sounded so good, didn’t she? Had that lift to her voice I haven’t heard in months.”

I’ve got my mom back. I’ve got her back. “I know! I think I should keep her at the house, though. Don’t you? With running to dialysis three times a week.”

“That’s up to you. You think you’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah. Harry’ll drive her. He’s become a regular chauffeur these days. He and Reuben.”

“So you think he’ll stay?”

“I want him to.”

We stop at a red light.

She looks at me. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we discussed earlier. I think I’m going to try and make a go of it with Dad. I’m not getting any younger.”

“Me either.”

“And I figure, when he goes, either I tried or I didn’t. But I’d like to think I have more inside of me than this.”

“Don’t we all, Brett?”

“Yeah, well, ‘only one life’ and all that.”

Mom’s favorite poem. “Only one life, t’will soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

A few minutes later we pull into the drive. Out by the front walk a cab idles. The back door opens, and someone climbs out from inside. Tall and not so heavy as he used to be.

“Rusty!” I scream, scrambling out of the car before it comes to a complete stop.

He quickly slips the driver some cash and runs toward me. I slam into his great warmth.

He came home.

Oh, dear Lord, he came home.

My knees buckle, and he holds me up, saying, “It’s all right, Ive. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m sorry, hon. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you came back.”

“Marlin was really angry. But I told him, ‘We go around singing gospel songs, and you want me to forsake my family in this time of crisis?’ ”

“What did he say?” I place a few teabags in my favorite pot. We’re letting the kids sleep through. Awakening to find their father home will be an exciting surprise.

“He said, ‘If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.’ ”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I didn’t think that was exactly what Jesus meant.”

“So do you still have a place with the group once this is over?”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Besides, I got an e-mail from Lyra a while ago that worried me. She’s being made fun of at school a lot, did you know that?”

“No!” I fill the pot with steaming water. “She hasn’t said a thing!”

“She said you’ve got enough on your plate.”

“No wonder she’s been so edgy. I thought it was me.”

“She’s got a lot to handle.”

“I can’t wait to see her face when she sees you.”

He smiles. “I didn’t get any supper on the plane. Is there any lunchmeat?”

“Sure. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“No mayo anymore.”

“Got it.”

Rusty’s looking good, I have to admit. “How much weight have you lost?”

“Seventy-five pounds.”

“Really?”

He pulls a loaf of bread out of the drawer. “Yep. I’ve got another forty to go. I’m thinking about joining Dad’s gym and going with him in the mornings. I’m feeling like I’m at the point where I can start working out again.”

“I won’t complain about that.”

He grabs the turkey, mustard, and sandwich pickles from the fridge. “I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to go interview up at that school.”

“You’ll like it there. It would be a great place for Trixie and Persy.”

“It’ll be lean for a while until I get a job.”

“We’ll make it somehow.”

He fixes his sandwich as I pour the tea.

“You know you’re going to have to give me a little time, don’t you, Rust?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“I’ll have to get to know you all over again.”

“I’ve got some trust to earn.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

He places the second slice of bread on the meat. “Ive, I’m the one who left. Bottom line. I just thought we could make it work.”

“But ‘we’ was really ‘I.’ ”

He doesn’t argue. Rusty never does when he knows he really blew it. He sits down and begins to eat.

“Rusty, I just want you to know that I really wanted a divorce. In my mind, I was thinking it would really come to that. It’s not fair if you don’t know how serious this all is.”

He looks me in the eye. “I know.”

“I didn’t want to give you an ultimatum. I shouldn’t have had to. And that’s still ticking me off. You really didn’t miss us enough to come home on your own.”

“You’re right.”

“You didn’t value us higher than yourself.” His eyes drop to his mug. “So am I basically on probation?”

“Yes. I have to see for myself that you love us. Now, let me get you up to speed on Dorothy.” Man, I need a subject change.

I rinse my cup out in the sink as Rusty sets up the coffeepot for the morning. “Brett’s staying here, Rust. She’s up in our room.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Marcus up to his tricks?”

“The campaign, his new mistress.”

Rusty shakes his head. “Guess I can’t judge him there, can I?”

“So we can pull out the sofa bed down here, I guess. Brett can take it tomorrow.”

“I’ll go get it ready. It’s 5:00 a.m. by my body clock. You coming to bed?”

I’ve got a lot to do, naturally, but I’m so worn out concentration isn’t a possibility. “Yeah, I’m ready to turn in.”

Fifteen minutes later, Rusty’s snoring away, and I’m numb, but this is going to work. It has to. I have no other option that’s good for the kids or even me. If I fell in love with him once, I can fall in love with him again.

Falling in love? That seems a bit juvenile. I’d even settle for that lovely, worn-in shoe feeling. Yes, that’s what I want to have with Rusty. I want to walk in rhythm down the aisle of the grocery store. Call his cell phone to tell him to pick up dinner at KFC on the way home. Watch a sitcom. Eat popcorn. Buy him his favorite soap. I want to repeat the same old stories, eat the same holiday dinners, and spread mulch. I want to grow old together, our relationship as warm and taken for granted as morning sunlight through a kitchen window.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

Whoa! My eyes burst open.

Persy’s jumping all over the bed, his voice raised to full volume.

I slept through the night without waking up once. I feel great.

I hear a bump from upstairs, and Lyra rumbles down the steps, sleep already far from her eyes. “Dad!”

Trixie slides down next, her behind thumping on each stair. “Daddy! Daddy!”

And soon they’re all snuggled together around us, the king and queen of the sofa bed. Giggles and shouts explode, tickles and pokes draw out more laughter. I can choose to make it now. I can choose to get through today, and perhaps tomorrow as well.

Fifteen minutes later. “Okay, gang, get dressed for school!”

“How ’bout a day off, Ive? Just this once?” Rusty.

The kids cheer. I look at them. “Why not? In fact they’re moving Mom down to a regular ward today. Maybe you can bring everyone down? It’ll cheer her up.”

“Sounds like a plan! Come on Trixie-girl, Daddy will get you dressed this morning.”

“I’ll help Grandpa with breakfast.” Lyra.

“Can I play GameCube?” Persy.

I sit up straight. “Let’s go.”

Brett makes her appearance. “Rusty!”