Exiles in America(158)

the ones I pray for.” She continued to look away, unable to look him in the

eye.

“I’m surprised at you, Fay. I’m disappointed.” He kept his voice low,

keeping anger out of his tone. “I have great respect for your Christianity. I al-

ways felt it was a force of love, a way of seeing the world whole. But you talk

like someone who divides the world between good people and bad people,

the damned and the saved. You speak with the hard-heartedness of the saved.

I liked you better, Fay, when you were more uncertain.”

Fay stared at him, her jaw thrust forward, her eyes shining. Her lips curled

back. “What’re you saying?” she snarled. “What business is it of yours if I’m

saved or not?” Her eyes squeezed shut against a swelling of tears. “Malvern is

going over there!” she cried. “Malvern has joined the army!”

“Malvern?” said Zack. “Your son? He’s only a teenager.”

“He turned eighteen on Friday! And he ran out and enlisted! And they’re

taking him, the day after he gets out of high school. He wants to be a man for

his country, even if it means getting killed.”

Zack was overwhelmed with confusion and sorrow. No wonder Fay was

on edge today. No wonder she was talking so strangely. He reached for the

Kleenex box and held it out to her.

“So don’t tell me about your nice Muslim friends.” She sneered. “And

don’t tell me doubt is good.” She saw the tissue box and ignored it. “I believe

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C h r i s t o p h e r B r a m

our president when he says this war is necessary. I believe him when he says

it’ll be over soon, before Malvern finishes school, and he won’t go over there.

I need to believe these things! I don’t need you filling up my head with things

to be afraid of!”

“Fay. Listen to yourself. You’re angry because I’m telling you things you

already know. You don’t trust our president either.”

She glared at him. “Don’t tell me what I think! People are always telling

me what I think.” She stood up, then sat down again.

“Fay. Wait. Just sit quietly for a minute.”

“No, I won’t sit quietly. I’ve been sitting quietly for months, and what do

I have to show for it? A son who’s joined the army. A husband who says I’m

wasting money on a quack. A minister who thinks I’m spending too much

time with an atheist homosexual. The damned and the saved, huh? The

damned and the saved? Who are you to call me hard-hearted?” She was on

her feet again and taking her coat off the rack.

“No, Fay. Sit down. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about. I sacrifice my only son to defend my

country, and all you can say is I hurt your feelings because you have Muslim

friends? That I’m a hard-hearted bitch because I believe in Jesus Christ?”

Zack wanted to stand up and argue—he intended to argue—but he

couldn’t move. “That’s not what I said. But that’s what you want to hear?

Fine. I’m not going to fight you. If you want to go, just go.”

She opened the office door and stood there, like a child daring a parent to

stop her. Then she went out to the front door. He heard her open and shut it

and hurry down the sidewalk to her car—she was able to drive again. The car

door slammed, and she drove off.

Zack fell forward in his chair, folding in on himself, feeling like a failure, a

complete fuckup. Fay was his favorite patient, and he’d found a dark side in

her, but he didn’t blame her. No, she was upset about her son. He wished

she’d told him sooner. So he wouldn’t have lost his temper and righteously

scolded her. He had been so damn full of himself, so superior and conde-

scending.

He took two cushions from the chair, got down on the floor, and lay on his

side, curled around his sorrow. It was the reverse of a panic attack, more like

E x i l e s i n A m e r i c a

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a numbness attack, a nothingness attack. He was amazed at how bad he felt.

He breathed in and out, trying to breathe away the badness. He hoped to re-

lease his sorrow in tears, but he found no tears; he was bone-dry.

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He couldn’t guess how long he had been lying on the floor when he heard the

front door jerk open.

“Zack?” cried Daniel from the front hall. He ran into the office and

dropped to his knees. “Honey? Honey!” He grabbed Zack’s shoulder and

pulled.

Zack rolled over and faced him. “I can’t do anything right. I can’t help

you. I can’t help myself. I can’t even help my patients.”