Fertility: A Novel (41 page)

On one of his first days back on the job, Rick’s phone rang just as he was wrapping things up for the day. The ring was “Ode to Joy,” alerting him to a call from his mother.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, dear. I’m so sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?”

“No bother. I’m done for the day and heading over to Sarah’s. What’s up?”

“Rick, I just received a call from your father’s wife.”

“Which one might that be?”

“She gave her name as Kelly. I believe they got married a few years ago. I’ll admit her call threw me for something of a loop. I’ve had no communication from your father or his lawyer since you finished school.”

“So why was she bothering you? Did she call to commiserate? That would be rich.”

“No, dear. She called because it seems your father had a stroke today while he was giving a talk in New York. She was in the airport in LA, just about to board her plane. He’s in your hospital’s ICU, Rick. She asked if you could keep an eye on him until she arrives.”

“I think that qualifies for what Sarah’s grandma would call
chutzpah
. Surely the woman is kidding.”

“I’m afraid she sounded deadly serious.”

“Well, I don’t recall her husband keeping a vigil at my bedside when I was busted up from head to toe, compliments of his drunken driving.”

“I’m just relaying the message, Rick. Of course, how to respond is up to you.”

“Damn straight it is.”

“The only thing I would say is this, dear: You’re a better man than your father. You don’t have to make the mistakes he’s made in his life.”

“Well, I’m doing my damnedest to avoid them. But I think taking a pass on his wife’s request is hardly comparable to his abandoning me. I was a little kid — his little kid…and his reckless disregard for my life landed me in a hospital bed for months. I owe that man nothing.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, Rick. I know the two situations aren’t equivalent. But I know you. You’re an ethical person. In that way, and so many others, you’re a different man from your father.”

“So what are you saying? I should step up now even though he’s a
schmuck
?”

“That he may be, but he’s also your father.”

“I thought you said this is my decision. Are you telling me you want me to go and check him out?”

“No. What I’m saying is that, when all is said and done, I don’t want you to have regrets.”

“Oh, you think I’ll feel bad if he dies? I doubt very much that my checking on him will make any difference in the care he gets.”

“That’s not where I was going. I’m sure he’ll be well taken care of. But his wife has reached out to you. You’re a person who goes to work every day to help total strangers. Knowing you as I do, I’m concerned that you may someday regret it if you don’t help Eric and his wife.”

“Got it, Mom. I’ll think it over, but don’t pin your hopes on that making any difference.”

“My only hope, Rick, is that you be at peace with yourself.”

“Yup. Got it.”

“Now, quickly — because I know how busy you are — tell me about Sarah and Anna.”

“They’re spectacular. Really. I couldn’t be happier.” The words caught in his throat. “Gotta run.”

“Okay, dear. Know that no matter what you decide, I love you.”

“Me, too.”

* * *

On that warm spring evening, Rick ran as fast as his legs would carry him toward what he loved most in the world. He raced up the two flights of stairs to Sarah’s apartment and found her on the sofa reading Anna an alphabet book.

“Hey, you,” Sarah said, tilting her head upwards for a kiss. She saw the sweat on his brow. “Did you run all the way home?”

“Sure did,” he panted. “All the way.” He bent down and kissed Sarah and the baby. “Good day today?” he asked as he started pacing the room.

“Excellent day. Bubbe Rivka got Mrs. Goldberg’s son to drive her here for a visit. We had a lovely couple of hours. How about your day?”

“So-so. Actually, it was fine until just a few minutes ago.”

“What happened a few minutes ago?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but my father’s wife — number four or five or whatever — had the nerve to call my mother to tell her he’d had a stroke.”

“Was it a courtesy? You know, as his former wife, she had the right to know? That sort of thing?”

“No such luck. He stroked out here in New York and was brought to University Hospital. The latest wife wants me to make sure he gets the best of everything.”

“Really? He’s just a few blocks away?” Sarah tried to process the thought.

“Really,” Rick said, finally joining Sarah and the baby on the couch. Sarah put the giggling, shrieking Anna in her father’s arms. The baby’s sweet welcome brought momentary relief. Just looking at her gave him joy. He wondered if he’d ever had that effect on his father.

Sarah asked gently, “So what do you think you’ll do?”

“I haven’t seen him in decades. And if I never laid eyes on him again, it would be fine with me.”

“That’s understandable. You don’t owe him anything, Rick. Not after what he did.”

“You’ve got that right. But my mother suggested that I could take the high road — despite everything.”

“She actually wants you to go see him?”

“Not exactly. She says all she wants is that I have no regrets — you know, later on.”

“Oh.” Sarah turned that idea over in her mind. “I didn’t think of that.”

Rick handed the baby back to Sarah, got up and started pacing again. “I don’t think I can do it.”

Sarah had seen Rick so agitated only once before, and that was when she had told him she was pregnant. Then she had held her ground, despite the fact that it upset him. Now she wanted to help the man who was fast becoming her anchor, the man who wrapped his arms around her on nights when she awoke in terror, heart pounding and in a sweat.

“I don’t think you have to do what the wife is asking of you.”

“But what if my mother’s right? I hate to say it, but she usually is,” Rick said, dejected. “I found out the hard way — by ignoring her when I was a piss-ant teenager. The woman has an amazing record.”

“So you think she’s suggesting that you make your peace with him before he dies? Is that what she means?” Sarah tracked Rick as he paced across the living room.

“I guess.”

“Is he in danger of dying?”

“I have no idea what his condition is.”

“Well, then, maybe you could find out. That might make it easier for you to decide what to do,” Sarah suggested.

“I guess I could do that. I wouldn’t have to see him. I could just talk to the docs, see his chart. You know, scope things out from a distance.”

“That’s a reasonable option. Maybe you should let that idea percolate over dinner. Are you in the mood to eat? I have some gefilte fish, compliments of Bubbe.”

“What kind of fish?”

“Gefilte fish. You should try it. It may grow on you,” she smiled. “And if you’re not in the mood for a food adventure, I also have the salmon you bought yesterday. What do you think?”

“I’m not so hungry, but I’ll keep you company.”

Sarah locked eyes with him. “Good. I love your company.”

* * *

Thoughts on Rick’s predicament crowded out dinner conversation. As Sarah ate and Anna swung back and forth in her mechanical swing, Rick picked at the food on his plate and dredged up long-buried memories.

As he reflected on his childhood, it was hard to know which had caused him greater pain: the injuries sustained in the car crash, or his father’s leaving. Right after the accident he cried out for his father again and again, asking his mother when he was coming to the hospital. Long before he had been discharged, he’d stopped asking. The answer had become all too clear.

The get-well cards his father had sent in lieu of visits were, over time, replaced by checks for his birthday and Christmas. But unlike other kids whose parents had split up, his dad had never called, never picked him up for weekends. He had never taken him for school holidays or summer breaks. After a while, if kids had asked where his dad was, he’d shrug his shoulders and say, “Probably dead.”

One chilly autumn day, three years after the crash, Rick went through the photo album of his earliest years. He took a pair of scissors and methodically cut his father out of every picture, returning the altered photos to their places in the album. Then he put all the smiling faces of his father in a shoebox, dug a hole deep in the sandy soil of his backyard and buried them. When he was done, he was dirty, sweaty and elated. He’d gotten rid of his phony father once and for all. As he ate a few bites of Bubbe Rivka’s gefilte fish, he remembered the relief he had felt that day.

When Sarah was done eating, he cleared the table and washed the dishes. Sarah put Anna in her front pack to get her ready for bed. Just as Sarah was fastening the snaps of the baby’s footed pajamas, Rick came into the bedroom to complete the ritual. He fed Anna her bottle, rocking her and singing until her lids fluttered and her eyes rolled upward. As the nipple fell out of her mouth, he burped Anna and put her down for the night.

When he came back into the living room he announced his decision.

“I’ll just go back and scope out the scene.”

“It can’t hurt to know what’s going on. I think you’re making the right decision,” Sarah said.

“Hope so. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her before heading off to the resurrection of a dead man.

* * *

Eric Stavropoulous, the telegenic evolutionary biologist, had won a modicum of fame by sharing his awe and knowledge of the natural world with the public. He’d come to New York to give the keynote address at a symposium on the evolution of cooperation. He had been nearly done with his remarks when his speech became unintelligible and he collapsed, knocking over the lectern and eliciting gasps from the audience. An ambulance had rushed him to the nearest ER. There, doctors had administered the clot-busting drug, TPA, but his condition remained critical. Only time would tell if he would live, and if he did, how much damage his brain had sustained.

Rick was made aware of all this when he introduced himself to the ICU staff as a doc doing a favor for the patient’s wife. He was shown the results of the MRI, which indicated a clot in the part of the brain that controlled grammar, vocabulary and linear reasoning. It was clear they’d pulled out all the stops to treat the popular scientist’s ischemic stroke. But despite that, the patient had not regained consciousness.

As he headed for the doors of the ICU, Rick passed a small whiteboard affixed to the glass window separating him from a patient. He read the name written in green marker: Eric Stavropoulous. On the other side of the glass was his father. Rick’s heart pounded in his chest and, though he wanted to run, he felt as though his feet were nailed to the floor. His eyes scanned the man in the bed. The thick black hair he remembered was now snow white, the formerly trim, taut body fat and bloated. Despite the changes the decades had wrought and the breathing tube in his mouth, Rick recognized the face. It was the face that greeted him every morning in the mirror.

* * *

Rick couldn’t wait to get back to Sarah’s — to her and their baby and everything that was right in his life. As he jogged back he was surprised that he felt better. He’d done what had been asked of him and could carry on knowing that, his facial features notwithstanding, he was not the lout — or, as Mr. Abadhi would say, the
momzer
— his father was. When he went to bed that night, he slept well.

The next day, Rick was determined to put the episode behind him and return to his life, helping Sarah, caring for the baby, doing his best for his patients. But one thing made it hard to move on: every day he came to work, he and his father were under the same roof. His greatest wish was that Eric Stavropoulous leave the hospital, either dead or alive; it was all the same to him.

Late one afternoon, there was a knock on his door as he was reviewing lab reports in his office. “Come in,” he yelled. A pretty redhead, maybe forty or forty-five, stood in his doorway.

“Dr. Smith?” she inquired.

“One and the same,” he replied.

“I’m Kelly Stavropoulous, your father’s wife.”

He was trapped. He just sat at his desk staring at the woman.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, sensing his discomfort. “I wanted to thank you for checking on your dad while I was in transit from LA. The doctors at the ICU told me you dropped by. It meant a lot to us both.”

Both. Had he regained consciousness? Rick felt ill.

“I see you’re busy. That’s all I really came for. So, thank you again.” She hesitated for a moment, turned to leave and then thought better of it. “You look so much like your father. It’s uncanny.”

“Well, short of surgical reconstruction, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“If you say so.”

“By the way, do you know how I knew you work here — at this hospital?”

“Haven’t the foggiest.”

“Eric’s told me all about you and your career. When I learned where they’d brought him, I recognized the name of the hospital right away. He’s very proud of you, you know.”

“Proud of me, is he?” Rick asked with a wry laugh. “So proud he hasn’t bothered to call or visit in twenty-seven years.”

The woman flushed. Rick could see it was her turn to feel uncomfortable.

“You know why, don’t you?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

“There’s really no good answer to that question. Plus, it’s ancient history, in which you played no part.”

“No, I want you to know why he hasn’t come to see you.”

“No need. I think I’ve figured it out. It’s because he’s a son of a bitch who nearly killed his five-year-old son driving with a blood alcohol level in the stratosphere. And then there’s that sticky point of leaving my mother and me while I was still in intensive care. I think that about sums it up.”

When he saw he’d reduced Kelly Stavropoulous to tears, he felt like a bully. “Look, I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with you and if he hadn’t stroked out down the street, we would’ve never met. I have no right to dump on you.”