THE DAWN PATROL

An Author reading (section 15)

I don’t know how long we sit, holding each other in the waiting room. Maybe it’s the stress of the day, or the emotion, or any one of a dozen reasons—I don’t know—but I fell asleep. I wake up and see Caroline standing in front of me, holding Mrs. Duncan in her hands; the memory of her soft kiss on my cheek lingers like the shadow of a wasted dream. I’ll never understand why she still insists on kissing me on the cheek every time she sees me. I guess she wants Ronnie to think that we’re still a family, and that we love each other in spite of the divorce. I think the problem with that, is that I still love her.

I open an eye, stirring, and bring my watch up to my face, trying to focus on the dial.

“It’s ten,” she says softly.

“Ten?”

“There was an accident on the bridge. They closed it and guess who was lucky enough to be stuck in the middle of it? I practically followed the ambulance here. I was afraid my car was going to overheat.”

“Why didn’t you just shut it off?” I ask lazily, trying to wake Ronnie up.

“How’s Dad?” Caroline asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, and the confusion lifts as I remember where I am and why I’m here. I remind myself that I have to find Russell.

I look up at Caroline as Ronnie begins to wake up. “They took him to the I.C.U. Russell says he had a heart attack while they were running tests on him. They found cancer,” I added, almost choking out a sob as I say the word.

“Cancer?”

“It’s everywhere. Stomach, liver, lungs—”

“My God,” Caroline says, sitting down in the chair beside me as tears come to her eyes.

“Did you bring the rum?” I ask.

“Rum?” she says, and looks in her oversized purse. “How can you think about that now?”

“I could sure use a drink right about now is what I’m thinking,” I say, trying to force a smile out of her.

It’s a lame attempt at humour at best, and I know it comes up broken, but she pulls the bottle out of her purse all the same and pauses for a moment before giving it to me.

“You can’t drink it here,” she says. I look at the label.

“This isn’t rum,” I point out.

“Yes it is,” she says. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s spiced rum. What am I supposed to drink this with?” The disappointment is evident in my voice, and I regret saying it almost immediately. You’d think I’d know to leave well-enough alone. I don’t.

“Ginger-ale,” she says.

“Ginger-ale? That’s a pussy drink. And do you think a twenty-sixer’s big enough?"

“Probably not, but that’s all the money I had,” she says testily, standing up and taking Ronnie’s hand. Mrs. Duncan hangs limp in her other hand.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, and then adds: “Again. Call me when you find out what’s going on. And kiss your mother for me. Come on Ronnie, let’s get you home and into bed. Are you tired?” she asks, bending over to kiss Ronnie’s head as she gives Mrs. Duncan to her.

Ronnie nods, and I sit forward to kiss her good-bye. She hugs me, tells me to be strong, and I feel tears coming to my eyes. Why does she do that to me? I don’t know if it’s what she says, what I said to Caroline, or everything that’s happening around me, but I can feel that familiar tickle in my nose as tears come to my eyes. I stand up and stare out into the hall.

The elevator doors open and Russell steps out. His face brightens when he sees Caroline. His eyes come to life and dance in the distance as she hugs him. Ronnie stands off to the side, watching with that patient awareness children seem to have whenever someone other than their father hugs their mother—even if it’s an uncle. I see them talking, but I can’t hear them, and maybe that’s a good thing. I sit back down and look at the bottle of Captain Morgan, wondering if pirates ever really dressed like that.

It’s no big deal—rum is rum like she says...and that’s so not true.

Caroline thinks that when she does that sort of thing, it’s out of the goodness of her heart. I tend to think she’s trying to change me into the version of someone she wants me to be. She’ll deny it, of course—probably to her dying day—and say something like, I’m just trying to refine you—but I don’t believe it for one minute.

I smile to myself as I remember how I’d send her out to the store to get one thing, and she’d come back with something else, saying she couldn’t find what I wanted—or worse yet—that she’d heard from someone that qthis was a better deal; that someone usually being her mother.

I’m stubborn though—too stubborn for my own good sometimes—and I refuse to let myself be convinced, even if she’s right most of the time. We used to get into some terrible fights because of my refusal to use her no-name brands. I still do—not that Captain Morgan is a no-name brand—but she says no-name brands are cheaper, and just as good. I think that’s the moment I began to resent her for her headstrong ways—seeing myself married to her mother instead. Her mother used to drink Captain Morgan now that I think about it.

I stand back up and lean against the wall where I watch them at the elevator doors. The doors slide open and Ronnie runs inside, pressing the buttons. Caroline steps in behind her, afraid the doors will close and she’ll lose Ronnie forever. I watch as the doors slide closed and wave to Ronnie where she’s standing beside Caroline. I pretend to be slapped by the kisses she blows at me.

Russell comes down the hall and looks at me for a moment before he says anything.

“Mom says we should go home. She’s spending the night here. They’ve got a cot for her to sleep on, but she says she’ll probably sit in the chair beside Dad and sleep there."

“Like she’ll be able to sleep,” I say.

“I know I won’t,” Russell smiles.

“I’ve got to. I’ve got a big production meeting tomorrow.”

“Cancel it. You’re the boss.”

“I might have to. Well, at least I’ve got the rum, sort of,” I say, and hold the bottle up to change the subject.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“It’s spiced rum,” I say, and notice that I’m holding the label backwards. I turn it around and look at the smiling picture on the label.

“I don’t care. Do you want to follow me to my place? It’s closer,” he says.

“Sure. But I have to stop off at the store and get some ginger-ale first.”

“Can you pick up some smokes for me too?”

“Yeah.”

The ride down the elevator is quiet. The music’s soft, sounding like the soundtrack of my life as we listen to ‘Eleanor Rigby’ all the way down. I follow Russell through the underground parking where his car’s parked on the other side. I wait while he opens the door of his battered blue Camero.

“You don’t lock it?”

“What for?”

I tell him I’ll follow him to his apartment and walk out to the street.

“Do you have any ice?” I call back to him. He rolls the window down and I ask him again.

“Ice?”

“For the drinks?” I remind him.

“I don’t know. I’d have to look in the freezer to know that, wouldn’t I?”

“I’ll pick some up,” I say, and turn to see the open spot on the street where my car was parked earlier.

“FUCK!”