One Last Lie (17 page)

“Well, well.” Katy spun around, holding the most scrumptious-looking French crumb muffin Jonathan had seen in years. “You’re finally awake, sleepyhead. It’s almost ten o’clock.” She placed the muffin on the table next to the television and walked over to the bed. With one hand she pulled the cord of the window blinds, with the other she lifted the afghan that clung to Jonathan’s knobby knee.

He turned and looked out the window, his heart skipping a beat when he saw dark, heavy clouds blanketing the sky. Although he dreaded the arrival of Katy’s surprise visitor, whenever he’d imagined the meeting it took place in a sun filled room that contained at least some semblance of joy. With rain pelting against the window, the room would seem even more depressing than usual. So much for the cheerful, radiant greeting he visualized.

As though she’d read his mind, Katy stood above him and smiled. “Not to worry, Jonathan. I brought two bouquets of flowers to help brighten the atmosphere in here.” She returned to the muffin, set it on a paper plate, and brought it to Jonathan’s bedside. “And I brought you something special for breakfast. Let’s just clean you up a little first, get your hair nice and tidy, and then I’ll find a glass of orange juice to go with your muffin.”

Jonathan didn’t know what to think. He was still confused about who wanted to visit him and why it seemed so important to Katy. Not a soul was left in his life he cared to see, let alone speak with, and that realization infuriated him. He was already agitated by the fact that he hadn’t died in his sleep, and the long night had left him empty and more fractious than normal. Now, the anxiety swelling in his gut changed into a cold sense of dread that would infiltrate his nervous system. This kind of disquiet had plagued him since childhood, and here it was again today — no less intense than the fateful day almost thirty years earlier — the day Philip had been taken from him. On that morning, from the moment he opened his eyes and rolled over in bed to kiss Philip’s shoulder, a silent nagging and jangling nerves told him life was about to change.

Jonathan snorted. Now he was too old for his life to change. He had nothing important to lose or gain. Katy was, as usual, making a mountain out of a molehill. Whoever was coming for a visit would probably be as bored with him — and he with them; passing the minutes watching television or wheeling around the corridors, feigning pleasure while smelling fresh urine and listening to the screams of demented patients.

It was time to put an end to this debacle before the combination of anxiety and irritation got the best of him. .

“Katy,” he snapped, hating the quaver in his voice, “Why the hell are you doing this to me?” He pulled himself up in the bed and she quickly puffed up the pillows behind. “I already told you, there’s no one I want to see. Why can’t you get that through your head?”

Katy sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand in both of hers. She rubbed his thin, cool skin gently with her thumb.

“Jonathan, I promise this will be the last time I ever bring a visitor to your room. It’s just that…” A tear formed in the corner of her eye and trickled down her face.

This isn’t good,
he thought and tried to pull his hand away, but she grasped it tighter and held on. He heard a croaking noise, an utterance of desperation, and it wasn’t until Katy looked at him with concern that he realized the sound came from somewhere deep within his throat.

Katy kept her eyes on his face and he felt anxiety turning to panic. He almost laughed aloud at the irony that the woman who’d taken such good care of him would now kill him by causing him to have a heart attack.
Breathe… breathe... breathe…

“Can I be honest with you, Jonathan?” Katy’s voice revealed the slightest hint of her Tennessee childhood.

He nodded, the tension once again climbing.

“I mean
really
honest,” she said, again sweeping the hair from her eyes.

He nodded again, twiddling his fingers.

“I know you want to die.” She took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks, exhaling hard. “I’ve worked with many people like you, especially older men who’ve lost their wives or children and feel they have no reason to live. I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but I’ve seen it before — many times — and I can pretty much sense when a person’s time is near.”

She met his eyes and offered a feeble smile. Without expression, he nodded for her to continue.

“It hurts me when people die empty or alone.” She wiped the tear crawling down her face with the back of her hand. “And it hurts me when people die without knowing the truth.”

An invisible claw gripped Jonathan’s abdomen, squeezing so hard he clutched his stomach and tried to pull it away.
What the hell is she talking about? What truth? That I’m dying alone? That I’m leaving a life that’s been worthless for the last thirty years? What the fuck truth is she talking about?

Pulsating rain hit the window like breaking waves against rock. Jonathan tried to pull himself forward, but his arms were too weak, his stomach still trembling from what she’d said. He fell back and took a deep breath.

He cleared his throat to stop the phlegm from muddling his voice. “You know nothing about me for Christ’s sake. What truth could you possibly know?”

As his voice withered, Katy rose and took his shaving kit from the cabinet. After running water into the plastic basin, she turned and leaned against the table with her arms crossed, frowning at him.

“A woman called me last week who said she knew you. Said she’d known you many years ago and asked if it would be okay if she came for a visit.” Katy brought the pan toward him and set it on the bedside table. “And before you go nutty on me again, Jonathan, it’s not that woman Angela you’ve ranted about.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. “Don’t ever say that bitch’s name again.”

“I’m sorry.” Katy walked to the bed and rubbed her fingers against the steel railing. “I apologize for bringing her up. I know you’ve never wanted to talk about who she is or what she did. All I know is I’ve heard you scream her name, or something that sounds like her name, whenever you have a nightmare. I’ve always wanted to ask what she did.”

“Do not go any further with this, Katy. I’m warning you. Get off this subject right now.” Jonathan squeezed the blanket with his bony fingers, wringing Angela’s neck with each twist.

“I’m sorry again,” she said, this apology less convincing than the first. She picked at the blanket with him, found a snag and pulled it with her fingernails. “I just want you to be happy, Jonathan. I’d just like to see something other than a scowl come from those lips of yours. I know you’ve got a lot more in your heart than the hatred you always show. There’s sweetness in you… I know it better than I know myself. I’ve seen it when you stare out the window and daydream. I caught glimpses of it when I ask the questions about Philip you refuse to answer. You’re a good man, Jonathan Beckett.” She turned and shuffled back to the basin. “And that’s why it’s important you have your visit today.”

“Who is it?” Jonathan snapped. “Who called you and wants to talk this truth bullshit?” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Katy, listen to me, please. You said yourself I’m ready to die. You said I’m on my way out. Why would you do this to me… and
now
of all times?” His voice shook and his eyes welled up with water.

“I promised her I wouldn’t tell you her name.”

Jonathan grunted, his thoughts spinning recklessly. If only he had the strength to get out of bed and leave the room. “Jesus Christ, Katy. Who do you work for? Me or her? Whose money do you take every week? Mine or hers?”

Katy turned to Jonathan, anger showing behind her half-smile. “Please, Jonathan. I would hope that after all these years you’d know that you come first. Geez.” She sighed and looked to the floor. “It’s just that she made it sound so serious… as though what she has to tell you is so important and she didn’t want you to shut down before you saw her. But I can see that’s happening anyway. I just can’t win with you can I?”

The rain had stopped, and the sudden silence helped calm Jonathan’s nerves. He looked out the window at the silver-white clouds being torn apart by an invisible wind. The sky was clearing, splashes of blue growing larger with each second. Jonathan lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes with the palm of each hand. His fantasy of a room filled with sunlight as his visitor entered was about to be realized. He despised Katy for doing this, but couldn’t help feeling a tinge of appreciation, for this was the first time in years he’d felt the excitement and anticipation of something new.

“Darn it!” Katy said to no one in particular. “We’ve been bickering for so long, you’re not going to be ready.” Her eyes moved from the razor to the muffin sitting beside Jonathan’s bed, then back to the razor. “Okay, would you rather I shave you so you can look nice, or would you rather eat your muffin?”

Jonathan reached over and grabbed the muffin. As he was about to take a bite, someone tapped on the door. In unison, both he and Katy turned toward the sound. It took him a few seconds, but when he realized who was walking toward him, he dropped his muffin onto the bedspread and let out a moan. Electrified pin pricks worked their way up his spine and out every pore of his body.

14

The backyard was white with snow, a heavy blanket stretching from the deck and lattice pergola to the border of shrubs that only a few months earlier billowed with pink and blue hydrangeas.

Jonathan sipped his coffee, watching the squirrels leave tracks across the yard and up the maple tree trunks where they swirled over and across the snow covered branches. Brahms played throughout the house, the sound of crackling wood from the fireplace adding a cozy feeling Jonathan rarely gave in to. When he did manage to relax, his mind drifted back to a time when life was simple and happiness was achieved simply by making snow angels.

In his childhood bedroom he stood on the bed, a ten-year old gazing out the window, anticipating a day of igloo building and snowball fights. Soft morning light shrouded the snowy pavement with a purplish hue. His father pushed a metal snow shovel along the driveway, clearing the way for Thanksgiving guests who’d be arriving from all across the state. Dad’s breath hung in the frozen air like a ghostly presence hovering above him.

Jonathan smiled, his flannel pajamas keeping him warmer than the baseboard heat set at sixty-five degrees. But Jonathan didn’t need heat to keep him warm. That day, at that moment, he felt a warmth from within; heat radiated by the love of his parents, the flannel against his skin, and the snow-covered roof above his head.

Later that night, his parents beamed with pride when he revealed his epiphany: no matter how low the outside temperature dropped, as long as the three of them were together, he’d be warm forever. He would cherish that moment for the rest of his life, because a few days later he and his mother stood in the frosty, overcast afternoon, holding hands beside a newly dug grave. This time, the wispy cloud of breath hovered above his mother’s head; crystallized air that, to this day, Jonathan believed was the apparition of his father — dead of a pulmonary embolism at forty five, three days after a Thanksgiving that would fade into memory like a kidnapped child.

When Jonathan felt the warmth of Philip’s body behind him, he leaned back, tilting his head so Philip’s chin could rest within the arc of his neck. He banished the heavy thoughts from his mind as quickly as they’d entered, letting the peace of Philip’s embrace overpower the sense of uneasiness that crept in with the sad memories.

“In like a lion and out like a lamb,” said Philip, watching the final flakes of the all-night snowfall spatter on the walkway. “March sucks. I can’t wait for spring.”

“Me too, but I do like the peaceful view.” Jonathan turned and tousled Philip’s hair, picking at strands that stood unbent as a tiger’s whiskers. “Just like your hair — natural and messy.” Looking deep into Philip’s eyes, their chins almost touching, Jonathan felt passion rise from the back of his legs into his groin. Through all their years together, this flame had never died; a sexual drive that caught fire the moment they met and only amplified as their love grew.

He brought his lips closer, so the heat of their breath fell onto each other’s mouths. Tingling crept up his neck and along the back of his head as he moved his lips closer to Philip’s and closed his eyes.

The phone rang and Jonathan’s passion descended like a waterfall down the length of his spine.

“Shit,” he whispered and kissed Philip’s cheek. “If that’s Angela again, I swear I’m going to say something.” He headed toward the phone. “The baby isn’t even born yet and she’s driving us crazy.”

Philip grabbed his arm and gently turned him around. “Hey, I know it’s annoying. But think about it, Jonny. What if she was calling about the baby? What if she was bleeding or something?” He held Jonathan’s hand, rubbing his palm. “This is what it’s like having a kid.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the jangling phone. “I know. I know. But she’s only four months pregnant and this is at least the sixth time she’s called this week. And she’s called for stupid reasons, or no reason at all. We do have our own life, you know.”

Philip pulled Jonathan close and hugged him. “You’ve heard everyone say it, Jonny. Once you have a kid, you don’t have your own life. Angie’s just getting us used to it.”

Jonathan withdrew, leaned against the back of the sofa, crossed his arms, and waited for the phone to stop ringing. “I see an ostrich complex coming on. Head in sand, ass up in the clouds.”

“Don’t go there, Jonny. My head isn’t in the sand. I’m just saying our life as we knew it is pretty much over. We discussed all this before making the decision, remember? We knew the quiet solitude would disappear and we’d be asked to do a lot, for both Angela and the baby.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his silk lounge pants. “Am I sensing regret?”