Comfort and Joy (18 page)
Dan stood at the edge of the graves. Wind lifted treetops, leaves, and petals of flowers; wind tossed apple branches beyond the ditch; wind rushed over the length of the trailer. The long day nearly over, sun slanted from the western line of trees. Amy and Jason, Allen and Cherise had driven away, the family Amy and Jason, Allen and Cherise had driven away, the family gathered in the yard to say good-bye. Mom still waited in the doorway, and Ford stood behind her, watching uneasily, as if Danmight explode. But he went onsurveyingthe graves.
An ache in his shoulder grew fierce as wind poured through his jacket. The pain had begun in the joint early in the afternoon, for no reason Dan could think of. Some force had torn a tiny blood vessel somewhere in his shoulder. At first he had wondered whether the hurt was real or whether it would go away, but by now Dan could be certain he was bleeding. The muscle blew itself up like a balloon one blood cell at a time. The process would not stop until Dan took the medicine that enabled his blood to clot. Danunderstood this as a fact.
But all day he had kept the pain secret, had even ignored it himself. Now, near sunset, it increased. But instead of heading into the house and asking for what he needed, he headed away fromthe trailer and the figures inthe doorway.
He was numb inside. Hours at home, inthe midst ofhis family, always wiped him clean of feeling. Today, with Ford, the process had become distorted and terrifying, leaving Dan no retreat except the coldness and distance that were like trademarks.
Kneeling at the edge ofthe mausoleumwith his hand along the marble, spellinghis brother's name withhis fingertips, G-r-o-v-er. His brother inside the mausoleum, embalmed and silent, dressed in the blue suit that seemed somehow pathetic in Dan's memory, the countrychild inthe countrysuit, brokenand gone.
His mother had told him the story of the miniature Christmas tree and the sight of it, poised in the bronze vase on the front of the mausoleum, made him heavy and sad. He touched Grove's name again, moving carefully. The cold of the marble raced through his fingertips and flowered in his shoulder, the pain from the hemorrhage cutting sharp and deep. He must return to the trailer, gather up the boxes of his medicine, mix it into the proper formand transfuse it into his veins. He must take care of himself. He had performed the procedure a hundred times but he could not bringhimselfto picture it today.
You should let somebody help you,
Grove said.
That's all you have to do. You already know it but you're a chickenshit, that's why you're putting words in my mouth.
Ford had moved to the edge ofthe yard and stood s here. He showed his anxiety in the rigid lines of his arms plunged into the leather pockets. Dan felt the pull of that being, the hunger.
I will take care of myself.
Mom stood in the doorway of the trailer. Her own anxiety was just as plain, though Dan could not have said what were his clues.
Inside, he could hear the low sound of Ford's voice, a vibration that passed through walls. In the office, Ford huddled over the phone, astonishingly small and fragile. "I'm sorry, Mother," Ford said, "we were busy all morning, and I couldn't get to the phone." Pause. "Well, it's not like that." Rubbing his forehead with fingers. "I told you, I couldn't get to a phone, I'm sorry."Ford closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as ifit hurt. "Mother, I didn't ruin your Christmas. Your Christmas was ruined a long time ago." Pause. "You know exactly what I mean."Pause. "I've had a wonderfulholiday. His family is great." Swallowing. "No, it's not very big." Brows furrowing momentarily. "No, just the family. Dan's brother and his sister momentarily. "No, just the family. Dan's brother and his sister and his sister-in-law." Pause. "Well, I still don't see why you didn't go to Uncle Reuben's. But that's up to you."
He turned in the chair, and Dan ducked out of sight. His heart was pounding. He was surprised at the strength of his reaction. Ford was listening now, the tinny, distant sound of his mother's voice audible inhis silence. Finally, Ford interrupted to say, "This is no use, Mother. Goodbye. I'lltalk to yousoon."
As he hung up the phone, Dan slipped away. Ford found him in the kitchen. A clock murmured behind him. Other sounds joined in the steady rhythm. Ford was scowling. Dan stood nervously to pour himself water; but when he rose he moved abruptlyand painlit his shoulder.
"I don't know. I noticed it a while back."
"And youdidn't sayanything."Changes played over Ford's face. Dan read his companion's exhaustion and sudden
anger. "I can't believe you still do this as many times as I've yelled at you about it. You cannot let yourself bleed one minute longer thanyouhave to."
The rest of the medical paraphernalia Dan had stashed in the chest of drawers in the bedroom. Wishing to be elsewhere when Ford returned, he headed there to fetch it. Momappeared in the doorway. "Son, what's wrong?"
Small-voiced, he answered, "I'm bleeding in my shoulder," opening the chest of drawers, searching for the syringes, tourniquet, and alcoholswabs. "Ford's upset about it."
"He always wants me to tell him the second I start bleeding, and I never do." Feeling suddenly tired, he sagged against the heavy wooden chest, facing a picture of himself at eight, framed on the wall. Dan tried to find a position in which his shoulder would stop hurting. From the kitchen came sounds of Ford returning, large footfalls accompanied by the rustling of paper. Mom, over her shoulder, called, "We're inhere."
"Yes. It's just like him."Her tone was mocking but gentle. "He never could pick a good time to get sick."
This, delivered in Mom's best offhand manner, quieted Ford somewhat. Dan and Ford faced each other across the room. "Youdidn't forget anything, did you?"
"No, I didn't." Stomach beginning to knot. "I brought three butterflies, I hope that's enough."
"I don't think I'llmiss your veins twice."
Knowing no response would meet with friendlier reception, Danremained silent. Ford sullenlywatched him.
In the kitchen, boxes of dried blood protein sat on the table. The process of mixing medication to treat his hemophilia had evolved, for Dan, the character of a ceremony. He opened the boxes, laying out the contents—dehydrated Factor VIII protein in one large vacuum-sealed jar and sterile water for reconstitution in another. Ford joined himat the table and began to prepare the other box. Dan remained silent, puncturing the nipple of the vacuum jar with one end of the double-needle. A thinstreamofsterile water jetted into the white latticework ofthe protein, whichinstantlycollapsed into wet clumps.
Momasked, "Do you boys have everything you need in here? Because I want to stay out of your way." Not waiting for an answer, she leaned from behind Dan to kiss his forehead. "I know you'll be fine when you get your medicine." She hesitated, then touched Ford affectionately as well. "Looks like you have somebodyto take care ofyou, anyway. Your veryowndoctor."
In the quiet that followed, Ford's anger began to soften. Dan waited, the bottle of diluted medicine warming in his hand. Finally, Ford said, "This mess with my family is getting out of hand. I think my parents' solution to this is going to be to make me choose betweenthemand you."
Edges of fear prickled Dan. The butterfly needle on the table caught his eye. "I think that's exactlywhat they're tryingto do."
During the transfusion they hardly said a word. Ford slowly squeezed the syringe and the yellowish fluid vanished through the butterfly needle and into Dan's body. Dan always imagined he could feel the medicine as it circulated through him, awakening his bloodstream, filling him with well-being. Adding to him the one tiny ingredient he lacked. Ford removed the needle, careful ofthe drop ofblood at the tip. He slid the plastic sheath over the needle and packed all the jars and wrappers neatly into the medicine box. His carefulmovements gave Dan a slight feeling of discomfiture, though he said nothing. Ford cleared the table, and Dan slid a Band-Aid over the needle puncture, pressing down to stop the oozing blood. They were done. His shoulder ached, but soonthe ache would be less.
They moved to the outer room to sit with Mom and Ray. A slight coolness between them still. After a few minutes Ray announced he was going to bed, but Momsaid, "I think I'llsit up with the boys a few more minutes." Ray vanished toward the bedroom, slippers making soft brushing sounds along the kitchen linoleum. Momtook the remote controlfromthe armof his chair and turned off the television. She tucked her robe under her knees. "How's your shoulder, son?"
"Better."
"Is there enough for another dose before we leave tomorrow?"Ford asked. "I didn't check when I was out there, I was so mad."
"There's enough."
"You were mad, weren't you?" Mom asked, chuckling. "I used to get mad like that when Danny or Grove would tell me they were bleeding. I would fuss and fuss and rush around, until finallyI realized it didn't do a bit ofgood."
"I'ma doctor, you'd think I would know that."
He spoke in an almost surly way, and Dan realized he had forgotten the need for charm. Mom must have realized it too, because she smiled. Some troublesome thought came to her as she watched Ford, and Dan was afraid she was sorry Ford had come. But when she spoke, he understood he had guessed wrong.
"Ford, did Dangive youthat present he showed me?"
"We traded presents before we came,"Ford answered.
"I'mtalkingabout the present he showed me yesterday."
Ford looked at Dan suspiciously, and Dan's heart began to pound.
"Good night, boys. Ford, make sure he gives it to you."
"What was that allabout?"Ford asked, whenshe was gone.
Fear engulfed Dan and he stood. "I do have another present for you. I showed it to her yesterday."
He headed for the bedroom. Ford followed himthere, though they left the door open. Blood rising through his cheeks, Dan reached for his bag from the shelf of the closet, then froze. Unable to turn. Ford said, "You're really scared. This must be something."
At first he could not find it, the wrapped box in the dark bag; then his fingertips brushed the paper surface. He had an impulse to shove the whole bag at Ford and let himfish it out for himself. to shove the whole bag at Ford and let himfish it out for himself. But he saw Ford waiting. So he lifted the box out of the bag, sat downonthe bed, and cradled it inhis palms.
