Jack O'Connell - The Resurrectionist

They’d get back to Cleveland and he’d call the woman, the therapist in Shaker Heights, first thing. He’d agree to new sessions. He’d agree to a script. He’d do group again, if he had to. He’d get back to the way it had been, focus on Danny and the job. He’d work on acceptance. He’d stop telescoping, projecting. He’d stop searching for radical procedures and miracle treatments. He’d admit to his fear and his rage. He’d take responsibility for his actions, acknowledge what a grand disaster this move had been.

He’d tell everyone, I’m the bad father but I’m trying now. I’m flawed but I’m doing my best. He’d go to Shaker Heights and talk about his pain. He’d go to Shaker Heights and say, Give me a script. I’m ready for the script. Then he’d take the pills faithfully. He’d visit with Danny and he’d work the job and he’d take the pills.

The first thing to do was to make some phone calls. He’d drive back down into town. He’d call from a pay phone, use a credit card. He’d call Dr. Lawton and Mrs. Heller. He’d beg, if need be. He’d say, We’ve made a mistake and we just want to come home. Then he’d call the Realtor that had sold his house and ask her to find him a new place. An apartment. Someplace small and near the St. Joseph. He could erase the last week. The last month. He could get back into the routine. He could get his old job back or find a new one. He could get Danny his old bed at the St. Joseph.

His heart was racing and his palms were stinging again and he felt a sudden need to look in on his boy.

Sweeney ran upstairs, climbed onto the bed next to Danny, positioned his mouth near the boy’s ear, and began to explain that Dad had made a mistake. That pretty soon they’d be going back home to Ohio, back to the St. Joe and Dr. Lawton and Mrs. Heller. Things would be better, Sweeney promised, once they got back to Cleveland. As soon as they made it back home, he swore, things would go back to normal. He fell asleep muttering promises and stroking the child’s head.

A NURSE WOKEhim just after six, an older woman with a tight, sparse perm. He blinked up at her and when she came into focus, he started.

“He’s holding steady,” she said, “at one-o-one.”

He ran a hand over his face, a tongue around his mouth, and sat up in the bed on an elbow.

“I went out like a light,” he said and fingered some sleep out of his eyes.

The nurse uncoiled a pressure cuff from its basket mount on the wall.

“I know,” she said. “I’ve been in and out and you were snoring like a bear.”

“Sorry about that,” Sweeney said. “Feel free to wake me if it happens again.”

“You weren’t bothering anyone.”

She wrapped Danny’s arm and pumped the ball.

“I wish we could get his temp down,” Sweeney said, putting a hand to Danny’s forehead. “He usually responds pretty quickly to the meds.”

The nurse studied the meter, then released the pressure, unwrapped the cuff, and placed Danny’s arm back on the bed. “I’m sure he’ll be fine by morning,” she said.

“I’m his father, by the way,” Sweeney said.

He expected her to introduce herself but she only smiled at him and asked, “Is Daniel your only one?”

Sweeney nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s unique.”

The word sounded ridiculous but the nurse didn’t react.

“I’ve got five,” she said, shaking her head as if still unable to believe the fact, “and they’re all individuals. All characters. Every one of them.”

“Do they live around here?”

She gave him a look that said he was joking and that it was a cruel joke.

“They get home for the holidays,” she said. “And sometimes I go out there.”

She straightened Danny’s sheet, then wrote something on the chart that hung above the sphygmomanometer. When she was finished writing, she asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No thank you,” Sweeney said.

The nurse started to leave the room and he asked, “Aren’t you going to check on Ms. Moore?” Irene was, as usual, curtained from his sight.

The nurse acted surprised. “I already did,” she said, a little testy, and then exited the room.

Sweeney went to Danny’s closet, found a facecloth, and soaked it with cold water. He wrung it close to dry, came back to the bed, and gently washed the boy’s face and neck and arms. He threw the cloth in the hamper next to the closet, kissed his son, and went to the cafeteria.

Once again, the room was empty, but there was evidence of recent activity. A radio next to the utensil rack was playing “Don’t Let the Green Grass Fool You,” and the music in the empty room was just one more in a train of the day’s unsettling sensations. Sweeney bought some machine coffee and a machine bagel, but gave up on the bagel halfway through. He picked up the local paper from an uncleared table and began to read about people and situations that were entirely unknown to him. The stories were close to unintelligible. He threw the paper in the trash with the bagel and, unsure of what else to do, started to clean up the cafeteria.

He was wiping down a table with a handful of napkins when he heard Alice Peck say, “Here you are.”

He turned. She was dressed in a black skirt and a white blouse that shimmered a little under the fluorescents. Her hair was pulled back and up, and she wore dangling earrings. She had a black throw over her arm and was holding a glossy black clutch.

“Well,” was what Sweeney managed, and then, “You look terrific.”

Alice raised her eyebrows as if she’d been waiting for something else, but she said, “Thanks.”

Sweeney threw the ball of napkins at the trash. It missed and dropped to the floor.

“Did you get called in unexpectedly?” he said, then flinched and added, “It’s not Danny, right? I was just up there.”

Alice shook her head.

“I guess we missed signals here. I thought we were going to dinner.”

Sweeney took a step closer and said, “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you get my message? I left a message on your machine. I said I’d pick you up at seven.”

“I don’t have a machine,” Sweeney said. “I don’t have a phone.”

“No,” Alice said. “Human resources gave me the number.”

“I’m not following this,” Sweeney said. “I mean, I know we had talked about getting together outside at some point. But we didn’t say tonight.”

She began to shake her head and strands of hair came free and floated down by her ears.

“But we did,” Alice said. “We specifically said tonight. Remember? Then I told you I’d call and confirm it? And I did. I called and left the message. I said I’d come by the apartment at seven.”

“Jesus,” Sweeney said. “I don’t think so. I don’t—”

She cut him off with a wave of the hand.

“You know what,” she said, “it’s not a problem. We’ll do it another time. Or actually, we can just meet in my office.”

“No, please. You’re getting the wrong idea. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I honestly don’t remember specifying tonight. Jesus Christ. What the hell’s the matter with me?”

She stepped in and touched his arm. She eased him into a chair, pulled up its mate, and sat down opposite him.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Stress can do some real damage to short-term memory. This isn’t a big deal. You’ve had an overwhelming week.”

“We decided on tonight?” he said. “Really, it was tonight?”

She nodded.

“I’ve got nothing,” he said. “I have no recollection of that. I remember we said we’d talk, but that’s it.”

“You should really try to get some sleep,” she said. “Sleep is the great healer.”