“That no-good son of a —”
“Aunt Julia!” Mary stopped her.
“I’m sorry, but how could he do that? How could he lie on an application and take a chance that he would leave you without any money?”
“Maybe he didn’t know he had a heart problem when he applied.”
“That’s not what the letter says. It says right here: ‘Fraud. Misrepresentation.’ That means ‘lying’ in my dictionary, and lying means he knew. Oh, God, I knew it! I knew that man was no good. He was a big phony, that’s what he was.” Then she looked at Mary and saw what her words were doing. “Oh, honey, come here.” She pulled Mary over to sit on the sofa and put her arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s very hard for me to keep my mouth shut, you know that. Here.” She took a balled-up tissue from the pocket of her bathrobe and handed it to Mary. “I’ve got to calm down here,” Aunt Julia said to herself. “Let me get a cup of coffee. I don’t think I can eat anything right now. I’ll settle down after a cup of coffee. I’ll have decaf this morning. I’m already too riled up. Regular coffee will put me over the edge.” She stood up, began to walk into the kitchen, then stopped. “Oh, that’s why you’re worried about Kate. She came home last night and read the letter, and you think she got upset and took off. Oh no. Kate wouldn’t do that.” Aunt Julia disappeared into the kitchen, still mumbling.
Mary sat there, paralyzed. For something to do, she went to look for Kate in the backyard and, ridiculously, in the shed. All along she was overcome with a feeling, a certainty almost, that something bad had happened to her. As soon as she reentered the house, the phone rang and a wave of hope and relief traveled through her body. “That must be Kate,” she said as she ran to the phone. Aunt Julia popped out of the kitchen, a look of curiosity on her face. “Hello,” Mary said, out of breath.
“Hey!” It was only Bonnie.
“Have you seen Kate?” Mary asked.
“My brother told me you called asking for her and then Simon called a little while ago. Is it true they broke up?” Bonnie sounded eager, excited, as if she were wishing the answer was yes. Mary always suspected Bonnie had a secret crush on Simon. Maybe that’s why she was so glad Kate was going away to college.
“If Simon told you they broke up, it must be true.”
“I couldn’t get a sense from Simon whether it was a major breakup or not. He sounded sort of shaken up. I wonder . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bonnie, if you know anything, please tell me. It’s not like Kate to disappear like this. She’s not at school, because she didn’t take her backpack. It doesn’t even look like she slept here last night. Her bed is still made.” She wondered whether that was something she should have said. But surely she could trust Bonnie, Kate’s best friend. “You know something,” Mary said.
Bonnie exhaled on the other end. “I was just thinking that maybe Kate told Simon about her acceptance to Stanford and that’s why they broke up.”
“Forget about the stupid breakup and help me think where she might have gone,” Mary said, annoyed.
“I don’t have the slightest. Have you looked around the house?”
“She’s not here,” Mary said.
“Listen, I got to go to school. I’m sure she’ll turn up. She’s probably at school already. You said she didn’t sleep at home? That’s super weird. I wonder where she could have gone?”
“Bonnie,” Mary said quickly, thinking that she was about to hang up. “I’m pretty sure she’s not at school, but if for some reason I’m wrong, can you ask her to give me a call?”
“You’re not coming to school?”
“No, I’m going to stay here in case she comes home.”
“Okay, but you’re overreacting.” Bonnie’s usual sweetness had disappeared. She hung up when Mary didn’t respond.
Mary held the receiver against her ear until she heard a dial tone. It could be that she was overreacting, as Bonnie said, but dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. She had never felt that kind of premonition before and it was impossible to ignore it. She placed the receiver back on the phone and stood in the hall, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. She barely noticed Aunt Julia offering her a glass of juice.
“Nothing?” Aunt Julia asked.
Mary shook her head and took the glass with both hands. She let Aunt Julia lead her by the elbow back to the living room. She sat Mary down on the armchair. Mary tried to think of the places Kate could have gone. She had other friends, but none she confided in, none whom she would go to in the middle of the night or the early morning. There was no one from church. . . .
And then it hit her. Church. She put the glass down and rushed into Papa’s study. She opened the top drawer of his desk and saw the empty space where he kept his keys. The keys to the church were gone. They had never bothered to return them after Papa died and now they were gone. Kate had taken them, Mary was certain. Kate was at the church. She hurried out of Papa’s study, stumbling over herself. She went to her room, put her sneakers on, and ran past Aunt Julia. “Where are you going?” she heard Aunt Julia call as the screen door slammed behind her.
“I’m going to check at church,” she said.
“Why on earth would she go there?”
Aunt Julia was right. Why on earth would Kate go there? Mary herself might go there if she had some terrible news. The silence of the empty sanctuary would bring her peace, would put her mind in the right place once again. But Kate? Then again, nothing about Kate was predictable any longer. Something new and complicated was emerging.
She jogged the two blocks to the church. The windows were dark and there was an air of abandonment to the building. The church could have been an empty warehouse with a cross on top of it. She opened the main door, hoping that Kate was sitting quietly in the sanctuary, reflecting, praying, but the sanctuary was empty and dark. She walked through and felt the somber quiet of the place invite her to sit and rest, to accept whatever the day was going to bring. She pushed on. She needed to be strong for Kate.
There was no one in any of the Sunday school rooms. All the doors were locked except for the door to the minister’s office, Papa’s old office. Papa always kept that door locked and she couldn’t imagine Reverend Soto leaving it open. She remembered that the office had a couch and once again she was filled with hope that Kate was there. Perhaps she had come to be in the place where Papa spent so much time, where she would be surrounded by his books and his lingering presence.
She opened the door slowly so she would not startle Kate from sleep. But Kate was not there.
For a few moments she felt the anguish of what it would be like to lose her sister forever. “Kate,” she said. She sat down on the couch and covered her eyes with her hands. She could feel tears rising, but she shook them off. She needed to think clearly. She looked around and saw the boxes full of Papa’s books and the decorations and knickknacks that people had given him over the years. Reverend Soto was clearing away Papa’s things.
She walked over to Papa’s oak desk. His calendar was gone. The top of the desk was empty except for a Rolodex and a set of golden pens that protruded from both sides of a brass clock. She ran her hand over the desk’s surface but it no longer felt like Papa. He always kept the desk cluttered with papers and magazines. Beside the desk sat a table with a laptop and a printer. Mary was looking at these when something shiny on the floor caught her eye. She bent closer and saw Papa’s keys.
She picked them up and sat on the desk chair, her head reeling. Kate had been there. But where was she now? Maybe Mary missed her in one of the classrooms. She decided to look through the church one more time, but then, with her head at this level, she could see the card where the Rolodex was opened.
Rev. Andrés Soto
El Camino Hotel and Apartments, Room 157
6781 Alameda
El Paso, TX 79915
(915) 859-1104
“Oh, Kate,” Mary
said quietly.
Kate found the keys in Father’s desk where they always were and then she headed for the front door of the house. She made no effort to be quiet. She was not going to tiptoe out of the house or act as if she was sneaking out. The discussion with Simon, the letter from the insurance company, had both drained her and strangely exhilarated her. She felt both exhausted and unable to be still.
The night was full of electricity. Her nerves tingled as she walked the two blocks to the church, the keys dangling in her hand. Now and then a whispering voice told her to stop, to consider what she was about to do, but she pushed through it. The warnings sounded like Father. Whenever she heard them, she remembered the words in the insurance letter: misrepresentation, fraud. Who was he to warn anyone? She felt as if she were being honest for the first time in her life.
Kate was certain she would find his name and telephone number somewhere in the office. It was in the Rolodex on his desk under A. For Andy, she thought with a smile.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded fully awake. It was eleven.
“Hello? Hello?”
Kate hesitated. She could hang up now and go back home. Home. Home was a mother who was dying but never died, a sister who couldn’t live alone. Home was the place that gripped you by the ankles whenever you tried to make something of yourself. “Hello,” she said tentatively. There was something about taking that first step that gave her strength. She was on her own now.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me.”
“Kate?”
It was a relief to be recognized. “Yes.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Remember when you told me I could call you day or night?”
“You sound like you’re in trouble. Where are you?”
She took a deep breath. She knew what she was doing and had no doubts. She wanted to make sure she didn’t sound as if she did. “Did you mean it?”
She heard silence on the other end of the phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the church.”
Silence again and then, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She was sitting on the steps by the side of the church when he drove up. He got out of the car and walked toward her. It was a warm night and he was wearing a polo shirt, blue shorts, and flip-flops. “I’m glad you’re dressed like that,” she said. She tried to sound cheerful.
“Why?”
“You look more like an Andy than a Reverend Soto.”
He sat down next to her on the steps. Moths flitted around the lightbulb above them. They stared silently at a row of garbage cans that lined the edge of the church’s property. Andy leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs. He acted as if she had called him to have a pleasant chat. After a while, he said, “Do you want to go inside and talk?”
She shook her head. “There are too many memories in there.”
He sat up. She was aware that he was looking at her as if trying to figure out the real reason for her call. It occurred to her that she herself did not know the real reason. Was she there for Andy or for Reverend Soto? She became aware of a nervous hope that he would ask her to go someplace quiet, but the idea that he would decide where they would go or what would happen next made her feel weak and helpless. The day had battered her with too many instances of her own powerlessness. She couldn’t afford one more. He was about to speak when she preempted him.
“I know a place where we can get a Coke and talk.” He probably thought she was a child for suggesting a Coke. A cup of coffee would have sounded more mature.
“That sounds good to me,” he said.
They went to a place called Menudo 24, the only place she knew that was open twenty-four hours. She and Simon used to go there occasionally and sit in a back booth. They ordered a Coke for Kate and a cup of coffee for Andy. As she sipped the Coke through a straw, she tried to figure out where to start. All her thoughts and feelings were like a ball of yarn that had lost its beginning and its end.
“So . . .” he started to say.
She cut him off. “I wanted to talk to you about the options you mentioned the other day.” It was the first thing that came to mind. She added quickly to soften her harsh tone, “It’s so hard to discuss.”
“It is hard,” he acknowledged.
She took a deep breath. “How does one go about removing a feeding tube from someone who is in a vegetative state?” There. The words were out. They were real now.
He lifted the cup of coffee to his lips and blew on it. There was not the slightest sign on his face that her words had shocked him. He took a sip, then put the cup down and looked at her. “How you go about it is not as important as the decision itself.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“You’re not a horrible human being for considering it.” She shrugged, though it was reassuring to hear his words. He went on, “What happened tonight? Did something trigger you wanting to talk about this?”
“Not really,” she said. But she was not sure her response was honest. Was she talking about disconnecting her mother’s feeding tube because she broke up with Simon, because the insurance was denied? Was she thinking about this because all other options had run out? “I don’t know.”
“Something must have happened. I can tell. The last time I talked to you, you seemed upset about even thinking about it.”
She twirled her hair for a few seconds, reflecting, and then she spoke. “About a year after the accident, one of the doctors told Father that the law would allow him to take Mother off life support, and Father went crazy. I’ve never seen him so angry. Father thought that ending Mother’s life, I mean, her vegetative life, I don’t know what to call it really —”
“Vegetative life is okay.”
“He thought ending Mother’s vegetative life was a sin. We had no right to end human life under any circumstances.”
“And what do you think?”
“I never believed there was any hope of Mother coming back to real life. I always saw her as being gone to the world, to us. After I talked to you, I don’t know, it seemed like we were keeping Mother alive for our sake, like we weren’t being honest with ourselves.” She pushed the half-empty glass of Coke away from her. “I thought that underneath church doctrine and following God’s will and everything, Father was really keeping her alive because of his own guilt.” She stopped. She felt as if she had just betrayed her father. “He was driving when they had the accident. It was his fault. He went through a yellow light, thinking he could make it, but he didn’t.”
“Ahh.”
She pulled the glass back toward her and stirred the liquid with the straw. Andy was looking at her as if he could see what she was hiding. “Things are different now.”
“How?”
“Without Father, it will be hard to take care of Mother.”
“Hard, but not impossible,” he said.
“We were expecting money from Father’s insurance policy, but that’s not coming,” she blurted out.
He leaned forward and waited for her eyes to meet his. “If you wanted to keep your mother alive, there would be some way to do it. We’d have to investigate.”
He said we, she said to herself. The magnetic force she had felt last time came back stronger than before. She ran her hand over her hair and turned her head away to break their gaze. The man flipping hamburgers behind the counter had a white net over his hair, and an apron grimy with black grease and a brown smear that looked like dried blood. He pressed each hamburger with a spatula and the meat sizzled and smoked.
“It’s hard to talk about this,” Kate said. “It seems so cold and calculating. . . . I loved my mother.”
“Loved?”
“Love.”
“The thing is, the past tense, loved is also the right word. The person with a feeding tube in your house is not your mother. Love implies that there’s another person to love you back. It’s a two-way street.”
His words mad
e her think of Simon. Was their relationship ever a two-way street?
“Your views are so different from Father’s, but you’re both ministers.”
He furrowed his forehead. “Different churches have different views on this. The Church of God doesn’t have one set doctrine on end-of-life decisions. It’s possible for your father to think one way and for me to think another. Anyway, it’s you and not I who will make the decision. What does your faith tell you?”
Faith? She hadn’t heard that word since her father used it the Sunday when he died. “You mean like ‘What would Jesus do?’ ” She wondered for a second what his faith was telling him about the way he was looking at her now. The tension made her laugh, and he laughed with her.
“In some ways it’s as simple as that and in others it’s extremely complicated,” he said, still smiling. He gestured to the waitress for a refill of coffee.
“You won’t be able to sleep,” she said.
“That’s all right. I don’t much feel like sleeping tonight,” he answered, looking at her, and she found it hard to breathe. She tried to refocus on his question.
“I’m not sure what happened to my faith,” she said. There was almost sadness in her voice.
“You don’t believe?”
“Believe? I don’t even know what the word faith means anymore.”
“What do you hope for, then?” he asked.
She thought of Mary. Mary hoped that Mother would wake up one morning, really wake up, and take up where she had left off. She’d walk to the kitchen and start making flour tortillas. Kate’s own hopes seemed small in comparison, more like wants and wishes.
“We can live without faith,” Andy continued quietly, “but not without hope, not without some kind of hope that we can make our lives mean something. Without hope we are empty.”
“I want to be a doctor,” she said. “I was accepted by Stanford. That’s a university in California.”
“I know where Stanford is,” he said. He sounded impressed. When she didn’t elaborate, he went on, “That’s your hope — to be a doctor.” He said this as if it was the explanation for many things. “When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?”