July Thunder (24 page)

Or maybe, and this thought grabbed him, maybe he could finally be man enough just to let go of it all.

 

“Sam, you get over to this hospital right now.”

The message was waiting on Sam's answering machine when he got home, and he might have thought something was wrong with his father if he
hadn't recognized the tone of voice. The old man had a wild hair, and he was giving orders.

Well, he could damn well wait. Sam was no lackey to be summoned in that fashion. Nor was he a kid any longer, who needed to tremble before that tone.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't missed that tone of voice once in all these years. Just who did Elijah think he was?

Muttering under his breath, Sam headed for the shower, scattering clothes everywhere and not giving a damn. He felt sixteen again, and spiteful and angry and…

Suddenly he laughed at himself and turned around to pick up his clothes. Acting like a sixteen-year-old wasn't going to annoy anyone but himself. Not anymore.

He indulged in the shower until the last drop of hot water was gone, wanting to soak every last bit of smoke stench out of his hair and pores. And tonight, instead of donning work clothes, he was going to put on a decent shirt and slacks. Maybe hit a restaurant for dinner.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, so did Mary. He had a feeling that if he called her and asked her to join him, she would hang up on him. Damn, why was she so spooked? Okay, so he hadn't had anything useful to say last night, but what was there useful to say? He couldn't change the way she felt about herself. And he did, to be fair to both of
them, actually have to think about whether he could share her load adequately.

He was trying to be smart and intelligent about this.

But smart and intelligent wasn't cutting it, as his heart kept reminding him. Damn.

She'd been cutting herself off from him for the last couple of days, though. As if he'd gotten too close to her and she was a skittish foal. What was he supposed to do about that? He couldn't just barge his way into her life and demand that she let him stay. If she couldn't trust him…

If she couldn't trust him, there was nothing more to be said. Period. You had to have trust in any relationship. And right now, considering how she was withdrawing from him, he wasn't sure he could trust
her.

What a mess.

Just because his father had insisted he come right away, Sam was stubborn enough to have dinner first. Not at a restaurant, where it would take an hour, but at the burger joint on Main. At least it was food.

 

“Don't be as blind as I was, Sam.”

Elijah's words hit him as soon as he entered the room.

“Well, hello to you, too, Dad,” Sam said, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I'm sorry. Hi, son, thanks for stopping by.
Now—” Elijah paused, his eyes boring into Sam's “—don't be as blind as I was.”

Sam heaved a sigh and sat in the chair nearest the window and farthest from his father. He felt resentful, wondering how Elijah could possibly believe he had any right to interfere in Sam's life or to lecture Sam about anything. He'd lost that right a long time ago, when he'd told his son to take a permanent hike.

Clinging to old wounds. That was what he was doing. He could imagine Mary—if she were still talking to him—scowling at him and telling him he was just like his dad. Maybe he needed to start acting like a grown-up instead of a resentful kid. Maybe he ought to at least listen. He was certainly old enough now to pick and choose which bits of advice would benefit him.

He looked out at a young woman trying to corral three small kids and herd them toward the hospital entrance. The kids looked to be excited, which was odd, Sam thought. A hospital visit didn't strike him as the kind of event that would send kids into running-around-the-parking-lot glee. Finally he looked over at his father, prepared to at least try to listen.

“Do I get to find out the reason for this lecture, or is it a secret?”

Elijah smiled. “No secret at all, Sam. You're in love with Mary. Mary's in love with you. And you've slammed the door on her like a harried mother on a door-to-door salesman.”

Sam turned his attention back out the window, trying to conceal the pang in his heart. Mary was in love with him? No way. He didn't need a magnifying glass to read the signs she was sending out. “So now you're the village matchmaker?” he asked, without looking at his father.

“I'm a father, Sam. Not a good one, I'll admit, but I tried. And I'm trying now.” Elijah drew a deep breath. “But for the life of me, I can't figure out what that woman could possibly have said or done that would make you act this way.”

Keeping a tight leash on his feelings, Sam tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling tiles, then finally met his father's gaze. “What exactly is it that I did? Mary won't tell me, and this flailing about in the dark is getting more than a bit frustrating.”

Elijah huffed. “You really
are
blind, aren't you? I don't know what all happened, but I do know she told you something and you've been cold as a stone ever since. The poor woman couldn't even talk about it. She just sat in that chair, crying.” He paused to scratch at his IV site. “Maybe you learned compassion and forgiveness from me. Or the lack of same.”

“Is that what you think?” Sam asked.

“I don't know
what
to think, son. All I know is that two decent people who love each other are on the outs, and it has something to do with what she told you.”

Sam rose. “Yes, Dad, it does. But not the way
you think, or the way Mary may be thinking.” He took a deep breath and looked out the window again. Whatever the mother and her three hyperkinetic charges had been up to, they were out of sight. Probably bouncing off the corridor walls somewhere, he guessed. He tried to find words. “Dad…”

Elijah waited for a moment, then drew a breath as if to answer. But he let the reply go unspoken and settled back against the pillow, listening.

“Something really awful happened to Mary a few years ago,” Sam finally said. Having found a place to begin, he found it easier to continue. “It was a horrible tragedy. She lost her son, and her husband blamed her. He dumped her, and she's been tormenting herself with guilt ever since.”

“And you shut her out because of that?” Elijah asked, an accusatorial tone resonant in his voice.

“No,” Sam said. “That's just it. I didn't say
anything!
I mean, what is there to say that hasn't been said by countless others already? It wasn't her fault. She didn't do anything wrong. But I realized those words would fall on deaf ears. I can't mend her broken heart, Dad. I would if I could. I wish I had that gift. But I'm just a small-town deputy sheriff, with my own skeletons in the closet and my own wounds to lick. Not a psychotherapist. Not a priest. I can't give her absolution, and I can't peel away the layers of her psyche and heal that wound. I can't be what she needs.”

Sam paused and sat again. His shoulders sagged.
“I can't fix her, Dad. She's torn up inside, and I can't do a damn thing about it. Just like I couldn't save Beth.”

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, as if trying to shut out some horrible image. Inside, he was a maelstrom of painful emotions, as if everything with Beth and everything with Mary had all come together to tell him just how helpless he truly was. Every day he helped other people, but the two most important people in his life were beyond his ability to help.

Finally he dropped his hands and looked out the window again. There were things he could do and things he couldn't do, and the things he couldn't do had been tripping him up his entire life.

After a long moment, Elijah spoke. “Sam, do you remember Brother Crauley, who came to stay with us in San Diego? The Navy chaplain?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. It's been a long time, Dad. And I wasn't paying much attention to the home front when we lived in San Diego.”

To Sam's surprise, Elijah smiled. He'd been expecting another of his father's withering glares.

“You were busy with Scouts and soccer, son. You were a kid doing kid things. But Chaplain Crauley was a buddy of mine in seminary. He had a couple months medical leave from Vietnam, and we lived near the base. So he came to stay with us while he was recovering.”

Sam turned, the memory now rising from the
ashes of his childhood. “Oh, yeah. He got shot or something, right?”

Elijah nodded and touched his upper arm. “Right through the arm. Shattered the bone. He told me about the night it happened. He was with the Marine Corps, somewhere in a rice paddy. His platoon was pulling back to evacuate, and one of the men stepped on a land mine. Jack Crauley went back for him and was pulling him toward their evac area when an NVA sniper hit him. He said it felt like someone had smashed his arm between a hammer and an anvil.”

“I remember now. His right arm was in a sling, so he had to eat left-handed. Mom had to cut his meat for him at dinner.”

“That's right,” Elijah said, his eyes clouding for a moment. “Your mother was always a sweet woman that way.” He drew another breath and continued. “Anyway, he's lying there on a levee between two rice paddies, and the platoon corpsman comes up. Jack said he was screaming to wake the dead. Didn't want to let the corpsman touch his arm. But the medic gave him a shot of morphine, calmed him down and splinted his arm, gentle as a dove. Jack looked up through a grimace and asked how the corpsman could be so tender. And he said the man smiled and said ‘I've been wounded, too, padre.' Jack told that story in a sermon one night at our church. He said we're all called to be wounded healers.”

“You're saying I should talk to Mary.”

Elijah smiled again, a gentle smile. “What I'm saying, son, is that you
especially
should talk to Mary.
Because
you lost Beth.
Because
you've been wounded. She doesn't need absolution or psychotherapy. Or if she does, that's not what she needs most. What she needs most is the tender, gentle touch of someone who's been wounded, too.”

Sam turned back to the window. The scene before him made sense now, as the woman and children returned to the car with a man in tow. Bringing Daddy home. That was why the kids had been so excited.

“I don't know what I can do except tell her how I feel,” Sam said. “I don't know what else to say.”

“Maybe that's all you need to say, Sam. Maybe that's what she needs to hear, more than anything in the world. And maybe…just maybe…that's what you need to hear yourself say, more than anything in the world.”

Elijah reached out his hand and waited for his son to take it. Only after Sam's hand rested in his did he speak again. “Beth was a wonderful woman, son. I know I never met her, but if you loved her, there's not a doubt in my mind that she was wonderful. But you need to love again. To honor her memory. To heal Mary. And to heal yourself.” He squeezed Sam's hand. “And maybe to help an old man feel like he wasn't such a failure as a father after all.”

Sam felt a surprising, totally new, rush of tender
ness toward Elijah. Awkwardly he leaned down to kiss his father's forehead. “You're not a failure, Dad. It just took us longer to succeed. I love you, Dad.”

“I always loved you, son. Always will. And I'm proud as punch to be your father.”

 

On the way out of the hospital, Sam ran into Joe and Louis. They were coming in through the automatic doors carrying a big spray of flowers. Sam greeted them warmly and asked who they were visiting.

“Your dad,” Joe said.

“My dad?” The idea stunned Sam.

“Oh, he's not such a bad old bird,” Louis said. “We'll sweeten him up and bring him round. Sometimes you just have to get people to see past the stereotypes to the real human beings behind them. He's starting to see.”

The idea of Elijah entertaining a visit from two gay men brought a smile to Sam's face for the first time in two days, at least. Maybe longer. The muscles in his cheeks felt unaccustomed to the expression.

“You grin,” Joe said. “But let me tell you, when I stopped in to see him this morning, he said he was going to ask the church to give us all the cut timber so we could rebuild our cabin.”

“Really?” Sam felt as if the whole planet had just changed its direction of rotation.

“Really,” said Louis. “He really
wants
to be a good guy.”

Maybe he did, Sam thought as he headed for his car. Maybe Elijah's main failing had always been trying
too
hard. The idea of perfection could be an unforgiving taskmaster, not only for the person who was trying to be perfect himself, but for those around him who he wanted to be perfect, too.

He hadn't made the decision consciously, but he found himself parking in front of Mary's house. Her living-room lights were on, inviting. Or maybe they looked inviting because he knew she was inside.

He didn't get out of his car immediately but sat there in the dark and tried to figure out what he was going to say to her. It all seemed so jumbled up inside his head and heart that he didn't know how he was going to make sense out of it for himself, let alone for her.

But if what his dad said was true, that she had been crying because she felt he had rejected her… Well, it wouldn't matter much what he said as long as he showed up. As long as he showed up and didn't say the
wrong
thing.

Feeling nervous and uneasy, he climbed out of his truck and headed for her door. He didn't know what he would do if she wouldn't let him in, but he at least had to mend whatever hurt he'd inflicted. At least tell her that he hadn't wanted to hurt her. Even if she wouldn't hear another word from his mouth.