Season of Blessing (27 page)

C
HAPTER

Forty-Eight

The week
after Christmas Mark learned that he'd flunked his second GED test. His instructor had warned him that he still wasn't ready to take it, but he had insisted. Now he saw that he was going to have to finish his entire class in order to get it.

Trying to revive his sagging ego, he set his mind to applying for jobs. A guy in his class had told him that the building contractor he worked for was hiring, so he called ahead and made an appointment, then got dressed up and drove to the site.

“I'm looking for advancement,” he told the builder. “I'd like something I could grow into, maybe work my way up.”

The contractor rubbed his mouth. “You're how old?”

“Sixteen, but I'm mature for my age.”

“Well, Mark, I'm not really hiring for any executive positions today. I'm looking for people willing to work hard for minimum wage.”

Mark sat straighter. “Well, you have to start somewhere. But it's pretty cold out. What do you do when it rains?”

The man leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. “We don't work. And I don't pay you when you don't work.”

Mark thought that stank, but he didn't say so. “How would you be able to pay your rent if it rained a lot that month?”

“That's your problem,” the boss said. “Besides, you live at home, don't you?”

“Yeah, but I don't want to forever. But it's okay. I think I'd like construction work.”

The man dropped his feet and looked back down at Mark's application. “Tell me about this year of incarceration.”

Mark cleared his throat. “I sold some marijuana to an undercover officer. It was stupid to smoke the stuff, much less sell it to somebody else. I served a year, but it changed me. It really did. I'm a different person now.”

“Yeah, I've heard that before.” The man closed his file and got to his feet. “Well, thanks for coming by, Mark. I'll let you know.”

Mark left the office discouraged and headed for the mall. He went around and put applications in at several different stores. He had made up his mind not to lie about his conviction, but now he wondered if that had been a mistake.

He felt whipped by the time he got back home. Steve was home early and sat at the kitchen table reading the paper. He looked up when Mark came in. “What's up, Mark?”

Mark shook his head. “Not much. No jobs, that's for sure.”

Steve put down the paper and looked fully at him. “You've been looking?”

“Yeah, but no luck.”

“Where have you been applying?”

“You name it. I've been there.” He poured a glass of milk and sat down across from Steve. “I was honest on all my applications. Told them about my year at River Ranch. But maybe that was stupid. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt anything to keep that to myself.”

“Honesty never hurts, Mark. I'm proud of you for telling the truth about it.”

Mark took a drink, set the glass down hard. “Even if one of them does hire me, it'll be for a minimum wage grunt job. But I'm looking for something a little more permanent.”

“Why? What's wrong with getting something temporary for now, even part-time?”

“Because you can't make a living doing that,” he said. “And I don't want to go to college. I'd like to get a job I could grow into.”

“Well, the problem is that unless you do go to college, you're not going to have as many choices.”

“I know, but I want to do something a little more substantial than working an hourly job for minimum wage. I can do it. I'm a hard worker. I worked hard at River Ranch. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. But nobody will give me a chance.”

Steve picked up the newspaper and flipped to the employment section. “Let's see. Maybe between the two of us we can come up with some ideas.”

When Cathy got home from working at the clinic, she stepped into the kitchen and saw Steve and Mark huddled over the paper.

Her mama bear instincts kicked in, and she imagined that Steve had been lecturing the boy about pounding the pavement for work. “What are you guys doing?”

“Hi, honey.” Steve rose up and gave her a kiss.

“Hi, Mom.” Mark's voice was flat, and she could see that something was wrong.

“We were just talking about Mark getting a job,” Steve said. “Trying to figure out places he could apply.”

“Oh.” Just as she'd thought. Mark had probably walked innocently in, and Steve had hit him with the classifieds.

She took off her coat and hung it up. “Steve, could I speak to you alone for a minute?”

He looked up at her, puzzled. “Sure.”

Mark took the list they had been working on and began to study it as they headed for the bedroom. When they were alone, she turned on Steve.

“Why are you riding him about getting a job? He's been looking. I happen to know that for sure. He's applied at dozens of places.”

Steve gave her a stunned look. “Why do you assume I'm riding him?”

“Because I can see what's going on. You're sitting there lecturing him and he looks like he's been hog-tied.”

“Well, that would be your impression. And it's just possible it could be wrong.”

“I don't think I'm wrong.”

Steve's lips thinned, and he sat down on the bed. “Cathy, for your information, Mark came home after applying to about twelve places today and getting rejected at every one, and he was upset. He sat down with me and I started trying to offer him some suggestions. He's listening. It's not a pleasant experience for him because he hasn't had good luck so far. But he's not in a bad mood because of me.”

She stood there a moment, letting the information sink in. “Oh. Guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah, guess you were wrong.” He got up and grabbed his keys off of the dresser.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” he said. “I think I need to put a little distance between you and me for a few minutes while I cool off.”

“Cool off?” she asked. “I didn't mean to make you mad.”

He swung around. “I know you didn't mean to, Cathy. It just comes naturally these days. I don't like being accused of riding your son. It makes me angry.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You
should
be sorry. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last time. But I am not Public Enemy Number One to your son.” With that, he strode through the living room and kitchen, and headed out to his car.

“Hey, where'd he go?” Mark asked. “We were in the middle of something.”

Cathy stared at the door. “He had to run to the bank before it closes.”

Mark got his list and took his glass to the sink. “I guess I have enough leads to keep me busy tomorrow,” he said. “Man, I've
got
to get a job.”

He headed up the stairs, and Cathy stood in the kitchen, realizing she'd made a terrible mistake. Once again, she had failed to give Steve the benefit of the doubt. She had shot first and asked questions later.

She didn't blame him for being so angry.

When Steve hadn't come back after twenty minutes, Cathy started getting angry again. They needed to talk this out, but if he didn't come home, how could they?

She didn't know why things had been so hard for them lately. When they were dating, it seemed that they had worked all of these things out. But now, only months into their marriage, it was as if the seams were coming unstitched.

She needed to talk to Sylvia.

Crossing the yard, she knocked on Sylvia's door. When no one answered, she checked the garage. The car was there, so they must be home. She knocked again.

Finally, Harry answered the door. “Oh, Cathy.” His hair was tousled and his face looked tired and aged.

“Harry, what's wrong?”

“It's Sylvia. She's really sick. She had her treatment today.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“Come in.” He left her at the door and ran back into the house. She stood just inside the foyer for a moment, not certain whether to stay or go.

Finally, she stepped back toward the bedroom and saw Sylvia on the bathroom floor, retching into the toilet bowl. Harry bent over her, wiping her face and neck with a cold, wet rag.

He looked to see if she was there and called out, “Cathy, get me a couple more wet washcloths. They're in the linen closet.”

She got them and held them under the faucet, squeezed them out, and brought them back to him. He set them on Sylvia's neck and forehead.

“If you wouldn't mind, go get her a Popsicle. She's got terrible sores. Maybe it would help.”

Cathy grabbed a Popsicle and stuck it into a cup, then got some crushed ice out of the little dispenser at the front of the freezer.

Sylvia was retching again when she came back. When she stopped, she lay on the floor, her bare cheek against the cold tiles.

“Here, honey,” he said. “Some ice chips. Just suck on these.” Harry put them into Sylvia's mouth.

She lay there curled up on the floor, unable to move. He lifted her head gently and put it onto his lap.

Cathy stood speechless just outside the door, tears stinging her eyes. For the first time, she sensed the pall of death that seemed to hang over Sylvia. Rage rose in her chest. How dare death stalk her this way? How dare it torment her?

Harry seemed to have forgotten she was there. She watched as tears rolled down his face and plopped onto Sylvia's cheek.

Cathy started to cry and decided to let herself out. As she pulled the front door shut behind her and launched out across the yard, she saw that Steve's car was back in the driveway. Weeping harder, she realized that this petty argument she had come to tell Sylvia about was worthless. It was hardly a blip on the screen of a lifelong marriage that she hoped she would have with Steve. But here she was being petty, accusing him of things that he hadn't done, looking for the worst in him when she had married him because he was a precious, wonderful man just like Harry—a man who would sit on the floor next to her in her darkest hour and hold her head while she vomited.

Why had she attacked him in the way she had?

Die to yourself
. Sylvia's words reeled through her brain. She
hadn't
died to herself. Instead, she still clung mercilessly to herself, feeding her own feelings of paranoia and suspicion and anger…but Steve didn't deserve any of it.

She went through the garage to the door into the house. She stumbled into the kitchen and saw that Mark was back at the table, studying his job prospect list and scoping them out on a map.

“Where's Steve?” she asked.

Mark looked up at her. “You okay, Mom?”

She sucked in a sob. “Yes…just…where's Steve?”

“In the bedroom, I guess.”

She headed back to the bedroom and found Steve sitting on the bed staring into space.

“Oh, Steve!” She stood at the door, her face twisted and red.

He saw her grief and got up instantly, reached for her. She fell against him, clinging with all her might. “I'm so sorry, Steve,” she wept. “I'm so sorry.”