Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 40)
Chapter 16 Part I
Cindy Bradford
The minute Patrick heard his father’s voice on the phone he knew something was wrong.
“It’s your mother, Patrick. You need to get here.”
“Dad, slow down. What’s wrong?” He could hear his father’s sobs in the background.
“She’s dying. Can you hurry?”
Patrick looked at his watch. It was 4:00 a.m. “I’ll leave here by six o’clock. Dad, are you sure?”
His voice cracked. “The doctor says she might pull through, but he isn’t hopeful. Just come.”
“I will Dad. Will you tell her I’ll be there by noon?”
“Yes,” he answered softly, his voice breaking again and then the phone clicked.
He needed to call Carol to tell her, but first he needed to clear his head. For the longest time, he lay there not wanting to move. His mother had always been there. He couldn’t imagine her not. He wished the last few years hadn’t been strained. Even though they said they forgave him for leaving the Catholic Church, there was tenseness when they were together. They didn’t understand nor would they ever because they would never know the truth.
His parents’ relationship with Father Michael had continued for all these years, and they often mentioned how much they appreciated the way he talked so proudly of their children, but especially of Patrick. “He’s a fine lad” he would tell them. “I knew he would be a priest,” he often said to Joseph. After Patrick left the priesthood, Father Michael went to console them. “He’ll come back someday; I know he will in some capacity or the other. He’s a strong lad.” They told Patrick of their many conversations with their priest and how he prayed for Patrick. Patrick thought to himself, yeah, I’ll bet he does. I’ll bet he prays I’m forever silent.
Now he tried to focus on the good times with his family. His dad had worked long hours to make enough money to support his large and seemingly always growing family. A police officer in Boston, he also worked overtime as a security officer in one of the financial centers downtown and still had to drive thirty minutes to their small home, outside Boston. His mom had taken a nursing course and worked for a local doctor until John was born, a year and a half after they were married. He would soon be thirty-four. Andrew was born next, followed by Robert and then Patrick. Finally, after three more boys, his parents had the girl they had longed for, Mary Margaret, and then another girl, Rose Marie, and then of course, Joey. For twelve years there was always someone in diapers.
After Joey had started to school, his mother, Margaret, went back to work for Dr. Bennett, and finally his parents were able to have a few things that they wanted and often needed, like an electric dishwasher. His mother laughed and said, “I really don’t need one; I have seven.” Knowing the oldest children were going to be off in college soon, his father had insisted.
Though these years brought their share of struggles, they had been happy ones for the family with Joseph Sr. always finding time to play ball with the boys. He loved football and even played on the police association team a few years, but when he took his second job, that had to be put aside. His boys loved basketball and excelled at St. Xavier High, so their dad put a goal up in the back driveway where at almost any time after school or when they weren’t at their part-time jobs he could find at least one wanting to play a game of H-O-R-S-E. Together, the family always went to mass regularly.
Wiping a tear, Patrick thought about how happy his parents had been before his mom began to be dizzy, drop objects without a warning and stumble for no apparent reason.
It was 4:30, he needed to get moving. He dialed Carol’s number and she answered sleepily.
“I’m sorry to call so early.”
“Patrick, what’s wrong?”
“My mother is very ill. My dad doesn’t think she’ll make it. I need to leave quickly.”
“I can be ready in less than an hour.”
“No, Carol. That’s not necessary. You haven’t met any of my family. It would be too much.”
“But Patrick, I want to go with you.”
“You’ve been saying you needed to go to the gallery. Why don’t you ride with me to Boston and then take the train into the city. You could stay with Nancy and spend some time doing the things you need to do with your art and photography. Didn’t you say you wanted to shop there for a wedding dress?”
“Yes, but I feel bad not going with you.”
“It’s fine. Really. Can you be ready by six?”
“Sure. It’s too early to call Nance, but if she’s not home, I’m sure Marc and Fredrico will be. I’ll call her from the train station.
“I’ll be there by six o’clock.”
As Carol boarded the train, she waved good-bye to Patrick, knowing he was worried about his mother and feeling badly that he was alone. Secretly she was excited to see Nancy. She liked Nancy’s husband David, too, and was crazy about Hannah, her godchild. Hannah would be three in two weeks and Carol had not seen her in nearly six months. I must get her birthday present while in the city, Carol thought. Maybe she would even give it to her while she was there. Who cares if it was early? The toy selection in New York City would be much better than in Maine.
Carol and Nancy had been best friends since she could remember, all through school and at Columbia University where they were roommates. It would have been difficult if they had not liked each other because their parents were best friends, also. Their fathers had met in Medical School and still shared a medical practice. Nancy’s father was a specialist in obstetrics and gynecology, Carol’s father, a pediatrician. The fathers often laughed and said, “Once Herb caught ‘em, they couldn’t get away. A baby might go straight from his hands into Sam’s.” The girls, who had heard this so often, just rolled their eyes. They knew the next thing would be the slap on the back which one father would give the other. The fathers tried to play golf every Saturday morning unless there was a baby to deliver or another medical emergency. Carol’s father, Dr. Sam, as he was affectionately called by his patients, would have liked to have played on Sunday morning instead, but Dr. Herb was an elder in the Presbyterian Church, one activity they did not share. The topic of religion was rarely discussed out of mutual respect for each other’s beliefs or position. The girls’ mothers visited often too, sometimes over coffee, but always they worked together on charity projects.
Carol always enjoyed riding the train because it gave her time to think and look at the landscape, something important she thought for an artist to do. Although she liked painting landscapes, her preferences were photography and portrait painting and often she used one of her photos as a basis for a portrait.
She was deep in thought when the older gentleman sitting next to her asked where she was going. “I’m staying in the city with friends,” she told him. “I have a little work to do at one of the galleries and would like to shop some,” she said, smiling at him. “You know women!” “What about you?”
“I used to live in the city and my doctors are still there. Lots of good doctors in Boston, but I know these, so I go back. I’ve got the time, got nothing but time,” he said. Because he didn’t offer why he was going to the doctor, Carol didn’t think she should pry.
“I worked a little in the film business when I was younger,” he offered. Before she could say anything, he added smiling, “and I know what you are thinking, but it wasn’t silent films.” His mood had lifted since he began the conversation.
She laughed, “My friends, whom I am going to visit… he and his brother, own a company that produces documentaries. His wife, my oldest friend, met him when she was a journalism intern there. She fell desperately in love with this nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn. That was what she told her parents,” Carol smiled, adding, “Nancy knowingly failed to tell her parents he was fifteen years her senior and divorced. She said she wanted them to meet him first so they’d be charmed.” Carol continued, “They weren’t, but they did come to love and accept David.”
The old man fell silent for a few minutes. Carol really hadn’t planned to talk on the trip, but for some reason she felt sorry for him. He looked lonely, and if not sad, at least worried. She asked him, “So do you have children?”
“One son, about your age, the younger of two boys. My oldest died in Vietnam. Not wanting to become involved in a depressing discussion, she simply said, “I’m sorry.” “I’ll bet you have grandchildren,” she added, trying to lighten the topic. “Not yet,” he said. “My boy lives out in California so I wouldn’t get to see a grandchild much anyway. He’s not married, says he works too much.”
They were about an hour away from the city. “If you’ll forgive me a few minutes, I need to finish up some plans I should discuss with the art gallery director tomorrow.” Taking out her pen and notebook, she began to write.
“You an artist?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“I try, I do some photography and watercolor, a little oil,” she offered. Her attempt at ending the conversation was seemingly foiled.
Silent for a few minutes as she wrote, he then muttered, “My wife was an artist.”
Carol picked up on the “was.” Again not wanting to tread there, she added, “I’ll bet she was good,” and left it.
“She was.”
Before long they were at Union Station. “It was nice talking with you, Mr…” stopping, “I am sorry; I didn’t get your name.”
“James Gentry.”
“I am Carol Neilson. I hope your stay in the city is nice.”
“Yes, thank you and the same to you,” struggling slightly with his small carry-on, arranging his hat and nodding as he departed the train.
When Carol saw Nancy and Hannah waiting in the main terminal, she stepped up her pace. Hannah ran, as Nancy tried to keep up. The two women hugged. “It is so wonderful to see you,” Nancy said excitedly. “I’m sorry about Patrick’s mother, but I will take any excuse to get you to the city.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to be here. How is my little Hannah,” asked Carol as she reached down to take her hand. Squirming to get closer, Hannah looked up and asked “Pwesents Arol?”
Carol laughed, “Not yet, but maybe tomorrow,” feeling badly that she had not brought something for either Nancy or Hannah.
Interrupting her thoughts, Nancy said, “Oh, I have got so much to tell you, but first I must see your ring. Carol it is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Patrick picked it out all by himself.”
“Let’s get a taxi home and put your things away.”
Riding to Nancy and David’s apartment Carol felt truly back home. Having lived in New York City off and on for more than seven years, she had not forgotten how much she loved the excitement, the constant activity.