The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(93)

5

Everyone at Eva’s funeral seemed willing to play their part in a tragedy Shakespearean in its magnitude—the young couple about to embark on a life together ripped apart and forever separated by the forces of nature, leaving the future groom to pull together the pieces of his shattered existence.

Ernie and Michelle flew down with Mickie and my mother to be with me for Eva’s funeral in Redondo Beach, and I was grateful they came. Their presence gave me back my identity and validated my existence beyond the role of the unknown grieving boyfriend.

At the end of the service, I followed Eva’s casket out of the church with the rest of her family and watched the hearse depart. They had a town car for the family, but Ernie saved me. “You want a ride to the reception?”

I nearly hugged him.

The reception was held in the backyard of the Pryor home, a beautiful setting with a view of the Pacific Ocean and a light breeze that brought the smell of the salt air. I parked my mother beneath the shade of a table umbrella with a plate of catered food and a Diet Coke. Mickie and Michelle sat and talked with her while Ernie and I made our way to the bar. I noticed a few people from the church approaching and mentally steeled myself for their condolences.

“Excuse me,” one of the men said, “but aren’t you Ernie Cantwell?”

“Yes, I am,” Ernie said.

“We thought so,” the man said. “We saw you in church. Can we get your autograph?”

As Ernie signed the autographs, the men looked to me and introduced themselves. “How do you know Eva?” one of them asked.

“Just a friend,” I said.

Ernie and I picked up our beers and found a corner of the yard.

“How are you holding up?” Ernie asked.

“Like an actor backstage in the green room waiting to go on again.” I felt guilty saying it, but it was the truth. What seemed to be either lost on everyone, or at least unspoken, was the irony that we did not know one another. Except for a dinner at a restaurant in San Francisco that I had shared with Eva’s parents when they came to visit, I had never eaten with them, never shared the holidays with the family, visited over a weekend, or attended family vacations. I had never even met Eva’s sisters.

“We’ve gone through some crazy shit together, but this might be the craziest.” Ernie sipped his beer, surveying the crowd, but I had already begun to realize that there was one more crazy thing I needed to do.





6

The following week Trina Crouch sat in my office. Mickie had taken Daniela down the street for an ice cream while I recounted my whole sordid confrontation with David Bateman the day I told everyone else that I had fallen off my bike. I told her of the meeting with Father Brogan at the OLM rectory that led to Father Brogan expelling David.

“You stood up to him,” Crouch said. “You got him expelled.”

Before our consult I had removed my brown contact lenses in a sign of good faith. “He got himself expelled.”

“He said you told the priest, and the priest kicked him out. He said it humiliated his parents. He said his father . . . He was not a good man, either.”

“I never told the priest, Trina.”

“You didn’t?” she asked, clearly puzzled.

“David’s two friends ratted him out.” I sat back, considering her. “I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone, not the priest and not my parents,” I said. “I didn’t think anyone could help me or protect me. I was afraid. Had it not been for the other two boys’ consciences bothering them, David would have continued to bully me.”

“I don’t have anyone like that,” she said.

“You do,” I said. “You have me. And you have Mickie.”

She looked confused. She wiped her tears. “Why?”

“Because we all need someone.”

“Can you help Daniela?”

“I can only repair Daniela’s eye,” I said.

Tears spilled down Trina’s cheeks at my unspoken meaning. I rolled my chair to the sofa on which she sat and handed her the box of Kleenex.

“The retina is the neurosensory tissue that lines the back inside wall of the eye.” I used a model of the eyeball and socket I pulled off the shelf. “It’s sort of like wallpaper on Sheetrock or the film in a camera. The retina transfers the light coming into our eye into vision. The center of the retina is called the macula, and it is the only part capable of fine, detailed vision—the vision for reading. The remainder of the retina, the peripheral—”

“Daniela can’t read books anymore. She says everything is blurry.”

“When the retina detaches, it separates from the back wall. When it separates it is removed from its blood supply and source of nutrition. The retina will degenerate and lose its ability to function if it remains detached. Daniela will lose her central vision.”

“She’ll go blind.”

I sat back. “Yes, for all intents and purposes she’ll go blind in that eye. Fortunately, over ninety percent of retinal detachments can be repaired with a single procedure. There are three different surgical approaches that we can take—”

“I don’t have any insurance,” she said. “I lost my job three months ago.”

I placed the model on the desk. “What about your ex-husband?”