Hometown Favorite: A Novel (44 page)

"Dr. Macy, I will put my tumor into your hands, and what's
left of my faith I will put in God"

"Let's hope it will be a winning combination," the doctor
said.

There was no reason to return to Springdale. Time was of
the essence, and Dr. Macy was anxious to start the pre-op process. University Hospital would absorb all expenses. Dewayne
was taking a risk for science, the first brain cancer patient to
undergo such an experiment. There would be several days of
tests to establish the operational protocol with Dr. Macy's team
and build up Dewayne's strength; he also had some time to
prepare mentally for what lay ahead of him. Dewayne insisted
the room he was given be large enough to accommodate a bed
for Jake; he wanted him by his side. He requested the hospital
do all in its power to keep this information from getting to the
media. If they caught wind of this story, they would descend.
Dr. Macy and University Hospital administration agreed to the
news blackout, but requested that, if the operation proved to
be a success, they could announce the results with Dewayne
at their side, and he agreed to the press conference.

There were three calls Dewayne asked Jake to make once he
made the decision to have the operation. Coach Gyra was the first. He wanted Gyra to know what he was preparing to go
through with all its risks, but its potential for positive results
as well. He had no idea what it might mean for his future if
the operation was a success, and Gyra relayed the message that
there would be nothing he would like better than to welcome
Dewayne back into the Stars' locker room.

Dewayne wanted Detective Hathaway to know, and when
Hathaway found out, he asked if he could come and see Dewayne. He had some news, and given the circumstances, he
would like to deliver it in person. He was owed vacation time,
and why not spend a few days in Memphis?

The third call was to Rosella, which Jake argued Dewayne
should make, but he abdicated the task.

"Should I return to Memphis?" she asked. "What should I
do?"

"I'd catch the first plane out of Los Angeles;" Jake told her.

"Is this what he wants? Does he want me there?"

"He has not said those words." Jake could not lie and he could
not manipulate, but he did not restrict himself from editorial
comment. "I know he's hurt. I know he's scared. And I know
I can't do this alone"

"I'll call back when I have my flight plans, but say nothing
about this to him."

On his own, Dewayne made a fourth call to Winston Garfield, the reporter for the Springdale Leader. Winston drove to
Memphis, and after the first battery of pre-op tests were done,
they spent the rest of the day together. Should he not survive
the operation he wanted Winston to publish his full story. The
last call he made was to a lawyer Winston recommended in
Springdale. There were some loose ends he wanted to tie up.

Detective Hathaway's first comment when Jake escorted him into Dewayne's room was about the upgrade in hospital
accommodations.

"Yeah, this is what experimental surgery will buy you, but
I'd rather see someone else lying here;" Dewayne said.

"This may cheer you up;" Hathaway said and took a seat
beside Dewayne's bed. "A few days before Jake called me, I
was contacted by the authorities of the federal prison in San
Jose. They transported Tyler and his LA gang from Dominical
once we busted them, quite a comedown, going from a five-star
mansion to a third-world penitentiary. This was the end of the
line for Tyler Rogan. I don't think the boys from LA appreciated being brought to Costa Rica on a vacation and ending up
extending their stay a good ten to twenty. His autopsy report
shows signs of acute torture; call it the three Bs: burns, bruises,
and blunt instrument abuse in places where blunt instruments
don't belong. He suffered. He suffered in the extreme, but it
was the slit throat that finished him off, no doubt administered
without last rites."

"How do you know it's the right guy?" Jake asked.

"Photos from the coroner, and the fingerprints and DNA
match from his juvie days," Hathaway said.

Dewayne's face had been expressionless the whole time he
listened to Hathaway. The tale was outrageous, too unbelievable, ill timed in its telling. Dewayne was facing the prospects
of his own death; his emotions were at peak level, and hearing
of Tyler's brutal death brought confusion. Still, one feeling
began to rise out of the jumbled mass.

"They beat me to him;" he mumbled. "I wanted the pleasure.

Jake and Hathaway looked at him, thinking it was a perverse stab at humor, but the frustrated glint in Dewayne's eyes
revealed true disappointment.

"This way you can have all the pleasure and none of the
guilt," Hathaway said, hoping to lighten the morbidity in the
room, and then he moved on to the next subject.

"With this new turn of events the money stolen from you
will be restored. It will still take some time, but you should get
back most of it"

"I'll trade you one brain tumor for everything in my account." Dewayne began to laugh at his gloomy attempt at a
joke. His laughter continued and became infectious. It drew
in the other two men, and when Hathaway said he would only
take cash, they laughed even more, and even harder when the
stern-faced nurse entered the room and demanded the volume level be brought down, which by that point was almost
impossible. Dewayne had not laughed in months. He did not
know he was capable of laughter. He did not know how much
laughing he would do in the near future, but now was a good
time to laugh.

Dewayne asked if he and Jake could eat their last evening
meal together on the observation deck before the operation
the next morning. He needed a break from wheeling all over
the hospital, in and out of different rooms where the medical
staff performed every imaginable test. He needed to be outside,
breathing fresh air and looking into the night sky. The slight
cool breeze felt good on his skin but made the flame of the
candle inside the glass hurricane on the table hiss in complaint.
Dewayne could not eat much. He sipped on a smoothie while
studying the will he had drawn up.

Jake quietly ate his supper and nodded when necessary so
Dewayne would think he was paying attention.

"Rosella gets everything;" he said. "That is the right thing,
isn't it, Jake?"

Jake nodded as he buttered his roll.

"If I'm not around and there's a glitch in the system about
getting our money back, you'll take care of it, right?"

Jake nodded, his eyes cast down upon his food.

"And you'll help her decide what ministries to give money
to."

Jake held up his hands as if to say, When is this going to
be over?

"It's important, Jake. It's important. And you get Mama's
house or its monetary equivalent"

Jake stopped chewing and stared at Dewayne. He set down
his fork and washed his last bite down with a swallow of sweet
tea.

"You deserve it. No argument. The hospital notary is stopping by before the operation tomorrow to notarize it, and we're
good to go," he said and plopped the document in front of
Jake's plate.

Dewayne leaned back in his wheelchair and looked into the
clear night sky. The lights of Memphis diffused the reflected
brightness of the vast universe of stars above him, manufactured light and light-years away competing against the darkness. He believed there were more stars than he could see, but
he had to imagine them.

"Jake, I thought I knew so much, but I know so little," he
said. "I do know this; mercy is not a natural instinct. When
Detective Hathaway told me about Tyler's death, mercy did
not come to mind. Disappointment that I wasn't the one who
took the knife to his throat, pleasure at knowing how he suffered, but not mercy, not forgiveness. I'm about to have this
operation, and I don't know how to ask God for mercy when
I'm incapable of giving it. I wonder if God's capable of giving
it. I thought that was a given, came with the faith package like
a bonus, but I haven't felt it in a long time and don't know if I should expect it now. It certainly didn't arrive in time to save
my family or me"

"Lay it down;" Jake said. "It's one of those unanswerables"

Jake finished his last bite of supper and set his empty plate
on the table next to them. He slid Dewayne's will toward him
and brushed some crumbs off the top page.

"Rosella know about this?" he asked, tapping his finger on
the document.

Dewayne was quiet, the heavens still capturing his pensive
gaze, and Jake repeated the question.

"She'll know soon enough," Dewayne said. Sorrow filled his
voice. "When was the last time you spoke with her?"

Jake seized the moment. "Son, if you're gonna die, don't
die a fool," he said, tossing diplomacy out the window. "Your
mother might have loved me if I hadn't been a stubborn drunk.
She might have married me if I had spoken up. Instead, I did
that crawl-inside-the-bottle thing and kept my self-pity iced
and pickled. I can't talk to you about theology matters since
I haven't been very good at practicing them, but you do have
one last chance for mercy, and that's with that girl. Don't let it
be when she reads this will:"

Dewayne looked at Jake. He had never seen him angry before. Never. He had seen him in a myriad of emotional states,
but never angry. This was not the last memory he wanted to
have of his friend.

"What should I do?" Dewayne whispered.

"You need to figure it out. I can't tell you." Jake took his plate
and glass, left the last will and testament of Dewayne Jobe resting on the table, and walked away.

Dewayne went back to the heavens. It was vast, populated
with stars, planets, and galaxies, all above him, all floating
in unfathomable space, all silent. Where would the comfort come from? Where could he deposit his fear, doubt, and anger
and be able to inhale that deep-breath peace that surpasses all
understanding?

The touch came with the coolness of fingers caressing his
cheek. When he opened his eyes, the vision of Rosella almost
made him leap out of his chair like someone healed. She placed
a finger on his lips.

"I was hoping I would see you before your operation tomorrow," she said. "Jake thought I should try again maybe. I hope
you're not angry. You don't have to do anything or say anything.
I just wanted you to know I was here if you needed anything,
but I would leave if you wanted me to:"

Dewayne lowered his head and said nothing. She opened
her purse and pulled out the divorce papers she had brought
Dewayne back in Houston when he was at his lowest point.
She held them up to the light of the candle and flipped over
to the last page.

"Jake gave this to me. You never did sign it," she said, and he
shook his bowed head. He did not raise it until he caught a whiff
of something burning. He looked up to see Rosella holding the
top of the divorce document and the bottom third turning to
ash. He saw the blank space on the last page where his signature
was to have been written give way to the conflagration. He saw
Rosella's name and the name of the law firm and the California
notary stamp turn black in the intense heat.

When the fire consumed half the document, she rose from
the table, walked over to the balcony, and held the flaming
papers over the edge. The cremated particles of official divorcement flew into the air, rising into the silent heavens he had
been staring into just moments before. When the papers were
near incineration, she released them, and the remaining flames
dropped from sight, disintegrating into the atmosphere.

Dewayne pushed his body out of the wheelchair and balanced himself by placing his hand on the table. Rosella started
to come to him, but he stopped her by raising his other hand.
She waited as he maneuvered through the tables and chairs on
his slow way to join her. When he got to the balcony, he looked
over the edge, and on the ground, six stories below he saw an
exhausted flame flicker out.

"I cant pretend any of what happened to us did not happen;'
she said. "We have horrors that will always be remembered. I've
shamed myself with you in ways I never imagined I could do. We
can't recover what we've lost, but there's no scorecard. My loss is
equal to yours, and I don't want to keep on losing. I want to hold
on to something I loved once with all my heart, something I hope
I could love again, and maybe, in time, could love me back"

Dewayne looked down over the balcony, then back into the
sky. He caught the faint scent of burnt ember.

"I'm broken;" he said. "All this dreadfulness has broken me.
I have to turn it over. I have to turn everything over to God,
Someone whose trust is in doubt, but I don't know what else to
do. Whatever happens after tomorrow, I've got to lay it down.
I'm not trying to make any deals with God. I just want to be
ready to meet him"

He motioned for her hand and reached into the pocket of
his robe, pulling out his mother's engagement ring, and placed
it in her palm, then folded her fingers over it. "I've been holding on to Mama's ring for good luck. It's been in short supply.
Would you hold on to it for safekeeping?"