Gifts and Consequences (25 page)

“You wouldn’t do that to a friend.”  It almost sounded like a question.

“The friendship gate only swings one direction with you, Paul.  You’re willing to lie to a friend to get a few hundred mil, and promise what you don’t intend to deliver, but you don’t want me to do what I told you I would?  Since you are a friend I need to keep my word even more than if you were a stranger.”

“And where will your precious scholarship be then?” snapped Paul. 

“Where is it now?”

Paul was silent.

Jonathan continued, “You know I will not hesitate to keep my part of the bargain.  I’m confident that will be enough incentive for you to keep yours.”

Silence still.

“That’s what I thought,” said Jonathan.  “Next time your poor family has to stay in a Marriott instead of the Four Seasons think about what you’re doing for the youth of America.”

Jonathan hung up without allowing Paul a chance to beg any further.

*****

On the way to the office, Jonathan thought about Allen Joiner and Lisa Knapp, as he did most days.  Marcus probably had no idea how much he’d gotten inside Jonathan’s head. 

But there was the promise to Susan to help individuals.  And the close calls and suffering didn’t change the fact that Jonathan didn’t believe in handouts.  Hopefully Lisa would show up Monday and give him a chance to atone for what he’d done to her.

It wasn’t like he enjoyed putting people at such risk, but without risk where was the victory?

“X-Men doing yard work,” he murmured.  “Try telling Allen his wife’s life is inconsequential.”  Or any of the projects, for that matter.  Even Katherine.  Her Calico meant as much to her as most people’s children.

As he approached his building and turned into the parking structure he saw a familiar face, but couldn’t place it.  Once the man was out of view, he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. 

It was a face he’d never seen in Michigan, that seemed certain.  From somewhere else then?  A project possibly?

Jonathan parked and hurried up to his office to look at his board.  He scanned the black-framed pictures.  Something about the man’s discontented look made him suspect a failed project.

Only one person resembled the image in Jonathan’s memory.  Tony Warr.  But the longer he looked at Warr’s picture, the less likely it seemed.  Besides, Warr lived five hundred miles away.

Probably just Marcus’s objections projecting themselves in Jonathan’s mind onto random people in the street.

There’s a term for that,
he told himself. 
Guilty conscience.

“I don’t have time for this.  Too much work to do.”

The doorbell rang and Porter Lippi paused the DVR.  It could only be one person, the only one who ever came on Tuesday afternoon.  Sticking to his prior resolution he thought,
This has to end.  I'm not answering it.

No friends or family ever came to visit.  Porter couldn’t blame them since he never made an effort to reach out.  In fact, he hadn’t left home since returning from the weight loss spa two months previous.

Better be sure,
he thought, powering up his Jazzy Chair and steering it through the bedroom door and down the narrow hallway.  If any pictures had hung in his hallway they’d be sheared off on both sides as he squeezed down the tight passageway.

Dread and anticipation filled him simultaneously.  As expected, the pale blue uniform of the Schwan’s deliveryman greeted him when he opened the door. 

Slam the door,
he told himself, but in the delay the deliveryman stepped forward.

“Afternoon, Mr. Lippi,” he said, placing two full freezer bags on Porter’s lap.  Porter was too embarrassed to meet his gaze.  The man bent and picked up the bags from the previous delivery. 

Porter didn’t thank him, didn’t say anything, just closed the door as the young man made his way back to his beige truck. 

I should chase the truck and throw this in his face. 
But it wasn't the driver's fault.  There was no reason to take it out on him.

I'll just toss it in the garbage.

Curiosity got the best of Porter as he made his way toward the kitchen.  He opened the first bag and saw a box of dark chocolate ice cream miniatures, a box of caramel ice cream bars, rocky road sundae cones, and two cartons of chocolate chip cookie dough.  He knew the other bag would contain three tubs of ice cream.  The only thing that ever varied in the second bag was the flavors. 

Toffee caramel crunch, cookies and cream, and a pint sized container of peanut butter passion.  A new flavor and a new size.

Every Tuesday and Friday since returning from the camp the same young man conveniently delivered Porter’s drug right to the doorstep.  Porter had never seen a bill.  He knew Schwan’s offered a full menu of well-balanced meals, but the bags had never contained so much as a single crown of broccoli.

When his Jazzy chair had arrived on his porch unsolicited, he kicked it over and ignored it for three weeks.  It was only a matter of time though.  Now he only left it for the comfort of his recliner or necessity of the toilet.  Even that was becoming a bother.

I can't just waste all this food,
he thought
.  I'll just give it back to the deliveryman on Friday and tell him to stop coming.

The items fit easily into the freezer, taking the place of the stock he had cleared out over the last few days. 
Maybe I'll make friends with the couple next door.  Drive over there and give this to them. 
They were college kids and would love some free dessert.

The last item was the peanut butter passion and he paused to look at the label. 
I wonder if it's peanut butter ice cream or chocolate ice cream? 
As he pried up the corner of the lid the phone rang.

Porter shut the freezer door and scootered over to the phone.  The caller ID read
Trevor Mays.
  After two months of ignored calls, Trevor still wouldn't give up.  The ice cream in his hand made Porter feel too guilty to answer so he just grabbed a fork from the drawer.  "It's only a pint," he told the ringing phone as he passed.

A string of expletives left Porter’s mouth as he motored back down the hallway toward his bedroom, recliner, and television.  The 63-inch flat panel and free cable rounded out the death sentence the stranger had pronounced on Porter.

As he made himself comfortable in the easy chair and dug his fork into the ice cream he recalled the fateful words—“I guarantee you’ll either gain a hundred pounds or lose a hundred pounds.  The choice is yours.”

The tinge of guilt Porter felt was quashed by the first peanut butter cup he bit into, and he wondered,
Why would I ever give this up
?

Marcus stood in front of the elevator with Jonathan.

“I’m gonna grab a coffee before I head home,” said Jonathan as the doors opened.  “You interested?” 

Marcus shook his head.  Jonathan frequently offered, even though Marcus never accepted anymore.  They stepped into the elevator and Marcus pushed the button for the lobby.

“You’re more despondent than usual, Marcus.  You might as well spit it out.”

“I don’t even know what to say anymore.  Does Porter Lippi really deserve that?”

“What?  To be happy?  I think we all do.”

Marcus sighed and said, “So you were pulling for him to fail the whole time because you know what makes him happy?”

The elevator doors opened and they walked into the reception area.  “I was pulling for him to take a deep look inside.  I gave him an opportunity and he chose which direction he wanted to go.”

“It wasn’t like this when I started, Jonathan.  Nobody really got hurt back then.”

“What can I say?  The operation is evolving.”

“It’s devolving, if anything.”  Marcus shook his head and leaned forward.  “You are not God.  I think you should stop trying to act like Him.”

“I refuse to have this conversation again,” said Jonathan and stormed out the front doors.  

Marcus stepped outside and watched him walk away.  Jonathan wasn’t dealing well with Susan’s recent deterioration and Marcus had no idea how to help him.  Or if he even wanted to.

Just as Marcus was about to go back inside, a large man detached himself from the recesses of the building and fell into step behind Jonathan.  Marcus couldn’t see the man’s face, but something seemed wrong so he started following.

The closest people on the sidewalk were half a block away, but plenty of cars filled the street.  Before Jonathan reached the corner the man had closed the gap and walked only a few steps behind him.

Marcus increased his pace.

“Hey, Jonathan,” said the man.

Jonathan turned, his face still showing anger.

“Remember me?” said the man pulling something from his overcoat pocket.

That’s a big knife,
thought Marcus, and took off at a run.  The man said something else to Jonathan, but Marcus couldn’t hear.  Negotiation was out of the question at this point and he was too far away to try to restrain the man.  The man held the knife in his left hand, the side on which Marcus was approaching.  If he tried to tackle the man he might end up with the knife in his gut.

Jonathan didn’t move, just stared, frozen with fear.

As the man pulled his arm back to stab Jonathan, Marcus pulled back his own arm, took the final steps and slammed his fist, along with 300-pounds of momentum, into the side of the man’s head. 

The man crumpled and the knife clanged to the sidewalk.

Tony Warr.  Makes sense. 
Marcus and Jonathan stared down at him.  Marcus felt the familiar pounding of blood in his knuckles.  It had been years, but he hadn’t forgotten what it felt like. 

He knew what was coming.  One of his conditions of employment, the deal he’d made with Jonathan years ago, was to never fight again.  Not so much as a single punch.

When he looked up at Marcus, Jonathan’s mouth and eyes were still wide.  Marcus had never seen him look so shocked.

Marcus shook his hand, flexed his fingers and stared back at Jonathan.

Time continued to pass in the world around them, but had frozen for them at that moment.  Jonathan recovered and looked down at Warr.  When he looked back up, Marcus saw sadness like a great weight on Jonathan’s face.

“I won’t make you say it, Jonathan.  I know that in your mind you don’t have a choice.”  The words didn’t come as easily as he had thought they would.  But it had to be said.  “I quit.”

Let him chew on that for a while,
thought Marcus, and turned and walked away.

Susan's room wasn't the same without her bright eyes and kind smile.  IVs, feeding tubes, and monitoring equipment encircled her vegetative body.  Just when he needed warmth and comfort, the room had become a clinic.

Rapid degeneration wasn't uncommon in early onset Alzheimer's cases, but witnessing the steep decline went beyond anything he expected.  Every day more memories had faded.  Every day the brightness dimmed.  Susan hadn't spoken since the end of July.  'Primary Progressive Aphasia', the doctors called it, but it was more than just a clinical description to Jonathan.  Aphasia didn't begin to touch the heartache of being unable to converse with the woman he loved.

"Hi, Susan.  It's Jonathan.  Your husband.  I haven’t been fully honest with you.”  After a short pause he said, “I only told you about the happy endings.  I didn’t tell you about the pistol Lisa Knapp put in her mouth, even though I think about it every day.”

Jonathan dabbed his tears with a handkerchief.  “I can’t believe I’m admitting that out loud.”  Jonathan walked to the side of her bed and took her limp hand.  In the other, he held a daisy. 

“A man tried to kill me today.  He blamed me for losing his daughter, but we didn’t have anything to do with it.  He lost her all by himself while we just watched.  Other people might be justified in attacking me, but not him.  How ironic is that?”

Ignoring the high-backed chair which was still nestled among the medical equipment, he sat on the side of the bed.  “He pulled a knife, but all I saw was the barrel of the gun that poor girl saw.  I feel like I can taste the metal in my own mouth.”

Ever since that night, he knew things had to change, but he didn’t want to betray Susan and he didn’t want to betray himself.  “What am I going to do, Susan?  Why can’t you be here to help me?”

Jonathan looked down at his wife’s face, but the shell wasn't Susan.  Everything special about her had already faded as he looked on, helpless.

“No one should have to go through what you have and no one should have to watch someone they love go through it.”

Marcus was right.  If there was any doubt before today, Marcus had dispelled it with his actions.  Unlike Jonathan with his black and white thinking and inflexibility, Marcus acted when it counted.  Even though it cost him his job.  Jonathan might’ve stood by and watched someone die before breaking his word.