It Burns a Lovely Light (26 page)

Farley tried to swallow but her throat was too dry.

"But...he'll be all right," she whispered. "I mean, he's not going to..."

Dr. Hugh hesitated. "Your brother survived a brutal attack that should have killed a man more than twice his size. As long as William is alive, there is hope."

"Doctor, I don't care what it costs," said Claire.
"Whatever he needs. Experts. Specialists. Please."

"We'll do everything we can, Mrs. Sullivan. Having said that, if you have a particular priest...."

"Coming!" yelled Ryan, hopping up and down as he
struggled to pull on a pair of pants. His temple was throbbing and he saw spots. He opened the door to find Paddy, soaking wet.

"It's William, Father. You'd better come with me."

Neither man spoke on the way to the hospital. Ryan worked his way through the rosary while Paddy wondered where the love of God was when this good boy was being beaten to a bloody pulp and left for dead.

Farley was an inch from William's face. "I'm going to wake you with my forceful stare."

She sat back as Veda Marie entered the room. Behind her, Mr. Winston carried a leather suitcase.

Veda Marie kissed the top of her head. "How's our boy this morning?"

"Better now. Last night his monitors were going off all over the place."

A nurse backed a portable tray into the room. They watched
in silence as she changed the bags and checked the complicated-looking monitors surrounding William's bed. On her way out she spotted the suitcase in Mr. Winston's hand.

"Is that for the patient?"

"Yes, it's for
William
," said Veda Marie.

The nurse reached for the handle. "I'll take it."

Mr. Winston held tight; a brief tug-of-war ensued before she
released the handle.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, "but only
immediate
family is allowed in here. I'm sure you understand."

"I certainly do." He clutched the suitcase to his
chest. "And on behalf of my family, I would like to thank you for taking care of our William." He tapped the suitcase with the palm of his hand. "We'll put his belongings away. Our boy needs his things folded
just so
."

Veda Marie gently kissed William's forehead.

"There's my sweet angel," she said, trying to sound cheerful.

But her heart cried out as she looked him over. Most of his
head was bandaged. One arm was in a cast, and his left leg was suspended in traction. His entire body was a quilt of sterile bandages, sutures, angry bruises, and swelling.

Mr. Winston crouched next to Farley's chair and put an arm
around her.

"Ham Kane needs to talk to you, dear," he said. "He's in the lounge at the end of the hall."

"Peter Gaglio and his two brothers were picked up in
upstate New York."

Farley wrapped her arms around herself. She nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"They assaulted the owner of a mom-and-pop store early this morning. The old man wouldn't give up the combination to the safe. They
beat him, then hauled the safe out to his station wagon and took off. A few miles down the road the car ran out of gas. They were staggering across a field with the safe when the police apprehended them. Apparently family loyalty isn't
a Gaglio trait; the brothers are already pointing the finger at each other about a boatload of crimes."

"Including William's."

"Yes."

The bile rose in Farley's throat. Three of them. Against
William.

Farley walked Ham to the elevator. "What about the old man?"

"You mean the store owner?" He hesitated.
"He's pretty banged up, but he'll be all right."

Farley nodded, grateful for the obvious lie.

"The doctors say William may never remember anything about that night," she said. "But if he does, I don't want him to
have to face them in court."

"I'll see about recording his testimony, when he's up to it."

She gave him a weak smile. "Thank you for not saying
'if he gets better.'"

"I'll stay on top of the Gaglio situation." He hugged Farley. "You just take care of that brother of yours."

Take care of your brother.

Let's go, Jack. She'll be fine.

The hospital chapel was empty. Farley took a seat in the first pew and stared down the cross on the wall.

November was one long permeating chill. William's family and friends walked a tightrope, balancing the horror of his attack against the hope that he would - that they all would - wake from this horrific nightmare.

William's doctors encouraged the family to talk in a normal tone of voice, speaking and reading to him as if he were awake. Farley spent every possible moment at the hospital. Veda Marie watched her TV soaps in William's room, offering her opinions on what that vixen Erica was up to now.
Claire's fingers inelegantly forced the needle and thread as she sat by his bed. Resa decorated his walls with drawings from Eileen and cards that poured in daily from total strangers. Mr. Winston and Paddy took turns reading to
William. Dion did her homework on his bedside tray.

Joe taped football and hockey games and replayed them in William's room. On a whim, he contacted a friend of a friend who worked in the Steelers organization to request a card from the players. The following day a
handful of players showed up at the hospital, bearing a banner signed by the whole team.

TO WILLIAM JAMES

OUR PAL

GET WELL SOON

FROM THOSE NICE BOYS FROM PITTSBURGH

The sky gave way to an unruly downpour as Paddy read William the final paragraph of Leon Uris'
Trinity
.

"When all of this was done, a republic eventually came
to pass. But the sorrows and the troubles have never left that tragic, lovely land. For you see, in Ireland there is no future, only the past happening over and over."

Paddy turned off the overhead light. Flecks of dust swam
through the streak of light coming from the hallway. Careful not to disturb the monitors, tubes and wires, he made his way to the window. He smiled, imagining the rain soaking and thoroughly scrubbing the soot and grime-coated buildings
and streets of the city. Like Ireland, his beloved Pittsburgh was overcoming its sorrows and troubles.

"You might not be known as the loveliest land," he whispered, "but nor will you ever be known as tragic."

Dion squeezed William's foot. "Hi, fella."

A muscle under his eye twitched, which she chose to believe was a response. She pulled a chair up to the bed and began unpacking her
notebooks.

"Pharmacology is getting hard. I don't mean to be selfish, but you're going to have to wake up soon. I need my study buddy back. I had to ask my professor's assistant for help."

She spread balm on his lips. "Get this; his name is
Horsehead. I'm sure it's a lie name. Probably a childhood nickname the poor thing couldn't shake. I'm meeting him later today. I'll let you know if the noggin fits the name."

Horsehead stood on the tips of his topsiders, stretching to scrawl the assignment across the chalkboard. He erased a particularly illegible word with the mock patched elbow of his sweater, purchased during a recent
unsuccessful attempt to be hip.

Dion theatrically cleared her throat.

"Hello," he said. "May I help you?"

"I'm Dion Piotrowski. I left you a message..."

"I just got off the phone with one of your housemates. I'd be happy to help. I'm available any time after six Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Do any of those nights work for you?"

"Monday at six would be great."

"Monday it is."

As she turned to leave, Horsehead waved a piece of paper. "Oh, I have a note for you from admissions. They still need a copy of your birth certificate and social security card." He smiled. "You know how
sticky they are about paperwork."

Dion stared. The man had a striking smile. And big, shiny green eyes with dark lashes. She tilted her head. His cheeks had a pink glow to
them, as if he'd been running.

"Will that be a problem?" he asked.

"No problem."

She turned and put her rear end into high gear, swishing from side to side out the classroom door. No problem at all.

Dion went around to the side door of her childhood home and let herself into the kitchen. She inhaled the stale odor of dishrags, mold, and garbage. Same old kitchen, she thought. Living proof that time really can stand
still. The red Formica table and metal chairs. Food and junk on all the counters; jars of pickles, crackers, bread. Magazines still piled on the corner table, along with a hairbrush and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Same old
misery.

She found the folder containing her birth certificate and hospital records. On impulse, she grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil.

Dear Ma,

I'm sorry I had to take my personal records - I needed them for school and you wouldn't talk to me when I called. (Or answer my letters, or come to the door.) I know about the mill closing down. Please tell Dad I'm thinking of him.

Your daughter,

Dionna

P.S. I think of you, too.

P.S.S. The South Side Rialto is bringing back
Terms of Endearment
for the Saturday matinee. I always sit near the front.

"We're not expecting a crowd tonight," said Henry, "but you know how that works."

Colette handed him an overloaded basket. "Stop worrying; I can handle it. I hope I made enough sandwiches."

He weighed the basket. "I think you made enough to feed the entire hospital."

"The Shepherd's Pie goes to Bridge Manor. Drop it off first. Tell Veda Marie the heating instructions are taped to the top." She
held the kitchen door for him. "And don't forget to give William a special..."

"...kiss from Auntie Colette," finished Henry, kissing her cheek. "You're the best."

Blushing, she waved. "Merci, monsieur. Get out of here."

As his van pulled away, Colette touched the spot on her cheek where he had kissed her.

Farley rested her chin on the metal side bars of William's
bed and watched his chest move up and down.

"Please wake up," she whispered. "We'll go home to Bridge Manor and I swear I'll never talk about leaving again. I just
want our life back. Please, kiddo."

A nurse backed into the room pulling a cart full of electrical equipment.

"Hello, dear. How is our superhero this evening?"

Farley straightened and stretched her back. "I swear, it almost sounded like he was humming."

"He probably was."

"That figures," said Henry, his face hidden by an
enormous basket of food. "William never could remember all the words."

One of the machines hooked up to William beeped.

Henry jumped, his sandwich falling to the floor.
"What's happening?"

"It's all right," said Farley. "It's his IV monitor."

She no longer noticed the hissing, clicking, and beeping of the machines. The sound that caught her attention was the 'bad sound;' a high
warning bleep-bleep-bleep that went off when William's frail body was perilously close to losing its battle. It went off twice in the days after his admission. Thankfully nothing since.

Two nurses brought a fresh IV bag, re-checked his monitors,
and dimmed the lights on their way out.

Farley put her head on Henry's shoulder.

"William believes Mom and Dad are watching over us," she said. "But I can tell you right now, they're not. No parent,
dead or alive, could stand by and watch over this."

"Farley ordered a fancy security system with monitors and special codes," said Veda Marie. "She's got Joe buying new locks
for Bridge Manor. And she wants to re-do every stick of furniture in William's bedroom for when he gets home."

Mr. Winston nodded thoughtfully, re-lighting his cigar.

"She's paying for everything herself," continued Veda Marie. "She insisted Claire take the money out of her trust fund. Claire got all sideways about it but Farley won out. The poor girl is a mess."

He puffed a few times to get the cigar going; the sweet aroma of cherry began to fill the room.

"Making arrangements for William's return gives her hope," he said. "Right now, she needs all the hope she can get."

"I know it."

Twirling a strand of hair, Veda Marie studied Mr. Winston's profile. She was certain the overall blend of his pristine, manicured beard, full lips, solid cheekbones and high forehead suggested wisdom.

"Have you always been this astute," she teased, "or is wisdom a reward that comes with old age?"

Mr. Winston's shoulders bounced as he chuckled. "Oh,
I've made my share of mistakes."

She waited, sensing something more.

"I haven't seen my brother Leonard since 1975," he said. "One of the most talented musicians you'll ever meet. We had a
fight."

"About what?"

"That's the kicker; the fight was about nothing of any importance." He shook his head. "Two grown men pummeling away at each other, with the table barely cleared from Thanksgiving dinner."

"I hear you, Mr. Winston. Holidays can be the worst."

He picked up the back of her hand and kissed it. "Don't you think it's time you started calling me Satchel?"

"I'll think about it." She climbed off the bed and perused the room. "Where do you think my overalls might be?"

"I haven't got a clue." He leaned across the bed
to watch as she bent over to pick up her pretty lace bra. "I was quite distracted, you see."

She stuck out her bare behind and gave it a wriggle. "Why thank you,
Satchel
."

Heavy footsteps clamored down the hall.

"Hang on, Joe!" yelled Claire. "I'll look in Mr. Winston's room!"