Flight 59 to JFK (Part III)

Walt was running down the hall at the West Tampa Convalescent Care Center.

“Mom! Mom!” he shouted, panting, as he got to her room. “You won’t believe what happened. I was flying back to New York. I was waiting for the flight. I sat down next to a gay guy and I fell asleep. When I woke up Sally was standing in front of me. Sally, mom. The girl. She’s grown up. She’s a nice looking young woman now. She’s not a stupid teen-ager anymore. She looks fine. She’s fine. She’s OK. And you know what mom? She felt bad about what happened to you. She came to me to apologize. She asked me to forgive her. She asked for my forgiveness, mom. I thought she was gonna make me say I was sorry again. She feels guilty about you. She feels guilty about Sean.”

Walt’s mother may have winced when she heard the name of her dead son. But it was impossible to say for certain. In the years after her stroke, she could write short sentences on a pad of paper on the table under her right hand. But she had stopped writing at least a year before Walt got out of prison.

“So it’s all over, now, mom. It’s all over. Right, mom? It’s all over. She asked me to forgive her. I touched her hand. She let me touch her. To forgive her.”

His mother made a sound.

“Uuuuunh.”

It was impossible to tell what she was trying to say.

“So you heard what I said mom? You can still here. It’s over. I’m so sorry, mom. I’m so sorry it happened. But it’s over now. It started that day I asked her if she wanted a ride home. She was carrying those grocery bags. I put them in the back of the truck. I asked her to come down to the grove with me. She said yes. I touched her leg. I thought she liked it. I’m so sorry, mom. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I thought I had the green light. I really did. I know I made a mistake. I didn’t know, mom. I’d never been with a girl before. I’d never even kissed a girl before.”

“UUUUUUNH.”

Lela Baldessari, his mother’s nurse walked in.

“You shouldn’t be here, Walt,” she said. “You’re upsetting her.”

“No!” he shouted at her. “You’ve got to understand. I just saw Sally. The girl. The one. She asked me to forgive her. So she knows. She understands. It wasn’t all my fault. I’ve got to tell my mom! You’ve got to let me tell my mom!”

Lela walked out.

“So everybody’s OK, mom. Even the deputy who killed Sean. Deputy West, that asshole. He got fired from the force, but they didn’t charge him? You remember: They couldn’t prove he knew Sean was disabled, so he was allowed to use force on him when Sean didn’t do what he said. That guy went into his dad’s real estate business. He’s developed all the groves around here, built tract homes on them. He’s made millions, mom. The asshole arrested Sean thinking he was me, and now look at him. He’s rich. Sally’s OK. Deputy West’s OK. It’s just you, me and Sean. I’m sorry, mom. But everybody else is OK. Sally wanted me to forgive her, mom. So it’s over, now, mom, except for you and me.”

“Paging Dr. Hudson.” It was Lela’s voice on the intercom. “Please come to the front desk. Security, please. Front desk.”

“I wanted to grow up and take care of Sean, mom. That was my plan. Like we always said. Like you always used to tell me: I’d have to take care of him when you were gone. I started a program for disabled teens in New York. That’s what I used the settlement money for, mom. I met a stockbroker in prison. He was in for embezzlement. He helped me set it up. His son’s disabled. He’s not gonna steal anymore. Don’t worry. The program’s named for Sean and his son. It’s called Sean and Rick’s Place. See? I’m making it all good again, mom. See how I’ve honored Sean? What do you think, mom?”

“UNNNNNNH. UNNNNNH.”

He pulled his checkbook out of his pocket and tore out a deposit slip. He turned it over and put it on the table under his mom’s hand. He put a pen in her hand.

“Walt?”

Dr. Hudson had walked in the room. Lela was standing next to him. Two orderlies were behind them.

“Dr. Hudson! She wanted me to forgive her. Sally! The girl!”

“Walt, you’ve got to go. You’re just upsetting her. Can’t you see that?”

His mother was moving her hand, slowly, scrawling something on the back of the deposit slip.

“Get him out of here,” Dr. Hudson said to the orderlies. They each took one of Whit’s arms.

“Wait! She’s writing! What’s she writing!” Walt shouted as they dragged him away.

“You’ve got to let me see what she’s writing.”

He struggled but the two orderlies dragged him out the front door and pushed him out into the parking lot. Dr. Hudson followed them out.

“You’ve got to go, Walt,” he said. “You can’t come here anymore. You have to leave this be. There’s a restraining order. I’ll enforce it. I don’t want to call the police. You’re on parole, aren’t you? Haven’t you had enough of this? Isn’t it time to move on?”

“I … I …” Walt started sobbing. “She asked me to forgive her. She knows it’s not all my fault. She knows it was a mistake. How long do I have to pay?”

“For the rest of your life, Walt. You’re going to pay until the day you die. Now get out of here before I have to call the police.”

Walt got into the rental car he picked up at the airport, started the engine and drove away, sobbing. Dr. Hudson watched the car turn out of the parking lot and disappear down the highway.

He walked back into the building. Lela was waiting for him.

“Did he leave?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Probably.”

“What should I do if he does?”

“I’ve known that family since I finished medical school. Their dad and I played golf together. He died young, sudden heart attack. Then, just months after that, the rape case. The deputy went to their house and arrested the wrong brother and killed him because he didn’t know he was retarded so he thought he was defying him instead of just not understanding what he was being told to do. Then the mom stroked out from the stress. He’s the only one left. You wonder what bad star rose over them.”

“So what should I do if he comes back.”

“I don’t know. Call the police. Or not. Sit down with him. Let him talk it out. Try to reason with him.”

“He doesn’t seem all that reasonable.”

“He’s not. But would you be? You’ve heard that expression: ‘Things have to get better.’ Well, what if things don’t get better? What if things get bad and then get worse, and worse and worse? You gotta wonder with some people. Where does it stop? How much can you take?”

Dr. Hudson walked down the hall back to his office and shut the door behind him. He poured himself a glass from the bottle of Old Granddad on his shelf and took a sip as he looked out the window at the colors of the setting sun.