Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kane
I listened to the sounds of Community Memorial Hospital as I sat in the waiting room. It was a few more long and painful days since I’d last seen Helene. And now I had a new disaster to deal with.
Another stroke.
It was Monday, late morning, and Sadie from Shady Oaks had called about an hour prior to let me know. I’d still been in bed when my phone had buzzed across the nightstand. I was trying to sleep through as much of my existence as I could. That was pretty much what my life had been reduced to over the past week—that and writing a term paper I wouldn’t be present to turn in anyway but which I was still going to fucking write.
The only piece of furniture I’d kept in the house was my mattress, a few sheets, and an old quilt I was pretty sure my long dead grandmother had made. Every other piece of dingy, old furniture had gone into the dumpster on Saturday morning when waste management had shown up to tow it away.
I hadn’t called Sam Clausen yet to tell him I was done with the renovations. I was dragging my feet, because in truth, the next step in my life plan scared the shit out of me, and I wasn’t ready yet. There was a truth I owed Helene before I went away. She deserved to hear it from me, and before I embarked on the next chapter, she was going to. This had, consequently, always been part of the plan too from the moment I’d found out she was in Hazleton and I’d decided I was going to see her. But I’d never imagined it would be so hard to hand over this secret. Conceptually I’d understood that baring my soul to Helene would be difficult, but I’d never realized just how difficult. I’d been in her life for a couple months now and hadn’t managed it yet if that said anything.
But now this. Another hiccup. Another speedbump. Another fucking stroke.
“Well, hey, Kane. What are you doing here?” came a voice I recognized.
I looked up to see Mark approaching me. He was wearing a suit and had a file folder in his hand. He was a care and resources coordinator for patients at Community Memorial, and in fact, he was the one who initially helped arrange my father’s transfer to Shady Oaks. He was also the one who mentioned to me those many months ago that Helene would be coming home to Hazleton to teach at Penn State Hazleton during her final year at the University of Pennsylvania while she worked on her dissertation.
“Hi.” I stood, holding my hand out to him. “My father had another stroke. They transferred him from Shady Oaks a couple of hours ago. I’m just waiting for an update.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Mark sat in the chair next to mine as I sat back down.
I didn’t know why it was so hard hearing sympathy for my father’s condition from people, but I’d learned over the past seven or so months that I hated it. It left me feeling guilty because I was never nearly so sorry as they were. I also hated it because I knew I should be. And I supposed I hated it because I wanted to be normal enough to actually understand what that sympathy was supposed to mean to me.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. I contemplated saying nothing more and waiting for Mark to get the hint and move on, but I liked Mark, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit here alone any longer. “How’s Helene?” I glanced at him.
He smiled, but it was a sad one. “I tend to be a pretty honest man, Kane,” he said hesitantly.
If the way he’d answered my previous inquiry on barbeque day was any indication, he was indeed an honest man—and a blunt one too.
“I know.” I looked down at my lap.
“She’s sad, angry, hurt … really confused,” he finally added.
I looked at him for a moment, nodding even as I struggled to swallow.
“And … uh… If you happen to see Hilde around town before your upcoming departure, I would recommend running the other way.” Mark chuckled quietly. “Sorry. I’d hoped she’d warm up to you, but … I don’t imagine that will be happening any time soon. Homicide might, though…” He chuckled again, but it tapered off. “I’ve loved Hilde since we were in high school.”
I assumed he was getting ready to defend his wife’s hatred of me, but then he shocked me.
“I could never leave her. I’m just curious how you could love Helene as much as that and stand to be apart from her—voluntarily no less.”
I looked at him again, trying to mount a defense, but there was nothing to defend against. His expression wasn’t angry, not mean, not resentful in the least. He just studied me almost concernedly.
“I know you have your reasons, and they must be compelling. I’m not judging. I just can’t imagine what it is that would drive you apart from her again.”
I took a deep breath. “I—”
“Mr. Thorson?”
I looked up to see a middle aged man in a lab coat approaching me. “Yes,” I said as I stood.
Mark stood as well, excusing himself with a polite nod to the doctor.
“I’m Dr. Kimpson. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I stood there numbly, kind of listening, kind of tuning the man out. Seizures, severe brain damage, recurring stroke, loss of brain function, oxygenation, heart failure, death.
There it was. The only word that really mattered. Death.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nodded. Not another fucking apology.
“We can call the funeral home for you. Do you know—”
“Carrington’s please.”
Dr. Kimpson nodded. “Would you like to see him? You can stay with him until the funeral home arrives.”
“Him?” I asked before I could stop the word from coming out. “He’s…” I shook my head as I collapsed into the chair behind me. “He’s not a him anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thorson,” Dr. Kimpson said kindly.
“I don’t want to see … him.”
“Okay. We have your contact information on hand from Shady Oaks, and we’ll make sure Carrington’s Funeral Home is given that information as well.”
“Thank you.”
And then it was over. Just like that. A life ended. A life I’d always wanted to love. A life I’d always wanted to love me. Over. There was something oddly relieving about it—as though I could give up whatever remnant I still clung to of the juvenile fantasy that one day the man would realize he gave a shit about me. I guess I didn’t have to wonder if that was possible anymore. It wasn’t.
I didn’t bother waiting for Carrington’s to call. I ran straight home, grabbed my file that contained all my father’s legal documents including his life insurance policy, and then I drove to Carrington’s. I completed what paperwork they needed, scheduled a burial for Wednesday morning that would likely be attended by no one, and chose a casket that was neither the cheapest nor the most expensive. It was gray, it shined, there was nothing more to say than that.
When I left, I stopped by the grocery store and bought a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine—something red. Surely my father’s death was cause to drink something. By the time I got home, it was early evening. I shoved the pizza into the freezer, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. And when I picked up the bottle of wine, I stared at the label for a moment.
And then I threw the bottle straight down into the new pristine white farmhouse sink, shattering it as the shards of glass mixed with the dark magenta liquid. I dropped my elbows to the sink’s rim, propping my head up with my palms to my forehead, and I stared down at the mess, watching the wine run and trickle around the glass to the white porcelain and then down into the drain.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
And then I went to bed.
* * * *
The undertakers went to a lot of work for me to stand there by myself and watch them lower the coffin into the ground. It was a little ridiculous really, but they’d covered the mound of unearthed dirt with fake green grass, hiding it respectfully as though the dirt that would eventually cover the casket was offensive in some way. The sides of the hole were straight, impressively so, and they lowered the coffin into a larger box… I hadn’t realized they would do that. I’d simply assumed the shiny silver coffin would be put into the dirt and covered over. It seemed strange.
When one of the undertakers glanced up and his focus paused on something just beyond and to the side of me, I turned to see, and I sucked in a quick shocked breath. Helene stood there, ten feet away from me. She was wearing a gray dress with a wide black belt and black flats. Her wool coat was black too. I stared at her, and she pulled her attention from the casket to my eyes for a brief moment. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, and then she looked back at the undertakers as they continued to slowly lower the casket. I looked forward again too.
And I finally felt something again. Pain.