The Fatal Fall

One-2

“ARE YOU SURE MAE’S expecting you?” Helen asks.

“She asked me to come by after Mass and bring her communion,” I say as I ring the doorbell at the Trents’ sprawling Victorian home. “Apparently, Martin’s insisting that she wait two weeks before coming back to Mass.”

Helen rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “He hovers over that girl more than you did me.”

“The only reason I didn’t was because you didn’t want me to.”

“Oh, I wanted you to,” she smiles. “I just didn’t want you to treat me like I was frail.”

I roll my eyes. “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“I don’t plan to.”

The door opens to reveal not one of Mae’s parents, but Vincent, her oldest brother.

“Father, Mrs. Parr,” he says with a smile, extending his hand to me. “Please come in.”

Helen and I enter the warm and inviting foyer. “It’s good to see you again, Vincent,” I say. “I’m surprised you’re still here. I thought you’d have to go back to school.”

“I’m actually just down here for the weekend,” he says. “I’m leaving in an hour to drive back.”

“I know your parents are happy to see you,” Helen says. “As is Mae.”

Vincent laughs. “Frankly, Mae only has eyes for Martin. I’m not even sure she’s aware I’ve been home this weekend.”

We walk toward the Trent’s living room. The pocket doors are closed, and there’s a gaggle of little Trents and Martin’s young nieces gathered outside with their ears pressed against the wood.

“Hey,” Vincent says, causing the children to jump and turn to us. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The youngest Trent child present, Kateri, says, “Listening.”

“Hush, Kat,” Martin’s niece Sophie says.

“Eavesdropping, huh? That’s not very nice.”

“We were just trying to hear what Mae and Martin are arguing about,” Isabella Trent says.

I c**k my head to one side. “Why do you think they are arguing?”

“Because we heard Mae yell at Uncle Martin,” Lucy, Sophie’s sister, says.

“Why in the world did she yell at Martin?” Helen asks.

“I think she was afraid he'd break her doll,” Kateri says.

The three of us look at each other. “What, Kat?” Vincent asks.

“Uh-huh,” she says, nodding her head with her eyes as big as saucers. “Martin said she needed to take it easy, and Mae yelled that she wasn’t some frail china doll that needed to be surrounded in bubble wrap.”

Helen and I look at each other. “Ahhhh,” we say in unison. “Are they still yelling?” I ask.

“No, they’ve been quiet since then,” Sophie says.

“OK, go outside and play,” Vincent says. “It’s chilly so don’t forget your coats.”

The girls grumble as they walk away from the door. Vincent knocks. “Go away, girls!” Mae yells.

“Mae, it’s Vince. Father Tom and Mrs. Parr are here.”

There are indistinct whispers coming from the room and sounds of movement. Finally after a moment, Mae says, “Let them in, please.”

Vincent slides open the doors and Helen and I walk into the living room, changed into a hospital room for Mae’s recovery from being stabbed. Mae’s sitting up in bed wearing a sweatshirt from the prestigious Catholic university she attended, while Martin is seated in a comfortable-looking armchair.

What’s striking is the distance between them, and the fact that neither looks particularly happy.

“Father Tom, Helen,” Mae says, smiling. “So good to see you.”

“You’re looking even better than you were a couple of days ago when we were here,” I say. “Apparently, Martin’s taking good care of you.”

Her smile slowly disappears. “Oh, yes, Marty’s been just wonderful, making sure I don’t exert myself in the slightest,” she says sarcastically.

“Now, Mae,” Martin says, “that’s not—”

“I’m surprised he’ll even let me feed myself,” she continues. “I half expect him to thrust a bottle of formula into my mouth!”

“Really, Monica June!” Martin says. “You’re acting like a child!”

Mae sits up, her eyes ablaze in a way I never expected from her. “A child! Marty, did you just call me a child!”

Martin looks sheepish. “Now, Mae, darling, I didn’t—”

“If I’m acting like a child, Dr. Martin Joseph Maycord,” Mae shouts, “It’s only because you’re treating me like one!”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Martin says.

“Silly! Silly! Don’t you call me—”

“OK, you two, that’s enough,” I say. They lapse into silence and look at me.

“Now,” I continue, “Helen and I came here to visit, to see how Mae was doing, and so I could give her communion. Breaking up an argument wasn’t part of our plans for the afternoon.”

“We weren’t arguing, Father Tom,” Mae says.

“No, we were just having a discussion,” Martin says. “I was trying to get Mae to be reasonable about her recovery.”

“And I was trying to get Marty to understand that I didn’t see the need to lay around the house all day like I was still in the hospital,” May says, “when I feel fine.”

“And I was explaining to her that her injury was serious, it has been less than a week since Rusty Davis stabbed her, and she really should still be in the hospital.”

“And I—”

I hold my hand up. “We get the picture,” I say with a slight smile. “This sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Helen?”

“I do have a distinct feeling of deja vu, Tom,” Helen says with a smile.

“Now, look you two,” Martin says, “Mae’s situation—”

“Is not nearly as serious as Helen’s was,” Mae says.

“True,” Helen says. “I was in the hospital a lot longer. But Mae, the only reason Martin discharged me was because I made Tom promise he’d change my bandages and the like. And even with that, I still made his life difficult because I didn’t want to accept that I still wasn’t a hundred percent.”

“Thank you, Helen,” Martin says. “See Mae—”

“Not so fast, Martin,” I say. “I made Helen’s recovery more difficult than it should have been because I was so worried about something happening to her that I wouldn’t let her do even simple things.”

“Well, you tried,” Helen says.

“I rarely succeeded, admittedly. But we finally realized that we were both wrong and we were both right.”

“Is that some kind of weird logic they teach you in seminary?” Martin asks.

“No, it’s just common sense. I recognized that I needed to let Helen do what she could for herself.”

“And I,” Helen says to Mae, “realized I needed to let Tom help me.”

“Mae, it doesn’t mean that Martin thinks you’re frail or a child or anything like that,” I say. “And Martin, I’m sure Mae doesn’t want to get up and start training for a marathon. You need to let her do some things, and Mae, you need to let him take care of you.”

Mae and Martin look at each other. “Another compromise, huh?” Martin says.

“We do seem to be making a lot of them lately,” Mae says with a smile.

“Sorry, darling,” Martin says as he approaches Mae’s bed.

“I’m sorry, too,” Mae says. With a smile, she adds, “I actually don’t mind you taking care of me.”

“It’s something I love to do, Mae, and always will.”

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t I do what I came here for.”