Redemption

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She had pulled up alongside him, about six feet from where he was watching the early news on the wide screen television. He looked relaxed in a soft leather chair in the TV room of an exclusive assisted living facility.

 He barely glanced at her. “Nope. Should I?”

 “Yes, I believe you should. It was exactly sixty years ago.” The woman was seated in a wheelchair, a pink and white crocheted blanket covering her lap. Her hair, mostly wisps combed to cover bare spots, was dyed, copper red.

 The man cleaned his thick bifocals and put them on. “How am I supposed to recognize you if I haven’t seen you in sixty years? Damn it, I’m 84 years old.”

 “You still cuss. Never outgrew the nasty habit I see.”

 It was true, he still cussed. “If you remember me, what’s my name?”

 “If I tell you, you’ll say I saw it on the bulletin board for the book club meeting.”

 The man nodded. He stood and shuffled over to her to get a better look. “What’s your name?”

 “Catherine Hastings. But you knew me as Becky. My middle name is Rebecca.” She attempted a smile.

 He took a seat in a straight-backed chair two feet from her wheelchair. “Name’s Malone, Donald Malone.”

 “I know,” Catherine said.

 “Right, you said that. Did you say how we know each other?”

 “We went out on a date. You took me to a poetry reading in Greenwich Village. We went to a jazz club too and drank beer.”

 “There now, you see? I’ve never been to Greenwich Village in my life.” Don stood up, ready to leave.

 “You’re a liar, Mr. Malone. You were there and I think you do remember me.” Catherine pulled a handkerchief from under her blanket. She had a feeling she might need it. She had spotted him the day after she moved in. It took her two weeks to find the courage to speak to him. “You drove us there in a light blue Dodge.”

 Donald hesitated. “I don’t know how you know about that Dodge. There’s been plenty written about me over the years, thanks to my books.”

 Catherine had a sudden coughing fit. It didn’t last long. “It was August 19, 1959.”

 “I don’t have to listen to this.” His voice had suddenly grown loud. Other residents were now watching them. “I don’t know you. Never met you.” He paused momentarily. “Nobody likes being cooped up here, lady, but making up stories isn’t the way to make friends here, I can tell you that,” he said. “You just moved in, didn’t you?”

 “Yes, that’s right. My daughters put me here. It will be two weeks tomorrow.”

 “I have a good idea why,” Donald said. He shook his head and took a couple of short steps toward the dining room. Dinner would be served for the ambulatory residents soon.

 “You can run, Donald Malone, but you can’t hide, even sixty years later.”

 The man kept walking, which angered Catherine. She turned her wheelchair and pushed herself toward him, easily catching up to his bent leg shuffle. “I want you to apologize. I’ll forgive you if you do.”

 He stopped again and his shoulders slumped. “Even if we did know each other years ago, you couldn’t possibly recognize me now.”

 “We’ve both done very well in life, Don. That’s what people called you back then, isn’t it? You became Donald after you wrote best sellers.”

 “What of it?” He had grown wary now.

 “I married a man who ran the world’s largest manufacturer of light fixtures.” She looked around the room. “This facility has some of his more expensive products.”

 He waved his hands at her, a dismissal.

 “I’ve kept tabs on you. It’s true, at 84, you don’t look like the young man you were sixty years ago, but as you’ve aged, your publishers have been kind enough to update your photo.” 

 “What did you say your name was?”

 “Becky Hastings to you. We met at a mutual friend’s birthday party in East Orange. Sorry, but I don’t remember her name.”

 “You’re not making sense.”

 “You were very charming that night. I liked you immediately. When you asked me out, for the next night, I was thrilled.”

 “Okay, if you say we met, fine, we met. And if it will make you happy, I’ll apologize for whatever you think I did to you. Satisfied?”

 “No Don, I’m not,” Catherine said.

 “They’re going to be serving dinner soon. I need to get going. Do me a favor. Go recognize someone else.”

 Donald Malone completed his journey to the dining room and found a seat in the corner, away from where he usually sat. He took a few sips of ice tea and waited for the server to arrive. His friend, Kurt, a retired minister, who worked part time at the facility, walked over to his table and sat next to him.

 “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Kurt said.

 “I have. A woman I knew sixty years ago. She just moved in here two weeks ago. What are the chances?”

 “Who or what was she to you?”

 Donald held up his hand. “Never mind that. I got drunk and carried away one lousy night in my life. I’ve been haunted by her face for years.”

 “You recognized her after all these years. Really?”  

 “Of course not, but I recognized her voice right off. There’s no running away from your past, is there?”

 “You didn’t get her pregnant, did you?”

 “Who knows? I never saw her again until just now.”

 “Was your liaison a mutual thing?”

 Donald looked down at the linen tablecloth and shook his head. “I think she wants me to apologize, but if I do that, the way things are now, she’ll probably sue me and instead of being a respected writer, I’ll just be one of those jerks you read about. The media will see to that.”

 Kurt put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you sure you have your facts straight? Sixty years is a long time.”

 “Not long enough.,” Donald said. “I’m sure.”

 “Tell me what you remember about that night.”

 “We went to the Village. She remembered everything, the poetry reading and the jazz club. She even remembered my blue Dodge. Anyway, when we got back to Little Falls, we sat in the front seat about a block from her house. I guess we were making out. One thing led to another and pretty soon it looked like we were going to go all the way. Isn’t that what we called it back then?”

 “Go ahead,” Kurt said, sadness in his voice.

 “I just remember at some point, she sort of changed her mind, but it was too late for me. I satisfied myself. Still, I thought she was okay. But then she started crying. I don’t know, maybe she was crying a little while we were doing it. But it was my first time with a regular girl. I had no idea what to expect.” He shook his head.

 “What does that mean?”

 “Ever been in the Army, reverend?”

 “No.”

 I got drafted in 1953. They sent me to Fort Bragg, North Carolina. I was discharged near the end of basic training. I got an eye infection and it damn near ruined my eyesight. But before that happened, I went to a whorehouse in Fayetteville.”  

 “I see, may I ask, why you’ve been haunted all these years?”

 “I wasn’t haunted, not right away. But I never forgot that night. As I got older, well, you know how it is, the way you think, or maybe your understanding, changes. Hell, times change. A lot of things women are saying today, men just didn’t understand back then. The rules were different.”

 “Maybe you can tell that to this woman.”

 “I’m afraid to do that, Kurt. Look, even if she doesn’t want money, she could tell the other residents. I’d have to move, Kurt, and damn it, I’m too old to move.”

 The reverend looked at his friend, worried about him. “First of all, I doubt if this woman needs money. None of the residents here need money. I think if you explain yourself to her, apologize, she might understand. She said she would forgive you if you apologized. A sincere apology might help her to find peace. Obviously, after all these years, it still bothers her. Otherwise, why bring it up? Sounds like she was raped, Donald.”

 “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Raped? Really?”

 “Let’s go back to that night for a moment. How exactly did you leave things with her?” Kurt asked.

 “I don’t remember, really. We probably just said goodnight. Oh, wait a second. I just remembered I wanted to drive her the block to her house, but she said no. She got out of the car and started walking. The car windows were open.” Donald stopped for a moment, reflecting. “I called her and said, something like, get back in, I can drive you. It was a pretty long block as I recall.”

 “Did she get back in?”

 Donald covered his face with his hands. “She ran.”

He didn’t eat dinner that night. He went to his apartment and tried to get some sleep. The next morning, not feeling the least bit refreshed, he went to the dining room, just for coffee. He saw Catherine sitting alone at a table nibbling on fresh fruit. “May I join you?” he asked.

 “Who are you?”

 “Donald Malone. We spoke yesterday.”

 “I think you must be mistaken, but go ahead and sit if you’d like.”

 “Becky, I owe you an apology.”

 “Okay, I’m listening.”

 “You know who I am then?”

 “Let me hear the apology first.”

 Donald wanted to explain, tell her his version of the events, but he knew that would have to come later, if at all, depending on how the woman reacted. “I’m afraid I took shameful advantage of you one night, sixty years ago. I am very sorry and I have been for many years.”

“Thank you, Don. I’ve never told anyone what happened that night, afraid people would say it was my own fault.” She drank some water. “I have hated you for many years. I used to go to bookstores just so I could hide your books. I’d move them to places where no one could find them. I did that in a couple of libraries too.”

 “Did that help?”

 “What do you think? In time, with a little therapy and an understanding husband, I was able to put that horrible night into perspective. We were both young and naïve, I suppose.”

 “I think you should know that it took me ten years to understand what I’d done.” He paused. “No that isn’t right, exactly. It took a conversation with Reverend Kurt last evening to finally come to terms with it. I’d been rationalizing the event for a long time before that.” He moved his hands to his lap. They were shaking. “I’m sure you will take no comfort in knowing this, but I want you to know that I never did anything like that again.”

 “You’re right, I take no comfort from it at all, but I’m glad to know that not filing a complaint didn’t cause other women to go through what I went through.”

 “Where do we go from here Becky? Is there anything I can do for you?”

 “Yesterday, I said I would forgive you if you apologized. But now I see, I am not quite ready to do that.” She gently wiped her lips with her napkin. “I’d appreciate it if you would roll me to the reading room. It’s quite a distance from the dining room. Tires me out, you know.”

Donald wheeled Catherine Hastings to the reading room, neither of them speaking. When they arrived, she said, “You needn’t worry about a complaint. Nor will I tell anyone about what you did. After all these years, who would listen to an old woman?” She frowned. “Perhaps, I will find the strength to forgive you and perhaps not.”

Don looked at the woman and shuddered. She had needed an apology. Now, he needed forgiveness. He shuffled back to the dining room, praying for redemption, believing it was too much to hope for.