But it was John Carter, an officer who was a couple of years behind me in school, and he was alone. He pulled off his cap and twisted it in his hands in a way that made my stomach pull back against my spine. “Mrs. McCauley, I hate to tell you this, but Charlie’s been in an accident.”
The breath whooshed out of my lungs. Every scrap of air seemed to leave the cells of my body.
“He’s at the parish hospital.”
“Is he...”
My heart was in my throat, gagging me with terror.
“He’s alive, but it’s bad, ma’am. He ran into the bridge culvert.”
“Was anyone else...”
He misinterpreted what I was going to ask. Apparently he’d had other experiences with drinking men, men who’d been found in situations hard to explain to their wives. “Oh, he was all by himself, ma’am. Completely alone. But... he’d been drinking.”
“I—I see.” That certainly wasn’t news. I put my hand to my throat. “Was any other car involved?”
“Not that we know of. Someone might have run him off the road, or maybe he swerved to avoid an animal. Or maybe he just lost control of the car.” He looked down at it his boots. “He smelled awful strong of whiskey.”
Oh, dear Lord—did he do it on purpose? The thought made my legs turn to rubber. I clutched the doorframe.
“You okay, ma’am?”
“I think maybe I should sit down.”
He came into the room and helped me get settled in a chair. I ran my hand over my face. He brought me a damp towel from the kitchen, which I put over my eyes for a moment.
“Is there someone you want me to call?” he asked.
His mother. And my mother. They both needed to be called. I pulled off the towel and shook my head. “I’ll do it.”
I moved as if in a stupor. I’m not sure if I thanked him. I called—oh, thank God for family!—my mother first. She called Charlie’s parents, then came over to stay with the kids, and my father drove me to the hospital.
The whole time, I was making bargains with God.Please, God. Let him live. I’ll do anything. I’ll be good. I’ll be a faithful, loving wife till death do us part. I will. I swear I will.
Charlie was in surgery when I got there. The doctors told me he’d broken both legs and his back, and he had chest injuries and head injuries. If he made it through surgery and the long recovery period that was to follow, he might be paralyzed from the waist down. They warned that he might not remember the events of the accident or even a day or two before. I prayed he wouldn’t remember the letter.
But he did. They allowed me to be with him in the recovery room. As soon as he came to, he opened his eyes, looked at me, and closed them again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“For not getting out of your way.”
Well, guilt just opened its enormous jaws and swallowed me whole. Let me tell you a thing or two about guilt. It’s a monstrous glutton with shark teeth, rows and rows of teeth that cut and cut and just keep on cutting. There’s no smooth esophagus you eventually slide down—just cuts and more cuts, and then you’re in the belly of the beast, all hacked up and bathed in acid. And just when you think it might be easing up, that ugly monster spits you out, then bites down and starts chewing on you all over again.
I vowed to turn over a new leaf. I would become a better person. An upright person. A person of total integrity. I would do what the boys in the war had done: I would put one foot in front of the other and keep on marching, keep on slogging. The only way out is through. I realized now, when it was maybe too late, that the key to life was just that simple. Wherever you are, whatever situation you’re in, the only way out is through.
I stayed at the hospital the next few days, while Charlie’s life hung in the balance. He didn’t speak again, and I began to hope I’d misunderstood him or misinterpreted his words. Maybe he wouldn’t remember the letter after all.
But when I finally went home to sleep at the insistence of Mother, I found the letter and a note from Charlie tucked under my pillow.
Can’t live without you.
Funny, I thought. Because I was finding it nigh near impossible to live with myself.
46
matt
