The Shortest Way Home (39 page)

“Wait, but who’s going to be here? I mean, when you leave. Aunt Vivvy’s not very . . . she can’t do a lot of stuff. There won’t be anyone . . . like, responsible.”

“Well, I’m going to stay until I can hire someone to come and help out. Someone who could do housework and help you with homework and stuff. How does that sound?”

“So, like, when?”

“Maybe a month or so.”

“That’s right after school starts.”

“Yeah, we’ll get you settled, and things should work out pretty well.” It sounded weak, even to Sean. “I’ll come back and visit, too,” he insisted. “I’m not going as far as Africa this time.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an offer in Haiti—that’s a lot closer.”

“Haiti? Where they had that earthquake and all the buildings fell down?”

“Well, a lot of them did, but not all. Hey, how about if I plan to come back for Christmas? That’s only a couple of months away.”

Kevin stared at him. “Four,” he said finally. And he began to snuggle deeper beneath the covers, curling his body until every limb was pinned down under the heavy blanket.

“Four?”

“Four
months
,” he said, and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 47

Hi Rebecca,

I hope this is okay that I’m e-mailing you. I know you were looking for a little space, but I’m hoping you meant physical rather than electronic. Is there such a thing as electronic space?

I wanted to let you know a couple of things, just in case anything changed on your end, so you’d know where I was. I’d hate for you to try and get in touch and think I wasn’t responding on purpose. Because I don’t think I could ever not respond to you.

Apparently meeting you gave Kevin the courage to meet my father. Thanks for that. It’s no surprise that he would feel comfortable with you, but seeing as he’s not a kid who generally feels comfortable anywhere, it actually was a surprise to him. My father was good, didn’t overwhelm him, seemed to get it that he was on thin ice and better not stomp too hard.

He spread that Irish charm pretty thick, though, and got Kevin interested in a trip to the old sod. Totally manipulated me, which pissed me off at first. But as things stand at the moment, I thought it might be good to take off for a little while. Locational therapy. The three of us leave Sunday, and Kevin and I will be gone for a week. I just wanted you to know.

Also, I’ve applied for a temporary sub nurse position at Belham Middle School. It’s just till October, by which point I plan to have things set up for Kevin and my aunt. I heard from a colleague from my days in Kenya who wants me to work at her clinic in Haiti. She’s an older woman, really smart, and I think it would be a good gig. Also, it’s much closer than a lot of other needy places in the world. I’ve already promised Kevin I’d be home for Christmas.

I have kind of a crazy suggestion, and you might hate it, but I’m just going to put it out there. Would you ever have any interest in coming with me to Haiti?

You could work in the clinic, or any one of a hundred volunteer projects in the area. The conditions would be pretty rustic. Actually I have no idea what the details are, but the conditions are always “rustic.” Or worse. But you don’t strike me as a girl who can’t travel without a blow dryer, and I can guarantee it would be a hell of an experience. It always is. And I would really love to share it with you.

Just a thought.

I miss you. Maybe I’m not supposed to say that, but it can’t be too much of a surprise, so I’m going to chance it. It’s been a day and a half and I feel like it’s been a year.

But I want you to know that I get it, and you had every right. Part of me is proud of you for taking care of yourself. And I’ll admit, part of me selfishly wishes that you would just throw caution to the wind. That’s the selfish part, did I mention that?

Hope you’re well. Hope the furniture moving is quick and easy. Sorry I’m not there to help. Think about Haiti, okay?

Love,

Sean

After he hit Send, Sean wondered if it was okay that he’d signed it “Love.” Maybe he should have used “affectionately” or “fondly” or just his name alone. Did “love” seem like a taunt—like “I love you, but not enough,” or “I love you, but only on my terms”?

Jesus Christ, I am SO BAD at this!

He turned his attention to something he might actually be able to succeed at: nailing the sub nurse position. Especially with the Ireland trip, the added income would really come in handy. He called the middle school and spoke to the secretary, who passed him on to the assistant principal, who passed him on to the principal, a Mr. Girardi.

“So you’re interested in the sub nurse position?” He inhaled noisily. Sean diagnosed him as asthmatic, a smoker, or morbidly obese. Possibly all three. “We’re waiting for a few more applications before we start interviewing.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of town next week on some family business. Would it be possible for me to interview tomorrow? Otherwise I could be available the following Monday. But I know that’s getting close to the start of school.”

“Huh,” said Mr. Girardi, and then there was only the sound of his juicy inhalations.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you hesitant to hire a man?”

“Not at all! That would be discrimination.” His breathing got heavier. Sean could imagine the beads of perspiration on Mr. Girardi’s upper lip. “But lemme ask you . . . in middle school some girls are menstruating, and some are even involved in sexual activity. How comfortable would you feel talking about this stuff? And more important, are they gonna feel comfortable talking to you?”

Sean smiled. Menstruation? Sex? Mr. Girardi was in for a surprise. “Well, that’s a very reasonable concern,” he said. “Some guys wouldn’t know how to handle it. For myself, a good portion of my career has been in poverty-stricken areas, working with refugees from natural disasters and wars. I’ve treated and counseled girls dealing with terrible trauma. Rape and childbirth complications are common, unfortunately. So I’d be pretty comfortable talking about tampons and STDs. I think when you’re comfortable, the patient feels better about opening up.”

“Huh,” said Mr. Girardi, practically wheezing now. “You’ve got a point there.” After a laborious sigh, he conceded. “Well, I suppose we should get you in here ASAP.”

Arrangements were made for an interview the following morning. Sean hung up knowing he’d better have very good answers to all of their questions. He booted up Deirdre’s laptop and surfed nursing sites on pediatrics and working in schools, jotting down notes on whatever he needed to brush up on.

Every half hour or so he’d check his e-mail.
Oh, let’s be honest,
he thought,
it’s more like every five minutes.
So far
Rebecca hadn’t responded. It was Thursday, and she’d be at work, he told himself. But like an allergic sneeze or a facial tic, the checking felt beyond his control.

He wanted more information about Yasmin’s clinic and sent off a note to the e-mail address she’d included in her letter. Maybe there was something particularly appealing about it. Maybe they used massage for the really traumatized patients.

Unlikely. But it was worth a try.

* * *

T
he next day an enormous box arrived.

“What’s in it? Where’d it come from?” Kevin was dying to know.

“It’s a surprise,” said Sean. “We’ll open it when I get back from an appointment I have.”

“What appointment?”

“Nothing. Just something I have to do.” He didn’t want Kevin to get his hopes up about the sub nurse position, especially after talking with the less-than-enthusiastic Mr. Girardi.

“Why is everything a secret?” Kevin whined.

“Because it is. Now go walk the dog, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

Sean drove over to the middle school with his pile of notes on the passenger seat. At stoplights he glanced over them and gave them one last look-through in the parking lot.

There were two people waiting for him in the main office. One was Mr. Girardi, who was about a head shorter than Sean and had a torso like a beach ball. His thick glasses needed a good wipe.

“This is Penny Coyne,” he said, indicating a tiny woman with short black hair and a sharp beak of a nose. “She’ll be taking the lead nurse position while Kelly Krasmus is out on medical leave. When Kelly comes back, Penny will return to the part-time position we’re hiring for now.”

The interview proceeded through Sean’s qualifications and experience. Penny was particularly interested in his work with refugees, asking about how he’d dealt with the emotional trauma of his patients. The depth and thoughtfulness of her questions were impressive, given that she’d never worked anywhere but suburban Boston.

Mr. Girardi checked his watch several times. “Penny, I think we should move on to talking about Mr. Doran’s knowledge of
school
populations.”

“Just one more thing,” she said. “Why do you want this job?”

Sean had prepared a response to this very question that involved his respect for the important work of school nurses, blah, blah blah . . . But he liked Penny, and he didn’t want to dish off some brown-nose baloney. So he told her about Kevin not having parents around, needing moral support for the transition to middle school. He also mentioned his plan to go to Haiti. “Kevin should be pretty well settled by October. The timing’s perfect.”

They discussed the job, which appeared to consist of an extra set of hands for Penny, who would be doing all the administrative work. Sean wouldn’t even have access to computer files. As far as he could see, he just had to show up, help triage the real medical issues from the get-out-of-class scams, apply common sense and the occasional ice pack to each, and keep his hands washed. A heck of a lot easier than remembering the “extra hot” at the end of “half-caf skinny latte, shot of sugar-free caramel, two Splendas.”

* * *

O
n his way home, he stopped by the Confectionary and picked up Mr. McGrath, Cormac’s father. They had a job to do.

“What’s in it?” Kevin begged as the three of them carried the enormous box around to the backyard. “What is this thing? Tell me!”

“It’s a trampoline,” said Sean, grinning at him.

“No. Way.”

“Way.”

They dropped the box in the desired spot just in time for Kevin to do a goofy little happy dance. “I
love
those!” he yelled.

It was no small task setting it up, and Sean was grateful for Mr. McGrath’s savantlike expertise at assembly, even if it did come with a bit of under-breath muttering of “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” After a lot of sorting pieces, attaching things, hoisting this, and holding that for Mr. McGrath, Sean and Kevin took the trampoline for a test bounce.

“THIS . . . IS . . . SO . . . AWESOME!” Kevin sang out, one bounce to every word. Sean didn’t think he’d ever heard the boy be so loud. “Come on, Mr. McGrath, you have to try it!”

Sean wasn’t sure of the wisdom of this, but Mr. McGrath was apparently unencumbered by such concerns. In moments he was climbing the short ladder and sliding in through the slit in the net. He was careful at first but then caught his stride, a wide grin gracing his face as his round belly shifted up and down with each bounce. “Good-bye gravity!” he called out.

After a little while Mr. McGrath got tired and Sean drove him home. On his way back he was thinking about Kevin screaming on the trampoline and smiling to himself. So satisfying. Such joy. And it was a relief to discover that even when you felt heartbroken and raw, the joy of someone you loved could still make you feel almost okay.

As he passed back through Belham Center he saw her car parked in front of the hardware store. He slowed to look at it, Rebecca’s car, imbued with Rebecca-ness, and narrowly avoided slamming into the pickup stopped in front of him at the light. When he turned back, Rebecca was coming out of the store with a bag in her arms. The door was being held from behind, and then a man emerged carrying a can of paint. Medium height, light brown hair. And smiling, the bastard.

Sean was pretty sure he had a minor stroke at that moment because the whole way home his brain felt like it was melting. The rest of him just felt numb. He wasn’t entirely sure how he got back, but when he did, Kevin was still bouncing and Sean slumped down onto the garden bench to watch him. Kevin entertained him with different poses for each jump, his skinny limbs curling up or striking out with wanton grace, and Sean could feel his vitals starting to normalize a little. The boy’s unabashed grin made him look much younger. Sean could imagine a three-year-old Kevin beaming just as happily when his father threw him into the air.

Look, Hugh.
Sean sent the thought out to the cosmos.
I found a way to toss
him.

At least he had that.

* * *

L
ater that evening Sean checked his e-mail and found one message in his in-box. The sender was Rebecca Feingold.

Hi Sean,

Thanks for letting me know about your trip. I think it’s great that you’re going, and I’m glad Kevin likes his grandfather. Have a wonderful time.

Rebecca

No love.

CHAPTER 48

T
he flight to Ireland felt strange to Sean. He’d never sat on an airplane with anyone he actually knew before. He’d always loved the
idea
of flying—that you could get so quickly to a location that was radically different from the one you just left. He was not a souvenir guy, never kept anything from one experience to bring to the new one. There was enormous freedom in that.