The Eyes and Ears of Love (21 page)

“That was very nice of you mom! Thank you. And yes, yes I’m still coming.” He kisses her on the cheek.

Mrs. Menichelli notices Dorothy, she tilts her head suggestively in her direction.

Bentley blushes and stammers out a brief introduction between them.

An eloquent look fills across Mrs. Menichelli’s face as she says, “Well, you must be one special lady! He never introduces me to the residents here. He thinks I’ll embarrass him!” she says to Dorothy.

Dorothy giggles.

Bentley looks into the distance, “Kind of like you are right now mom,” he says hunching over.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dorothy!” she pats Dorothy on the shoulder.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Menichelli.”

“Well, I’d best be going. But, hey, I made plenty of spaghetti, why don’t you join us tonight, Dorothy?”

Bentley shakes his head urgently, but before he can object, Dorothy says, “Yes! I’d love to.”

“Wait, really?” Bentley asks, dubious.

Dorothy pats Aurora on the head. “Yeah, I love spaghetti!”

“Well, okay, then! I’ll make a place at the table for you. See you then!” she says, with her cheeks lighting up. “Enjoy group therapy everyone!” she shouts.

As she makes her way back toward the stairs, the group praises her for the cookies as she leaves.

Bentley turns back to Dorothy. “Are you sure you want to come to dinner? You don’t have to feel obligated to come.”

“Bentley, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to come.”

He blushes. For a moment, he forgets what he’s doing, then remembers he’s in charge of leading therapy. He greets the group, and once everyone is circled up, he opens the conversation: “who would like to start tonight?”

Instead of the usual silence, or the chiming in of one of the more outspoken attendees, Bentley hears Dorothy’s timid voice. “I will,” she announces.

Bentley arches his eyebrows. “Dorothy, yes, please.”

“I’m Dorothy, I’ve been here for a little over a month and I kind of keep to myself.” She looks down at her fidgeting hands. “I think I’m ready to open up and tell you why I’m here.” She untangles her fingers and pats Aurora on the head. “At first, I thought I was here to be punished for being the only one to survive the accident. But now after the past few weeks, I think I’m here because I’m lucky to be alive.” She pauses momentarily. “My mom dropped me off here because she was at a loss of what to do. My mom isn’t like Hannah’s mom, though. My mom would have done my makeup, every day; she would have styled my hair, every day. She would have picked out a cute outfit, every day, for me, if I would have just let her.” {Pause here. Have her take a deep breath, or maybe get choked up, because this upcoming part is HUGE and deserves pause!} “I’ve been punishing my mom for well over five years now. I was bound to break her eventually. And that’s exactly what I did, I broke her. The worst part is, I don’t feel sorry for doing that to my mom.”

Bentley swallows hard.

Her voice is steady, but he can hear the pain in it. “I blamed her, not only for my father’s death, but also my sister’s.” She wipes her eyes and her voice cracks, “and that isn’t entirely fair. She has nothing to do with my sister’s death. But I do.” She continues, “I wish I could go back to that moment, right before the crash.” She breathes between each sob. “I wish I could say, Donna, don’t get in the car. But,” she hesitates, “I can’t.”

Bentley looks away from Dorothy. His chest tightens and each breath has to be forcefully exhaled.

“These last few weeks have been amazing, but also horrible at the same time. When I first found out what had happened to Donna in accident, I wished it would have been me that died and not her. But now,” she says slowly, “I feel glad I made it.” Her voice is higher pitched, now, as she screeches, “But then I feel incredibly guilty for that.” She clamps a fist. “I shouldn’t have to, though, because I wasn’t driving. It wasn’t my fault. Luke was the driver. I found myself fantasizing of a thousand ways he could die, but he’s already dead.”

I can’t do this.
Bentley thinks to himself.
I can’t listen to this.

Bentley leaves. In the stairwell, he clenches his jaw, and hits his hand against the wall.

She has no right to degrade Luke like that. She didn’t even know him, the genuine person he was.
He thinks, now resting his head against the wall.

He runs down the stairs and out of the facility to his car, slams the door shut, and guns it.

That evening Bentley arrives at his parents’ house alone.

He knocks on the door, but gets no response. He bangs on the door harder.

“I'm coming,” says his mother’s voice. She opens the door. "Bentley, honey!”

“Hi mom,” he says. “Can I come in?" he asks, careful to keep his voice steady.

She stammers out a reply as he walks pass her. She peeks outside the door looking left and right before shutting it.

“No Dorothy?” she asks with obvious disappointment.

“She couldn’t make it tonight.”

She sighs and gives off a forced smile. “That’s okay. A nice dinner with my boys sounds lovely!”

Mr. and Mrs. Menichelli sit at opposite ends of the table while Bentley sits in the middle. A large bowl of steaming homemade spaghetti and Italian sausage sits on the table like a centerpiece. Bentley tangles the pasta around the fork and watches it slide off, falling back onto his plate.

“Honey, what’s the matter?” Mrs. Menichelli finally asks.

“Nothing,” he says calmly trying to mask his true emotions.

“Did something happen with Dorothy?” she pries.

“No. And she’s just a friend anyways.”

“She doesn’t seem like just a friend.” She adds, smiling, “The way you look at her is the same way I use to look at your father. Well, before he got fat and hairy!”

Mr. Menichelli chokes on a noodle because he’s laughing so hard. Bentley cannot conceal his amusement.

“She’s a special one, I can tell,” she continues.

How does she know everything? I can never just figure out something for myself. She does it for me every time!
He thinks, rolling his eyes.

The laughter dies down and the rest of dinner consists of small-talk about the weather and church.

After dinner, Mr. Menichelli begins his usual routine of digesting while watching television on the couch. Mrs. Menichelli washes dishes.

“Here, I'll do it, mom.” Bentley nudges her to move over.

She looks at him while she wipes her wet hands on a hand towel. 

Bentley finally speaks. “Do you think there's such thing as a good lie? Like in order to protect someone you love?” he asks, scraping his half-eaten spaghetti down the garbage disposal.

She sighs, “No, I don’t think lies are good or bad.” She shrugs. “A lie is a lie. But it doesn't mean your intentions weren't good.”

“But,” he hesitates. “What if it's not really a lie at all?” He pauses. “You're just, withholding information.” He continues, “Information that the person would never find out if you didn't tell them.”

“Well,” she says slowly. “If you love that person, you never withhold information. You tell them everything, even your smallest thoughts and most tedious mistakes.”

“But what if she gets angry, mom?”

She embraces him warmly. “She won't get as angry as you will at yourself if you don't tell her. You can't build a relationship on the foundation of a lie. Tell her now, before it's too late,” she insists.

Bentley looks down and nods.

He finishes the dishes and makes his way upstairs. He stands in front of Emily’s bedroom door and slowly opens it. Her room is exactly kept the way it was as if she’s still alive. The book of Cinderella sits on her nightstand. He sits on her bed and traces Cinderella and the prince with his finger.

Chapter 7

***

The next day, Dorothy lies on her bed, drowning in her thoughts about Bentley.

Did I do something wrong?
She asks herself over and over again.

He hasn’t come to see her all day and Lena says he hasn’t been to the facility at all today.

What could I have possibly done to make him so distant?

She hears a knock at the door, “Come in,” she hollers.

The door opens. “Bentley asked if I would come get you,” Lena says.

“We’re still going?” she asks as she sits up.

“He said it’s too short of notice to cancel.”

Dorothy swallows deeply. Her voice trembles, “He tried to cancel the surprise?”

“Come on! He’s waiting for you,” Lena says, her voice high and enthusiastic. She takes Dorothy’s arm and leads her out of her room and outside. Dorothy hears Bentley’s truck rumbling by the curb, and Lena helps her up into it.

“Have fun, you guys!” Lena says before closing the door. Bentley is silent in the driver’s seat, and Dorothy hears him click the car into drive.

Is he going to say something? Anything at all?

Dorothy opens her mouth, but lacks the courage to let the words escape her lips. She desperately longs to talk to him, but she doesn’t know what to say.

They drive for several miles without saying a word to each other, while Dorothy awaits the big surprise. When they arrive, Bentley comes around to her side, helps her out of the car and grabs her arm to guide her. With every step, she can feel the sun shining on her face and the uneven terrain as her feet trail along.

“Hi sweet cheeks! You must be Dorothy!” A male Australian voice says to her.

“Who are you?” she asks, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Dorothy, this is Henry Sharp,” Bentley introduces bluntly.

The sound of his voice immediately comforts her, regardless of his uneasy tone.

“But you can call me the instructor,” the man insists.

“Henry is a friend of the facility.”

“Ah yes! I go to group therapy occasionally when I’m in town!”

“Why?” Dorothy asks.

“Well I lost one of my eyes and now I have a glass eye on my right side.”

“Oh, that’s awful, I’m sorry,” Dorothy sympathizes, shaking her head.

“No, don’t be sorry! I’m fortunate to have only lost my eye.”

“So, you’re an instructor of what?”

“Skydiving!”

Dorothy stopped fidgeting, wondering and fearing the reason Bentley was introducing her to a skydiving instructor. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I’m a skydiving instructor.”

Dorothy’s jaw drops. “Bentley, please tell me that my surprise is good company with a fellow disabled man and not skydiving?”

“No, your surprise is skydiving.”

“Skydiving?” She laughs sarcastically. “Absolutely not. Please bring the car around.”

“No. I’ve already made the arrangements for us to do this.”

“We’re doing it together?”

“Yes,” he says dryly.

“You sound real thrilled about it too.” She rolls her eyes.

Bentley clears his throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

She leans closer to his direction. “It’s just what?”

“Bentley,” the instructor interrupts, “we need to get started; we have a time frame for the plane.”

“Right, sorry. Let’s practice,” he demands.

“I’m not doing this, Bentley,” Dorothy says, grasping his arm in her hand and pulling him back.

“What about being a free living bird?” Bentley reminds her.

“Yeah, it’s a lovely metaphor. Not to be taken literally.”

“Once upon a time you told me you were afraid of heights, but that you can no longer be afraid of heights because you are blind. You said it’s silly to think a blind person could be afraid of heights. Do you still believe that?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Good, so you should have no problem skydiving today, right?”

“Bentley, I’m not doing this. I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I am not doing this.”

“And what exactly am I trying to do? If you’re not afraid of heights, then what’s the problem?”

“I’m not skydiving, end of story.”

“Typical.”

“Typical what?”

“Typical you. Coping by not trying.”

“I’m not coping by not trying; I just don’t want to do it.”

“And that’s coping!”

“I’m not coping.”

“Hey! Dorothy, it’s cool, some of us cope by avoiding our fears and others just face their fears head on so they don’t have to cope. Like me, for instance.”

Dorothy pauses momentarily. “If you face your fears head on, then why did you stand me up for dinner with your parents?” She anxiously waits for his answer, but he doesn’t reply. She continues, “You’re afraid of something, Bentley. We all are. You know what? Let’s go. Let’s do this.”

Bentley doesn’t say anything.