by DanielQSteele1©
IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES
Friday, July 22, 2005 – 9 a.m.
My name is Bill Maitland. I am the second most powerful man in the State Attorney's office in Jacksonville, about to be divorced from the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life who has fallen out of love with me, and father to a son and daughter that I have ignored for too long while I concentrated on other people's tragedies.
Last night I learned that while I was looking at other things, my daughter had grown from a little girl to a young woman who lusted after the man who had stolen my wife from me. Actually, to be fair about it, I had thrown her to him, but it didn't make living with his presence in my life any easier.
But I'll be damned if I was going to let him screw up my daughter's life as well so I had a little discussion with him that involved brass knuckles yesterday. I had hurt him, but he'd hurt me so I didn't feel at all guilty about giving myself an edge with brass and surprise.
I'd like to say he was a big-dicked coward who showed me he didn't deserve to win my wife, but unfortunately I learned a long time ago that being an asshole doesn't automatically mean you're a coward as well. And he had tried his best to take my head off in our little discussion.
We'd both survived and he was leaving town and my soon-to-be ex-wife, so I guess you could call me the winner, but he'd managed to screw up my marriage and he'd forced me to look at my daughter with open eyes.
Still and all, it was better to live with the knowledge that my little girl was all grown up than to continue to live in a fantasy world where men were not fucking her. It still hurt me to think about, but I would always prefer to think of her as a sexless innocent than a sexually active woman. I didn't have any choice, though.
And then, in a day full of shocks, I'd had the last one early this morning as I learned that Father Eagen Dunleavy, who'd defied hatred and machetes to fight for life in the Hutu-Tutsi killing in Rwanda in the 1990s, had been shot out of the sky while on a mission back to Rwanda.
I'd met him while on a cruise on the French ship Bonne Chance and learned that besides being a good priest, he was a good man. I liked him before I knew that, but knowing that as good a man as he was could screw his life up as badly or worse than I had, made me feel better about my own mistakes.
He had helped me look at my life a little differently on the ship, and even in dying he had continued to help me try to make up for my past sins.
After I walked into my office at the State Attorney's Office earlier that morning, I closed my door after telling my secretary Cheryl that I didn't want to be disturbed.
I dialed a familiar number and a few rings later, my mother said, "Hello."
"Hi, Mom."
"Bill, is anything wrong?"
I couldn't help smiling because I knew she was going to put the needle in.
"Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my mother?"
"Because, you never call your poor mother. Charles tells me that you're a busy man and you're going through a lot, but if I didn't see your name in the paper every once in a while, I wouldn't know you were still alive."
"Mom, I know I haven't called you much lately, but-"
She wasn't having any of it.
"I think the President is pretty busy too, but I hear he makes time to call his mother!"
What can you say to that?
"Your right, Mom. I'm sorry. I'll try to call you more regularly. It's no excuse, but what with the....what with things with Debbie and trials, I haven't had time to turn around?"
"At least you're almost free of that woman. I am counting the days."
"I know, Mom. I know. I am too."
"You're just saying that, Bill. I know you too well. You still love her, but that will change. You just need to get away from her and get out and date other women. You're a successful man and you won't have any trouble finding somebody better."
"Spoken like a mother," and then I realized I'd said the words out loud instead of in my head.
"I know I think like a mother, but I'm not blind or stupid. That woman has had you wrapped around her little finger for 20 years so you don't know how good a man you are, and how other women would look at you if you could see anybody but her. But that will change when you're a free man again."
"Mom...okay. It's going to happen and I know you don't like her, but she'll still be my kids' mother. Try to be careful what you say around BJ, okay? Speaking of whom, is he in?"
"You don't know how many times I've bitten my tongue around BJ, and Kelly. God knows how she turned out as good as she is with that woman as her mother. But, I'll try to hold my tongue around the boy. He is just waking up and was having breakfast with Charles. You want to talk to him?"
"Yes, please."
There was a silence on the end of the phone. Then BJ came on.
"Dad? Did you-?"
"I had a talk with Doug. I don't think he was lying at the end. And I talked to your mother and Kelly. I know what happened. I'm glad you were there, and glad you called me, but I don't think – I don't think anything really happened. I think your mother walked in just in the nick of time. Anyway, Doug is leaving town, and going pretty far away. I don't think we'll have to worry about him much longer."
He was silent and I knew why. Doug had to be a pretty charismatic guy for a 14-year-old boy. I was sure BJ was torn by the fact that he was impressive, and on the other hand he was fucking his mother and possibly had tried for his sister.
"Anyway, BJ, that wasn't really the reason for the call, except to thank you for calling me. The real reason I called was..."
I stopped for a minute and time seemed to crawl. I'd found the words for Kelly, and I wanted to find them for BJ.
"I just wanted to tell you that I love you."
"Dad?"
"I haven't said it very much, because it seemed kind of mushy to be saying to a teenager. But...you're my son and I love you, even though I guess I must have been a pain in the ass to you as far as your friends were concerned."
There was a long silence and then, "...Is everything...alright, Dad?"
"Everything's okay, BJ. It's just that you go along...thinking you've got all the time in the world to let people know...how you feel about them. And I guess you know..or I hope. But....
"Nobody lives forever, BJ, and we never know when we're going to run out of time. Almost the last words my father told me, and I can still hear them, is that he loved me. I've never forgotten and I'm glad he said them when he could."
"Dad, what is...what's wrong?"
"Nothing, BJ, nothing's wrong. It's just that, I won't be around forever. There will come a day when I'm gone. I want you to remember these words on that day. And I want you to know...know how much I love you. You're my son and I'm proud of you and you and your sister are the best things that ever happened in my life."
"Jesus, Dad, have you talked to mom?"
"No, it's nothing. It's silly. I just felt like saying that. I'm not going to be mushy with you again. Just remember. Okay. Now, tell your grandmother and grandfather goodbye. I'm at the office and I'm working. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay?"
I hung up.
I called Cheryl and told her I was running out for a minute. For this type of errand it was easier to just call a cab than go to the trouble of taking the Escalade. I called around and the best church for what I wanted was the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church of Jacksonville at the corner of Ocean and Duval Streets. It was an old church and the closest to our offices and the courthouse.
I walked in. It was early and there was nobody around except a woman cleaning. I asked her where I could find a priest and before I could finish a short bald headed guy in street clothes was walking up behind me.
"Can I help you? It's early for visitors."
I looked around and saw a bank of candles burning near one door.
"I'd like to have two candles set up to burn perpetually in memory of some friends."
"They're called votive candles. There is no charge, but we do accept donations. And to burn in perpetuity? That's a long time."
I smiled at him.
"Only until I'm dead and gone, Father, after that they're on their own. As to the donation. How's about a hundred and I'll send you a check for a thousand this week. Should that keep them burning for awhile?"
"Yeah, I'd say so. They must have been good friends."
"One of them was, but both of them were good people. I don't want them to be forgotten."
"What were their names? Let me write them down and we'll set the candles up with name plates."
"Father Eagen Dunleavy and Brianne O'Collins."
He stopped writing and looked up at me.