Quiet Desperation

Quiet Desperation

Don Newlander and his fifteen-year-old son, Carl, studied the menu at CJ’s Diner as if decoding a secret message. The table was still wet from where the waitress had wiped it down and a remainder from the last customer’s meal, perhaps a bit of cornmeal stuffing, rested next to the napkin dispenser. Don flicked it with his index finger and let it stick on the wall behind the table.

He wanted to talk to his son, say something wise and reassuring, but the menu covered Carl’s face.

The waitress, a bleached blonde with heavy red lipstick, approached the table. “What looks good to you, boys?” She asked, licking her pencil, and holding her order pad in front of her as if she were born in that pose.

“You look good to me,” Don said. “But I don’t see you on the menu.”

Carl rolled his eyes.

The waitress, maybe ten years older than Don, smiled. “If I was on the menu, honey, you couldn’t afford me.” Her voice had a practiced friendliness, enabling her to flirt without it being personal. She gave Don a moment to laugh at her comeback. “Now what’ll you have?”

“The meatloaf good today?” Don asked.

“I had it yesterday. It was good then.”

“My wife’s meatloaf is always better the next day. I’ll have that with mashed potatoes and extra gravy. And give me the creamed corn.”

“You got it.” The waitress turned to Carl. “What’ll it be, hon?”

“The CJ burger with fries. And a Coke.”

“I’ll have a cup of coffee,” Don said.

She scribbled on her pad, smiled, and walked toward the kitchen.

Don stared at his son. Snow fell haphazardly over parked cars and dark road. It was cold and late, but they weren't eager to return to their motel room. “Your mother looked good today, didn’t she? She’s getting stronger.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, showing no expression.

“The doctors say she might go home tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Don looked at his son and saw his wife’s deep, dark eyes. He was once happy that Carl had Mary’s eyes. Now they frightened him.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

Carl shrugged.

Don wanted to reach out and grab his son’s hands, but he knew if he did Carl would pull away. You have to be careful with a teenager, he thought. “It’s okay to admit you miss her. I miss her.”

Carl bit his bottom lip, but he remained silent.

The waitress returned with their drinks. Don found the steam rising from his coffee comforting. He put both hand around the cup, raised it to his mouth and blew gently, inhaling the steam.

“You from around here?” asked the waitress. "Thought I saw you yesterday."

“We’re just visiting. From Libertyville.”

“Well, if you’re here tomorrow, we have an all-you-can-eat fish fry.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Don said. "But me and fish don't agree."

"What keeps you in town?"

"The hospital," he said. "My wife's a patient."

The waitress lowered her eyes and put her hand on his shoulder before walking back to the kitchen.

He wasn't sure how to read the touch. He knew it was sympathy, but he missed a woman's touch. He missed Mary.

The thought of another meal away from home sickened him. He wanted his life back. He wanted Mary out of the hospital and back home with him and Carl. He remembered how the three of them played Monopoly on the kitchen table. He and Mary would arrange trades so Carl would win. That seemed like a long time ago.

He turned to his son, but the boy looked away. After a long silence, Don spoke. “Look, you know your mother loves you.”

Carl sipped his Coke.

“You know that, don’t you?” He raised his voice slightly. It caught Carl's attention.

“I guess.”

“No guessing. She loves you more than . . . more than anything.” More than me, he wanted to say. Don felt the back of his throat tighten. He picked up his coffee cup and blew into it again, letting the steam warm his face. "She loves you, son. Your mother loves you."

“Then why...” Carl stopped suddenly and sipped his Coke.

“Why what? Say it.”

Don could see Carl’s lips move but no sound came out. His bottom lip trembled.

“Why’d she...”

“Here’s your food, boys.” The waitress carried two plates. “CJ’s special burger for the good-looking young man and yesterday’s meatloaf for the old one.”

Don smiled.

Carl took a big bite out of his burger. He grabbed the ketchup from the end of the table and poured it over the fries. Then he opened his hamburger and blotted the excess ketchup with the bun. He put three fries in his burger, the way he did since he was about five. He left the lettuce and tomato on the plate.

“Good thing your mother doesn’t see you eat like that.” Don used the side of his fork to cut a piece of meatloaf, spear it and submerge it in the mashed potatoes and creamed corn. The white potatoes, the brown gravy and the yellow corn formed a gooey, beige paste over the meat. “Since she’s not here to complain, I may as well eat like this, too.”

Carl looked up. “You think she cares how we eat.”

"She cares. I know that."

They ate in silence. Don thought of how fragile Mary looked in the hospital, especially in that damned hospital gown. His mind jumped to the pink sweater she wore on their first date. She was sixteen, only a year older than Carl is now. He remembered how she loved to dance and sing. She had the lead in their high school’s performance of South Pacific. He still remembered the envious looks his friends gave him when he and Mary walked down the hall of Libertyville High holding hands.

They had dreams of moving to New York where he’d write plays that she’d perform. Or she’d pursue a career as a singer and he’d manage her. All they needed was a little money to get them going. The plan had Don taking business courses at Libertyville State, but Carl was born soon after they graduated high school, seven months after they married. Don went to work for Libertyville Insurance. Mary took a few theatre courses at the college. She even performed in a play put on by the school.

But it was difficult taking care of a small child and rehearsing. Her mother volunteered to watch Carl if she went to college, but she wanted to show her parents she was independent. She needed to prove she was a good mother.

She wasn’t happy, Don knew that, but she doted over her son, never wanting another child. When he started school, she worked as a teacher's aide and helped with the annual Christmas play.

About five years back, Don suspected she was having an affair with one of their friends, but she denied it. He had found a box of letters in the attic from Larry, their friend. He showed them to her. She said they were from a long time ago, and threw them in the trash. Time passed.

And then, a few months ago, she took an overdose of sleeping pills

"Carl, I almost forgot. I found this with some of your mother’s things she packed before leaving for the hospital." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope filled with a Valentine's Day card that Carl had made for his mother as a boy. A red heart with the words, "I Love Mommy," scrawled in a child’s handwriting. Inside, the words, "Don't ever die" were written above a dried maple leaf pasted to the card.

When Carl read it, his face turned red and tears rolled down his cheeks. He stuffed the remainder of the burger in his mouth.

Don sat in silence finishing his meal. He watched Carl place the card back into the envelope.

"She cares about you, son. She cares about both of us. We have to believe that."