“There’s our house!" Stan pointed as they turned a corner. “What’s left of it.”
"Oh Stan!" She gasped at the sight of the Bronsky home.
Most of the main roof was still in place, but the attached garage roof was almost totally collapsed into the garage. Firemen had chopped huge gaping holes in the main roof over the living quarters. Windows and doors on the first floor were boarded over with plywood. Black soot framed the plywood covers and there was a wide band of soot below the roof's edge. Bright yellow signs were tacked several places around the exterior of the house, warning people to stay out.
Stan sought a crack in the plywood armor where he could peek inside. He located one, on the back side of the house, where the dining room window had once been. Everything that he could see, inside the house, was charred black. The odor of burnt wood and textiles was still strong.
Jan noted increasing despair on Stan's face. She wondered how Karen could have left the pitiful man, considering all that had happened to him, even if he did cause the fire.
Stan didn’t tell Jan about Karen's jealous suspicions. He only told her that Karen left with Jenny on the day that the house burned. He said that he had tried to talk to Karen since, but she wouldn’t speak to him.
Jan couldn’t suppress her feelings. “Stan, I just don’t understand how Karen could leave you after all you’ve been through." She said it with heartfelt compassion.
“Karen doesn’t know about the shrapnel," he said, pointing at the side of his skull. “I never got a chance to tell her. I tried to tell her mother, but she hung up on me before I could explain. I guess losing my job and then burning the house down was just too much for both of them." He thought about what he had just said. It seemed to him that he may have come across as blaming Karen too much. He felt that he needed to say something to defend her. He didn‘t want Jan to form a unfair image of her.
“You know Jan, I had let my job come between us, between me and Karen. It was stupid. If I had it to do over I would do things a lot different.”
He stooped to pull some weeds from Karen's flower bed beneath the kitchen window. Jan reached down to steady him. He could see that she felt a need to watch over him.
"Jan, listen, I'm going to hang out here for a while. I'll be fine if you need to go."
"Well I do need to get on to work. She glanced at her watch. I had a dentist appointment this morning, so I'm working late this evening. But, are you sure you'll be alright?"
"Sure. I’ll be fine. I may not have another attack for days."
"Well, give me your phone number before I go, Stan. I want to check on you. And listen, if there's anything I can do—" She found a pen and paper in her purse and quickly jotted down her telephone number. "If there’s anything at all, you call me."
"Sorry Jan. I don't have a phone. I live in a little run-down apartment on the north side. It's all I can afford without a job."
"Okay, so what's the address?"
"Honest Jan, you needn't bother with me. I'm sure you have better things to do. And it really is a crummy neighborhood. It's not a place you would want to be."
"No. Now Stan, I insist. Please. Give me the address."
He reluctantly gave the information to her. She returned the pen and paper to her purse, and then gave him a warm hug before leaving.
He watched her walk into the distance, still marveling at the change in her personality. He could not help also noting her incredible figure. He struggled to stifle yearnings for female affection that she stirred in him.
A wooden picnic table still stood on the brick patio, behind the kitchen. It was shaded by a tall Elm tree. Stan sat down on a bench of the table and stared thoughtfully at the remains of Karen's neglected flowers. He tried to picture her as she once worked in the small garden. But, memories of Jan and today's conversation with her interfered with his thoughts.
‘I have perfect peace with God‘, he recalled Jan’s words. ‘Do you know what I’m talking about‘?
Since his visit with Dr. Ravit in April, Stan had often thought about God. Usually when he did, past sins would haunt him and he did not have much peace. He rested his tired head on folded arms on the picnic table and tried to imagine what it would be like to have perfect peace with God.
Chapter 22
The roar of a motorcycle engine invaded Stan's ears. The noisy machine charged around the left end of his house and directly at him. It slid to a stop just yards away. The driver wore a shiny black helmet with a dark face shield. Stan felt small, sitting in front of the loud machine. Its engine roared in rhythmic bursts. He could feel his body vibrate from the energy of the noisy motor. With each roar of the engine the bike reared from the ground and lurched closer to him. Stan's first thought was to escape, to just run with all his strength. But he also felt a curious interest in the mysterious masked rider. Fear won out over curiosity. He scrambled from the picnic table to his feet and ran.
Stan raced between the Johnston's house and their Koi pond, with the biker close behind. The bike's engine continued to roar in rhythmic bursts. Each time the engine roared, the motorcycle reared and lurched forward. Stan was cut off on the right by the Borsteins' six foot high board fence and his only route of escape was through the Johnston's fish pond. He leaped as far as he could into the water and stumbled on stones that dotted the bottom of the pond. As he struggled through three feet of water to reach the other side, panicked Koi and Goldfish scattered at the unexpected disturbance. The biker was blocked from pursuing Stan by the pond. The rider did a one eighty and disappeared around the Bronsky house.
Stan rounded the Atcher house and crossed their front lawn with a dozen leaps. He crossed the street in nine more. He raced through heavy shrubs on the Benton's side lawn, toward the open field beyond their back yard, and then toward railroad tracks beyond. He finally collapsed on a train rail atop the trestle that bridged Mill Creek and sat gasping for air. His heart was pounding from the run. He sat with his arms crossed over his knees, and with his head resting on his arms. He was completely exhausted. He was in no condition for such a run. He closed his eyes and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
His head snapped erect at the deafening roar of the motorcycle that now raced toward him from a western direction, alongside the railroad tracks. It slid to a stop twenty feet away with the engine roaring in bursts. He was exhausted and felt powerless to move. The engine abruptly stopped. The quiet was deafening.
What now? he thought.
The afternoon sun was behind the biker. Looking into the sun, Stan saw the driver's leather gloved hand reach slowly toward a black helmet. The face shield snapped back, and the fiberglass helmet slammed to the ground between Stan and the machine. Long wavy hair bounced about the cyclist’s head and face when the helmet came off. The helmet made a loud cracking sound as it hit the ground near Stan. The bright afternoon sun was directly behind the biker's head. It was impossible for Stan to see into the blinding illumination to probe the biker’s face and search for meaning to the madness.
Stan glanced furtively to his right. He calculated an escape by running toward the east end of the bridge and leaping to the creek below. Something further down the tracks caught his attention. He saw what appeared to be a shiny object flashing a quivering reflection of the sun into his eyes. It appeared to be moving quickly toward him.
Stan felt the bridge begin to vibrate beneath him. The piercing sound of a train whistle split the air. He squinted back toward the motorcycle and into the bright sun. He was trapped between the fast approaching train and the dismounting rider.
A leg swung gracefully from the motorcycle, and the rider stepped toward Stan. He looked toward the rider's approaching feet, then quickly back toward the oncoming train, then back toward the approaching feet. The rider's legs were bare.
The train's horn screamed again. He turned toward it. A woman stood on the front bumper
of the train frantically waving her arms. The woman looked like Karen. What the devil? Stan thought.
She was standing on the front bumper of the train wearing a silvery, metallic looking body suit. Her legs were spread wide. Her arms were folded defiantly across her chest and she had a look of condemnation on her face.
Stan looked back toward the biker. His eyes traveled from a high heeled boot, up a bare thigh. He smelled enchanting perfume. The graceful tanned leg of the biker swung toward him and a knee pressed against his shoulder. He looked up beyond bare thighs and past protruding breasts toward a beautiful face.
“Jan?” he gasped with disbelief.
Karen shook her head vehemently and reached her arms toward Stan.
With the sun no longer directly behind her, he could see Jan's tantalizing smile and the smooth skin of her face. She suggestively nudged his shoulder again with her knee.
Chapter 23
Dr. Ravit knew he was probably out of line to share Stan's medical confidences with an estranged wife. But the good doctor thought, there’s an information gap wider than the Grand Canyon here. And it may have contributed to ripping apart the lives of some nice young people.
"Karen," Dr. Ravit began, "the day that your house burned, I saw Stan at the hospital. He had been taken there by ambulance because he blacked out. In fact, I was told that's how the fire started.”
“Yes, I know about that,” she said.
“Well, wait, let me see." He thumbed through pages of notes in the folder. "Let me back up a bit. Stan came to see me about headaches in April. Did you know about that?"
She shook her head. He began anew and continued with the wrenching story in great detail. He explained Stan's medication error that resulted in the house fire and concluded with his recent telephone conversation with Dr. Griedlach, that pronounced the apparent hopelessness of Stan's condition.
Karen hardly moved after the doctor began his narrative. Her face paled as the report unfolded. She felt feint and clammy. She sipped from the cup of water then placed it on a table beside her. As the doctor talked, her mind flashed back to last winter. Yes, I do remember the fall in the snow. Yes, I do remember him saying that he had a really bad headache, that time when he broke the lamp.
And she remembered Stan taking aspirins when he came home at night, a number of times.
Her eyes closed. She held her sagging forehead with her left hand as she pondered the information that the doctor provided.
Her thoughts continued as the doctor talked, Maybe Stan's behavior with Jan Murray was a result of this brain thing. Or— Oh, God. Was there even anything happening between them. Maybe I was wrong about that. Oh my God, I must have been. I accused an innocent— No, two innocent people.
Her flashbacks skipped wildly from Easter back to Christmas, then back to April. She had a vivid recollection of Stan's pained face, as he pleaded with her, just before she left for her mother‘s.
Oh my Lord, he wasn't drunk! Her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her head slumped forward at the sudden realization of her error.
*****
Stan's head snapped erect as Susan Johnston nudged his shoulder a second time with her hand.
"Stan, are you alright?"
"Jan? Karen?" He shook his head, and then turned to look behind him. He left the land of surreal fantasy and began a return to reality.
"Oh Susan. Hi. I'm okay. Just tired. Fell asleep I guess."
She forced a smile. She was dismayed at the site of him. He appeared to have aged years since she saw him only months ago. In another setting she might not have recognized him at all. She wondered who “Jan” was.
Susan never regretted that she summoned the police, on the day that the house burned. He deserved it, in her opinion. She was convinced then, that he was drunk. After seeing him now, she surmised that he must have continued down that road. Poor Karen! she thought.
"Well, I just saw you sitting here, with your head down, and didn't know what to make of it. I didn't mean to bother you," Susan said coldly. She tried to prevent the revulsion she felt from showing on her face. Her effort failed. Why is he back here anyhow? He should be ashamed to show his face around here.
By sundown half the neighborhood would buzz with the news that Stan Bronsky had showed up wasted and looking like a hopeless drunk or drug addict.
Stan correctly read her face. He thought of explaining his appearance, but decided it really didn't matter what Susan thought, and wasn't worth the effort of explaining. He reasoned that he'd already done that once today and that was enough. He no longer cared what anyone thought of him, especially a busy body like Susan. He stood up from the picnic table.
"Good to see you again, Sue. Say hi to Ed for me. I need to be getting on."
The two backed away from each other a few steps and then turned and went their separate ways.
*****
Karen's sorrowful wail breached two doors and a long hallway to reach the ears of Mary Dorsey. She had finished her work and was sitting in the waiting room keeping an eye on Jenny. The little girl had fallen asleep on the couch with a book in her lap. Although startled, and more than a little curious, Mary would not, breach the sanctity of the doctor's conference without his invitation.
The wail turned to uncontrollable sobs.
After several minutes, Dr. Ravit convinced Karen to swallow a tranquilizer. Then he sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her. He held her with the tenderness of a father caressing his only child.
Karen's body shook uncontrollably in the comforting embrace of the doctor. Through a mix of sobs and garbled speech, she told the physician that she had horribly misjudged Stan. She attempted to explain why she had made such tragic misjudgments.
“We humans are pitiful mind readers, Karen, and even worse listeners most of the time. If we listened half as well as we talked, the world would be a lot happier place." He continued to gently embrace her. “Now look Karen, what’s already done is done. The important thing now is to reassess everything that’s gone wrong and decide on the best course of action to try to repair the damage. If you feel like you need help with that, we can recommend some good counselors. Right now though, I think you need to just calm down a bit, then get a good night’s rest and reflect on everything that we‘ve talked about.”
Dr. Ravit asked Karen if he could have Mary call a friend or relative to come for her. He was concerned that in her state of emotion, medication that she shouldn't drive. She couldn't think of anyone who could come and pick her up on such short notice. Her parents were too far away and Paula would be on her way home. So she told the doctor that she thought she could drive, and rose to her feet. But she felt very groggy and had to sit again. So he offered to give her and Jenny a ride home himself. A short time later he parked his car near their apartment building and walked with them to the entrance.
"Karen, here are a few more pills to relax you. You can take those four hours apart to help if you need. Try to get a good night's sleep. I'm sure things will look better tomorrow. They always do."
"Dr. Ravit, I can't thank you enough, for all you've done. You've been too kind for words."
"Nonsense, young lady. You stop in and see me in the morning when you come for your car. We'll talk some more then." He turned and headed briskly toward his car.
By the time she fixed supper for herself and Jenny, Karen was exhausted. She tried to boost her energy with a small glass of wine but that had the opposite effect. She tucked Jenny in bed without a bath. She crossed the hallway to her own bed and fell across it without undressing. Constant replay of past events, sparked by what she had learned this afternoon, weighed heavily on her.
Her final waking thought of the day was, I’m so sorry Stan, and I don’t even know where you are or have any idea how to find you.
Chapter 24
Jan Murray woke up thinking about Stan and all that he told her yesterday.
She began her day, as she had done for the last few weeks, with a time of prayer. Her petitions this morning included urgent requests for Stan. She also prayed for Karen, Jenny, and herself. Her personal guilt in the Bronsky family’s predicament was weighing on her spirit. For some time, she had accepted personal responsibility for Stan’s dismissal from CTC. Now she felt responsible for his subsequent lack of employment as well. Her prayers were not eloquent or poetic, but they came from a truly penitent and loving heart.
After a breakfast snack, Jan dressed and prepared to leave for work. She paused momentarily before exiting her apartment to admire a painting near the door. Her brother gave the oil painting to her for her recent birthday. It came from the Chantley Gallery. The painting was of a man with one leg, on crutches. He was standing on a empty street corner waiting for something or someone. He had a single rose in one hand and a book that appeared to be a Bible under his other arm. It was the Bible that caught her brother's attention. The painting presented a mystery that begged for a solution. Was the scene supposed to evoke hope or despair, she wondered, or both? Either way, it pulled at her curiosity and evoked her compassion. She glanced at the artist’s initials in the bottom corner and wished she knew the person so that she could ask about the meaning of the painting.
As she walked to the train station, her thoughts were on Stan. If only I could do something to help him. I don’t understand how Karen could be so cold, to leave him when he’s so sick. He obviously needs her so much right now. He always talked about her like she and Jenny were the most important people in the world.
She wondered if Karen and Jenny were still at her mother’s place. She wished that she had thought to ask Stan how to contact Karen. Then she might have tried to reason with Karen about him.
She stepped into the fourth car of the train. There was only one empty seat and she took it.