The Babysitter

No. 14 (gray)

Rebecca

I wake up. I can't tell if it's early or late. I have lost my place in time since being trapped in this bed. I look around the empty room when I see a painting on the wall in front of me. I wouldn't say it was pretty but it certainly wasn't ugly. I stare at it for a long time. Something about it pulls me in. There is a rhythm and pace to the lines as they move across the canvas. They twist and blot from thick, heavy drips to thin streaks that web over one another and I lose track of how long I've been staring at it.

"You're awake," Andrew says and I see him standing at the door. He smiles and walks over. He kisses me. "I'm sorry and I wanted you to know I've taken care of everything," he says and hands me a bouquet of roses. I'm deathly allergic to flower pollen.

"Taken care of what?" I say.

"The situation with the babysitter," Andrew says, "it's been taken care of.  Listen, I think we should renew our vows. I've been thinking about it a lot. Once you get through this heart surgery, we renew our vows together. We have a new start on life together."

He keeps talking about plans and when the reverend will come to our room and what we will both wear and what we will say to each other. He keeps talking and I'll I can do is stare at the painting.

"Where did that come from?" I say interrupting him. Andrew turns and looks at the painting.

"What?" He says and turns around. "That?" He says and points. I nod. "Tom came by and dropped it off," he says. "He also brought you this," he says and pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.

I take it. Andrew keeps chattering on and on and the droning is starting to hurt my head.

"Andrew, will you give me some time?" I say.

"Oh," he says and tries to smile through his anger, "sure. I'll be outside," he says and leaves the room.

I open the letter and begin reading:

Rebecca,

I was recently informed about your heart condition and felt implored to write. First and foremost, I owe you an apology. Our last interaction turned down an unwanted path due to my inability to see beyond my own emotional condition. I realize now that you had sought me as a friend and betrayed your trust by shaming you. Please forgive me and please accept this gift. It is one of my favorite pieces, although it is only a reprint, I wanted you to have it. I hope it brings you the same peace and serenity it did that night you saw it.

If you feel cause to write, I've included a pre-addressed return envelope in this letter. I should like to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Thomas

I carefully fold the letter closed and lay in bed. I stare at the painting and start to cry. Andrew walks in and tries to console me. He hugs me and kisses me and tries to reassure me the surgery will be fine. He tries to console me despite not knowing why I'm even crying.

Later on, after Andrew finally went home to clean up and change, I ask the nurse for a piece of paper and pen.

I write:

Thomas

I appreciate the gift. I haven't been able to stop staring at it. It captivates me. Don't apologize for what happened. It was wrong for me to place expectations on you. You are a great man that lives with honor. If you have time, I would like to see you if possible. I would like that very much. Thank you for the painting.

Rebecca

I fold the letter and place it in the envelope and ask the nurse to place it in the outgoing mail.

Doctor Conor talks with me that night and informs me that there are no hearts for my surgery. She tells me to stay positive as there is always the possibility of something changing.

I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to think about any of it, I just want to see my kids. I ask for a phone and call Andrew. He lets me talk to Lucy and Bobby even though it's after 10. The sound of their voices makes me wanna fight my hardest to make it through. I need to be there for them, they are going to need me.

I keep my head up and stay positive even though every day I can feel my body growing weaker and weaker.  A few days pass and I drift in and out of restless sleep.

I hear my room door open and standing before me is Tom.

"Rebecca," he says with a smile, "you look well."

"Thank you," I say. We talk for a minute about work and how the Johnson loft project finished up. I can tell Tom has something on his mind so I finally ask him.

"What's wrong?" I say.

"I didn't want to come here today," he says, "but I owe you this much as a friend."

"Did I do something wrong?" I say.

"No. It's not that."

"What is it then?"

"You remind me of Shelly. You have the same energy. I knew it from the first time we started working together. In fact, I nearly quit. I'm not a masochist, but I needed the money. When I look at you, I see her in your eyes. And it's not that I'm hoping she's out there or that you'll be just like her. You just feel the same and that's all there is about that."

He barely met my eyes when he spoke. I imagine he had a lot on his mind.

"Please excuse me but I lost her once and I don't want to do it again." He says and rises to his feet.

"Well, before you go, can you sneak me a cup of coffee? I've been hankering for caffeine."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah I'm serious, thanks for the painting, the speech was sweet and honest, and now I want some coffee. You're not gonna tell a crippled lady no, are you?" I say and smile. He smiles back.

"Wow," he says.

"What?" I say. He shakes his head and leaves. I guess playing the sarcastic card didn't work too well. But then a few minutes later, Tom was back with a small 8oz cup of Franciscan black, the burnt remnants of what was a 10hr cook on a slow burn. The sludge. I drank the heavy paste and nearly choked. It was fantastic.

"Thank you. I needed that. You wouldn't have a cigarette on you?" I say.

"What? Are you serious? You can't smoke with a weak heart."

"Come on, don't be a square," I say.

"I didn't even know you smoke." He says.

"I don't but I'm in the market to try new things," I say and smile.

"Wow." He says it again with a slight grin and I can tell it's something, but I'm not sure what.

"Listen, I don't want you falling in love with a dying woman who happens to remind you of your deceased wife, so you had better get to going soon," I say and smile and he shakes his head.

"Okay," he says and I suddenly didn't want him to leave but he was turning for the door, "I'll see you."  I held my breath hoping to trap the smile on my face from escaping.

"I'll see you," I repeated the phrase with as much positivity as I could muster and he was gone. The smile faded and my eyes filled with sorrow.

The door opened and Tom came back to my bed and wrapped me in his arms. He didn't say anything for a long time and just held me and I let him.

"Do me a favor and make it through this, please? I would like to see you again," he whispers.

"Okay," I whisper back. He steps back, smiles, turns and leaves.

I fell asleep and slept the entire night, in peace.

Maybe I'll make it through?

TO BE CONTINUED...