Cross Roads (27 page)

“Thank you, Jake. I don’t know much about your relationship with your brother, but I know enough to sense that he really cares for you.”

He grinned broadly. “Thank you for that, Maggie; that means a lot to me. Tony was the winner, I was the loser, and for a while the distance just got wider. Coming back has been a long road for me and I just wish”—tears fought to the surface, hung for a moment, and then spilled over—“just wish he had known how hard I’ve been working at it. I think he might even have been proud.” He quickly wiped his eyes. “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “Been doing that a lot lately. For me it’s a sign of healing.”

Maggie again hugged him, breathing in a distant air of nicotine and cheap cologne. It didn’t matter. This man had substance.

“Maggie?” asked Jake. “I need to ask you something. We’ve been talking to the doctors and people here, and do
you know if Tony had a Do Not Resuscitate signed? They told us that he isn’t in the POLST Registry, so we are wondering if he might have just had the form at his office or somewhere.”

“A DNR? I don’t know,” Maggie replied, then added quickly, “but I might be able to find out if he did. He might also have a medical power of attorney somewhere, too. I’ll see what I can dig up and let you know, okay?”

“That would be great. They are telling us that it’s not looking too good.”

“Well, you two go in and see him. We can all keep praying for a miracle until a decision has to be made.”

They both thanked her and headed in the direction of his ICU room.

“You got anything to say?” Maggie grunted under her breath.

“No, I don’t.” The voice was husky and broken, and Maggie softened. They walked out and into the waiting room. Maggie stopped to survey the people, occupied in conversation or with magazines.

“That’s her,” stated Tony, still very subdued. “The beautiful brunette in the corner texting. I did think about trying to make it right, but I was usually drunk at the time and never followed through. Now I don’t know what to say”—his voice again broke—“to her, or anyone anymore.”

“Then Tony, you just sit tight and listen.”

Maggie walked to the corner where a red-eyed but striking young woman sat working her fingers over her phone. She looked up, cocked her head to one side, and asked, “Yes?”

“Hi, my name is Maggie Saunders, and I work here at OHSU as a nurse. You are Angela Spencer, right?”

The young woman nodded. “Well, Ms. Spencer, I not only work here, but I also know your father personally.”

“You do?” Angela sat up and dropped her phone into her purse. “How do you know my dad?”

Maggie hadn’t prepared for this. “Well, we met at church.”

“Wait!” Angela’s head snapped back in surprise. “My dad? You met my dad at church? Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

“Yes, your dad is Anthony Spencer, right?”

“Yes, but…” She gave Maggie a once-over. “You don’t seem, you know, his type.”

Maggie laughed. “What, you mean slim, petite, and know my place?”

Angela grinned back. “No, sorry, I just meant… you sort of caught me off guard.”

Maggie chuckled and sat down next to Angela. “Just so you know, your father and I are not an ‘item,’ just friends who ran into each other not long ago at church.”

“I still can’t believe my dad would ever go to a church. He has rather an unresolved history with religious places.”

“Well, maybe that’s why we connected. I got a little of that, too. Doesn’t mean there isn’t some real life and value there, but it sometimes gets a little lost behind all the order and politics and job security and stuff.”

“I know what you mean,” responded Angela.

“Ms. Spencer…,” Maggie began.

“Please, call me Angela,” encouraged the other with a smile.

“And I’m Maggie, great to meet you.” They shook hands as if formally being introduced. “So, Angela, I was talking to your mom and she told me you and your dad are sort of on the outs right now.”

Angela dropped her gaze, working to control her emotions. She looked back and into Maggie’s eyes. “Yeah, did
she tell you what I said to him the last time we talked? I was screaming actually. I told him that I wished he was dead and then a few days later we find out that he’s in a coma and might die and I can’t tell him that I’m sorry, and…”

Maggie put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and handed her a tissue from her own purse, which Angela gratefully accepted. “Listen to me, Angela. This wasn’t your fault. I probably don’t need to say that, but I just wanted you to hear it out loud. It’s all about timing, and we don’t have any control of that. You can still tell him.”

Angela looked up again. “What do you mean?”

I’m a nurse and I have seen lots of things, including people in comas who I know were able to hear what was going on. You can still tell him whatever you want to, and I believe he will hear you.”

“You really think so?” There was a glimmer of hope and light in her eyes.

“I do,” Maggie stated emphatically, “and if you need someone to be in there with you, I gave my contact info to Jake. Just call me and I’ll come any time, day or night.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Angela’s tears flowed easily. “I don’t even know you, but I am so thankful that you were here. I needed to hear this. I was afraid…”

Maggie enfolded Angela in her arms and Tony wept inside Maggie, his face pressed against the window of light through which he saw but could not be seen, his hands trying to reach his daughter who cried, so close but so far away. He sobbed for all the losses to which he couldn’t even begin to speak, for all the damage he had done. The regret was crushing, but he embraced it.

“Forgive me.” His words barely found voice, and he was gone.

T
ony found himself back near the encampment by the far wall where the battle had so recently been fought. He stood again at the point where the trail branched in two directions: one down to the left toward the group of buildings that had housed his inner lies; the other to the right, which led to the block building referred to as a temple.

He felt spent, as if the last of his energy were being drawn from his body by the events and emotions that still swirled about. The words
forgive me
still lingered on his lips and rang true to his heart. A feeling of loneliness blew like a wayward wind across his face. The liars may have been bad company, but at least they had been company. Perhaps true change increased the space in one’s heart, creating openness that allowed for authentic community. Within all the regret and loss there blew a hint of expectancy, an anticipation of something more and coming.

But there still remained this place down the path to the right. He could make it out in the distance, like a block of granite sewn into the wall. If it had not been for the clearly carved and crafted edges, it could have been mistaken for a massive boulder that had fallen from higher in the edifice.

A temple? What would he have to do with a temple? Why would this place have any significance? He knew he was being drawn there; he could almost hear the beckoning of a promise. But there was more. Within the weaving of anticipation there was a thread of dread, of something not right, an uneasiness that seemed to have locked his feet in place and wouldn’t let them loose.

Could this be the temple of God? The Father God? Probably not, he surmised. Grandmother had said something about God being outside the walls. This structure was inside the walls. He couldn’t imagine God would want to live in a place like this, no windows or even doors visible on the exterior.

He knew he was stalling, as if continuing to ask questions was a reasonable substitute for experiencing what lay ahead. As Grandmother would say, “It was time.” She and Jesus were undoubtedly here, but he now knew it was his own limitations that clouded his ability to see them.

“Have I got some questions for you,” he muttered and then grinned to himself. Prayer, it seemed, was simply a conversation inside a relationship.

As Tony took the path to the right, a small lizard scuttled away between the rocks. It soon became evident he was traversing an old dried riverbed. Once deep waters had flowed through this place, and various spots were visibly muddy from moisture that still existed somewhere below his feet. The river would have traveled directly through the temple and run into the wall on its far side. Each step became increasingly
difficult as the soft sand grabbed at his boots. The final hundred yards were painfully arduous, and his breathing labored until he stopped and leaned over to recover.

The physical exertion was not the worst. It was the emotional turmoil that accompanied each step. Everything in him screamed go back. Expectancy that had marked the start of the walk dissipated like vapor into a whirlwind of dust that now rose from the riverbed to obfuscate his vision.

A storm was howling by the time he finally reached the nearest wall of the temple. He was desperate to find something on its surface to cling to against the rising onslaught of breathtaking fury, but it was smooth and slippery as glass and he had to turn and lean into the wall to protect himself. As far as he could see and feel, there was no door, no way in. He was stymied.

Tony was certain of only one thing—he was supposed to be here. One of those fiends had said that this was where he worshipped, that he had built this place. If that was true, then he must know how to gain entrance. Bracing himself against the squall, he sheltered his face in the crook of his arm and tried to concentrate in spite of the stinging sand. Where in his inner world would a place like this exist? A place of worship! What was a place of worship? It had to be something that he had placed at the center of his life. Success? No, too intangible. Power? Again, not satisfying or essential.

“Jesus, please help me,” he breathed. Whether an answer to his prayer or not, a thought instantly occurred to him. It was like the stillness of morning breaking in the distance and gradually unfolding, but with its clarity came deepening despair. In a moment he knew what this place was. It was the hungering weight at the very core of his existence. It was a tomb, a sepulchre, a grave memorializing the dead.

He lifted his face and pressed it against the wall, his sorrow spilling like a river from his deepest and most precious place. He put his lips against the smooth cold stone, kissed it, and whispered, “Gabriel!”

Lightning struck next to him, shattering the wall like brittle glass and knocking him off his feet, but the concussion had exhumed the entrance to a corridor and he crawled deeper into the darkness. Inside, the tempest evaporated quicker than it had risen. Standing easily, he groped along one wall, sliding his feet carefully for fear of empty space and falling. A couple of turns and only a short distance later he was at a gate. It had a latch similar to another he had felt days before upon his arrival at his soul’s gate.

This door, too, opened without a sound, and as he entered he had to look away until his eyes adjusted to the light flooding the space.

Tony stood at the end of what appeared to be a small cathedral, its construction stunning, ornamented yet simple. Filtered rays captured dust and particles around its beams, lighting them afire and spreading them as if caught in a breath. But the odor clashed with the glory of the place, the smell antiseptic and sterile.

There were no chairs or pews, just empty space and a distant altar bathed in light so bright he could not make out details. He took a step and whispered, “I’m not alone.” It echoed off the marble framing and floor. “I’m not alone,” he stated loudly this time and began walking toward the brightness.

Suddenly he saw movement inside the light and froze, gripped in a terror of anticipation. “Gabriel?” He couldn’t believe what he saw. What he had feared most and longed for deepest appeared in front of him. It was not an altar, but a hospital bed, surrounded by lights and equipment, and
facing him was his five-year-old Gabriel. He ran toward the figure.

“Stop!” the boy commanded, a note of appeal resonating through the temple. “Daddy, you need to stop.”

Tony did, ten feet from his son, who looked exactly like he remembered. His memory had frozen a healthy and vibrant son, at the beginning of his life’s adventure, now standing only arm’s lengths away and connected by tubes to a bed and attending machinery.

“Is it you? Gabriel, is this really you?” he pleaded, almost begging.

“Yes, Daddy, it’s me, but you see me only as you remember me. You need to stop.”

Tony was confused. It took everything in him not to rush and wrap this child in his arms. He was standing only feet away and Gabe was telling him to stop? It didn’t make any sense. Panic began rising like a cresting flood.

“Gabriel, I can’t lose you again. I can’t!”

“Daddy, I’m not lost. It’s you that’s lost, not me.”

“No,” moaned Tony. “That can’t be true. I had you. I had you in my arms and I was holding on to you, and you slipped away and there was nothing that I could do, and I’m so sorry.” He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “Maybe,” he began as he looked up, “maybe I can heal you. Maybe God can take me back in time and I can heal you…”

“Daddy, don’t.”

“But don’t you see, Gabe, if God can take me outside of time and back to you and I could heal you and then my life wouldn’t be such a wreck…”

“Daddy.” Gabriel’s tone was gentle but firm.

“And then I wouldn’t have hurt your mom so much and been so hard on your sister, if only you…”

“Daddy.” The voice was stronger.

“If only you hadn’t… died. Why did you have to die? You were so small and weak and I tried to do everything I knew how. Gabriel, I told God to take me instead of you, but he didn’t. I wasn’t good enough. I’m so sorry, son.”

“Daddy, stop!” commanded Gabriel. Tony looked up and tears were streaming down his son’s face, a look of utter love for him written clearly on his features.

“Daddy, please, you’ve got to stop,” whispered his son. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself, blaming Mom, blaming God, blaming the world. Please, you have to let me go. You’ve kept me inside these walls with you for years, and it’s time for us to leave.”