Our Father, who art in Heaven?

As the phone began to ring on the other end, he realized how much he hated his sister and her mother. That made all of this so much worse, but the bile quickly rose and fell between the second and third ring. And, in a moment, it slipped away as Billie came on the line.

“Hey!” Her voice was warm, but crusted with sleep. It was 2:30 in the morning after all. She did sound at least a little happy to hear from him. Or maybe she just didn’t recognize the number.

“It’s Stephen. In Los Angeles.”

“I know, silly. I have you saved in my phone.” He could hear her stretch. “I wouldn’t have picked up if I didn’t know the number. Not exactly looking for anonymous booty calls these days.” 

He could feel her smile, and it hit him in the stomach. “Yeah, well, sorry to call. I know it’s late.”

“No, no. It’s not a problem. It’s not like you call every day … or night.” Again, a smile. 

“It’s my mother.” Stephen barely got the words out. It was all barely real. He sat in the brightly lit, sterile waiting room, somewhere between being alone and in a crowd. He involuntarily shook his head, knowing it was too late, but not really understanding the actual time until the phone started ringing. 

Billie had been silent. Stephen wondered for a second if they had gotten disconnected. He shouldn’t have called, he thought. His mind moved, distracted by an announcement from the nearby nurses’ station when Billie brought him back.

“From your last message, I thought she was getting better. What’s the latest?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows. She’s in and out…”

“Ugh. That sucks.” Stephen and Billie were practically the same age, just a few years apart, but she always sounded much younger when they spoke. He couldn’t decide if that was just some affectation or what, if anything, she was trying to accomplish. 

“Yeah, she had another episode.” Stephen’s voice was barely above a whisper. Sitting in a large room, he worried that his voice -- his vulnerability -- would carry.  “This one was the worst yet. We were at my uncle’s birthday party. He’s 72, but he’s strong like an ox.

“You know us -- well, maybe you don’t -- my mother does not like to dance. She’s hardly got a sunny disposition.” Stephen let that hang in the air. “All of a sudden, Mom’s dancing. Maybe it was the music. Maybe the Cherry Gin Fizz. It was like she forgot who she was or where she was.”

He heard her chuckle lightly under her breath, caught somewhere between not wanting to laugh inappropriately and not wanting to seem distant. 

“Then she fell, more like she passed out. Hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. The music never stopped even while we gave her CPR.” Stephen stopped to catch his breath, and Billie jumped in.

“I am so sorry.” She held the “so” for an extra second, believing that being overly dramatic would communicate her very real concern. Again, the pause seemed to last. Billie wanted to sympathize -- to bond -- but wouldn’t dare bring up her own mother, Catherine. In the five years since Cat’s death, Stephen and Billie had become much closer, but only cautiously so. More of a need than a want, Billie had thought.

Over those years, the two of them had shared stories about their paranoid, dysfunctional father, although only in secret. William would not have appreciated that line of communication between his children being open. Too much of an opportunity for collusion of some sort. Most of the time, they would communicate through text messages and social media. In five years, there had really only been one or two conversations by phone, and those conversations were stilted at best. 

When William had gone to the hospital in St. Louis, Stephen had called Billie within twenty-four hours. It had probably been the old man’s gallbladder, and within days the old man was dead. Billie had never really got to the end of the conversation, to the full explanation that some may have wanted. Keeping Billie in the loop was not the whole story.  Stephen wanted to demonstrate that he was closer to their father than Billie. She had won the battle. He had won the war.

Billie had wanted to seem friendly and deferential. She had had William for her entire childhood, and, more importantly, she was the reason that Stephan had seen little of his father for years when he was growing up.  She understood their dynamic and would not rise to the occasion. She kept the calm in her voice, because she knew the real story: Stephen was trying to a win a war when all the combatants were already dead. William and Billie, once close when she was young, had drifted apart more and more. By the time Cat had died, the father-daughter pair barely spoke and neither made any real effort to overcome the gap.

For years, Billie had attributed the collapse in her relationship with her father to Cat. Cat always seemed to be forcing the issue. Billie wanted space but Cat wouldn’t have it. Cat had named Billie after her father and would tell them both that they were the same person, two sides of the same coin. During Billie’s teenage years and into her twenties, Cat continually forced her daughter back into her husband’s world and the two quickly figured out a quick truce, or at least the appearance of a truce. It was Cat’s best tactic. After all, when William was still married to Stephen’s mother Janie, Cat named the baby Billie to bring William back home to her. 

For Billie’s whole life, Cat was singular in focus: making William keep his end of the bargain. She continually reminded him that she had given up so much. She made sure he understood her sacrifice until she died. It was part of the wedge … and part of the glue.

But when Cat died, there was a shift. Billie realized that her mother was not the catalyst of the chasm between her father and her, but rather a weak bridge. Without Cat, Billie and William had little to discuss. She still tried to respect him, but respect did not mean contact. She would call him on the big days, like Father’s Day, but otherwise she stayed away.

Before Cat died, Billie kept the peace, but worried that she was harming her own long term health. She had seen her mother’s ulcers, the ulcers that had killed her. Billie did not want to follow in those footsteps. 

The weirdness grew when William’s health declined. Death makes you a family man, he would say. He stopped the fiats and began more conversations. Billie was confused by the stereotype her father had become. His requests about her life felt heavy with the weight of invisible condescension and she bristled every time, even when she objectively knew that the question was a simple straightforward one. 

St. Louis was far from San Diego, and Billie leaned into that as an excuse for not seeing William often. Stephen became the conduit of the best information, so Billie did not need as much direct contact. Neither Stephen nor Billie had siblings, so this arrangement seemed to work. And then William was dead.

“Billie? Are you still there?” Billie realized that she had stopped talking -- stopped breathing -- as the memories flooded in.   

“Yes, Stephen. Sorry. I really thought she was doing better.”

“She was. She was.” Billie heard his heavy sigh. “I just don’t feel ready for this, Billie. Dad was one thing, but Mom has always been my rock.” She understood. William’s death made her an orphan, a twenty seven year old orphan, but an orphan nevertheless. Even the San Diego days were dark for weeks after that. Part of her understood that she was next, the oldest in her direct line. That was what laid ahead for Stephan, and she knew there was little she could do to make the journey easier.

She thought she should hop in her car and drive to L.A. immediately. It wasn’t more than a couple of hours. Yet, she knew every time she looked in the mirror she saw her mother. Given that, it might be best if she steered clear of Stephen. She did not want to remind him of her mother, especially not now.

 “I don’t know what to say, Stephen. It sounds awful.”

“She’s quiet. Not really speaking. I think it’s just a matter of time.” Stephen didn’t feel the words until they were already past his lips. He felt them wash over him and the weight on his chest was almost unbearable.

“Stephen? I can only imagine what you are feeling. What you are going through. You are in the right place, where she needs you to be. She’s counting on you, but I know you know that.”

“She's just laying there.”

The silence returned between them.

“You know what, Stephen? I don’t know much about when you were a kid. I mean I know where you were living, but we weren’t really hanging out at family picnics back then.”

He nodded slightly and raised an eyebrow.  “No doubt.”

“So, tell me a story about your mother. Or geez, tell me one about our father.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about going to hockey games with Mom.”

“Hockey? And now you live in L.A.?” There was that smile again. “How did you let that happen?”

“Hockey was my thing when I was young. Our father was not around much, so Mom was always the one taking me to practice and games. One time, we were playing against another team in the league and they were killing us. It was like 5-0 or something like that.

“That would not have been so bad but one of my classmates, Matt, was on the other team, and he was an ass. I knew that I was going to hear about this for days once I got back to school on Monday. So then I did it.”

“Did what?”

“Well, he was close to the puck with just a couple minutes left to go in the game, so I checked him. Hard.”

“But that’s ok in hockey, right? What’s the old joke about going to a fight and a hockey game breaking out?”

“I think they called me for cross checking or slashing or something like that. So basically, I got sent to the penalty box, and because there was less than two minutes left to go in the game, I had to stay in the box until the game was over. 

“But that was not the bad part. While I was sitting in the penalty box, I looked up at Mom in the stands. I didn’t see her at first, but then I spotted her… sitting right next to my classmate’s mom. They both looked super pissed. I almost stayed in the box even after the game was over.”

“Oh no! I bet they were mad. What happened after the game?”

“Nothing. Can you believe that? Nothing. Mom barely said ‘Good game.’ to me. I think we went out for pizza after, but the best part was Monday at school. Matt never said a word. He never mentioned the game.”

“That’s so funny. Sounds like you learned some valuable lessons playing hockey.” Her smile turned into a laugh, but this time he joined in.

“Yes, I did. Mom never really mentioned the whole thing until about ten years later.”

“What did she say about it?”

“She told me that Matt’s mom was very pleasant until I hit Matt. Then, nothing. Silence. Mom made a point of getting out of there as fast as she could.”

“Smart girl. What a great story!”

“She’s been my protector, Billie. She never missed anything I ever did. Never stopped defending me. And she kept our father in my life, when I knew he was a shit.”

“There is that. He was something. Not sure it was good to have him around. Was it?” 

“I guess. He forgot me, forgot us, after you came along. Mom never let me think I was unimportant. And I can’t help her now.” His voice trailed off.

“He was not a good guy and he made it worse every chance he got. I wish I could have …” 

“Stop. It’s absolutely your fault, but I don’t hold it against you. I wouldn’t have called if I did.”

“Don’t lie. You are just like Dad. You don’t have anyone else who will put up with you.”

“Maybe.” This time he smiled, but only a little. “I have to go. The nurses are calling.”

“OK. You know you can call anytime. If it can be during the day, it’s all the better, but if this is the only time that works, go for it.”

“Sorry about that. I’m on Mom’s schedule now.” He tried to feign a smile but it felt hollow. “Billie, I appreciate you listening to me. I want you to know… I want you to know that I don’t hate you too much.”

Billie laughed again. “I’ll take it! Now get to your mother.  She needs you. And I need some sleep. Just keep me posted.”

“I will.”