I spent the day today with Arthur, and it was a pleasant day. Arthur is a very thoughtful young man, with many ideas and dreams. He has a talent with computers—if he lived closer, I might try to connect him with Mary and her friends—but his real love is math and science. He cannot decide whether he wants to be a rocket scientist or a research biologist. Either would be a noble cause, I think.
He has a girlfriend, Amy, but their relationship is very casual. It is good for them both, for they have company and a way to practice being a companion to someone, but I do not see any deep feeling between the two of them.
In fact, Arthur’s closest relationships seem to be with his friends Greg and Alan. He’s known them both for many years, and they each share his interests to some extent. When Arthur has some trouble, Greg and Alan are the first ones to know about it.
So it was natural, after an argument with his mother this morning, that Arthur chose to confide in his friends.
“She’s going to be pissed at me,” Arthur said, glaring at his textbook. “But I have to study for this test.”
Greg, who knows and likes Arthur’s mother, said hesitantly, “We could’ve studied at your house.”
“No way. I had to get out of there for a little while. I don’t know why she doesn’t get that.”
My understanding was that Isabella wanted Arthur to stay home and keep his father company a bit this afternoon. For the most part, Arthur has been avoiding Harrington since he returned from the hospital. I believe it is for two reasons—first, the tension that stood between them before the accident, and second, that now Harrington’s changed demeanor makes Arthur uncertain how to act around him.
Alan, who is very sensitive to how difficult this situation must be, didn’t say anything. But Greg also knows and likes Harrington, so he asked, “How’s your dad doing, anyway?”
Arthur, made uncomfortable by the question—and I admit I put weight into his discomfort—shrugged. “Okay, I guess. He doesn’t talk to me much.”
Greg shook his head and turned back to his book. “Must suck,” he said. “Not being sure if you’re going to walk again.”
Arthur didn’t answer this. The guilt was churning in his stomach.
I did not want to press his guilt too much—if I did, I feared that he might rebel even further. Instead, I leaned close over him and murmured, “Before the accident, it would have been your father giving orders that you did not want to obey. Your mother only does this because she does not know how to control the family in her own way. Be patient with her; she is frightened, and she needs your support.”
Arthur mulled over this for some time, making no progress in studying for the chemistry test tomorrow. Then he closed his book with a thump and got to his feet. “I guess I better get home,” he grumbled, “before Mom really blows a gasket.”
Alan looked up with a smile. “Want a ride?”
“Thanks, man.”
They talked of inconsequential things on the way to Arthur’s house—mostly plans for prom, which would seem to be very important at this age. Mary and her friends have also been much distracted by this. It was a relief for Arthur to be distracted, so I did not try to interrupt them. When he was dropped off, however, I was close behind him as he went into the house.
Isabella was in the kitchen, trying to appear busy. The moment she heard the door, she went out into the hall to meet her son. “I thought I asked you to come straight home this afternoon,” she began.
Arthur sighed and dropped his bag on the stairs. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said.
I flew to Isabella before she could retort. “Anger is not needed,” I told her. “You love your son, and you love your husband, and you want them to help one another. Tell him so; have you not always felt that honesty is better?”
Isabella glared at Arthur for a moment; then her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you, sweetie. I just know that your father misses you, and I think he’d love it if you would spend some more time with him.”
“Yeah?” Arthur liked the thought that his father missed him, but he wasn’t sure he believed it.
Isabella smiled and picked up a magazine from the table by the door. “Why don’t you bring him this week’s Time?” she suggested. “He was asking for it earlier, but I forgot about it. Then maybe you could tell him about the test tomorrow that you’re supposed to be studying for.”
Arthur rolled his eyes at this jibe, but he took both the magazine and his bag and went down the hall to his father’s room.
Brid was in the room with Harrington, sitting beside his bed and radiating wellness. Even just a week after she began her treatments, Harrington looks better. It is nothing a human would be able to see, but already his aura seems less clouded, and his eyes are brighter.
Those eyes brightened further as Arthur came in. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, setting aside a scrap of newspaper and patting the bed. “Pull up some quilt.”
I made certain that Arthur noticed how happy Harrington was to see him. It made him smile as he sat on the edge of his father’s bed. “Since when do you do crosswords?” he asked.
Harrington grimaced. “Since your mother won’t let me see any of the accounts from the shop, or bring me anything new from the library.” He scowled at the stack of books beside his bed, his spirits dropping.
Arthur noticed this. “Well, I brought you this, anyway,” he said, holding up the magazine. “Want me to read you the comedy column?”
Harrington began to protest that he could read it for himself, but I brushed him lightly with his wing. “Your son is offering to spend time with you,” I said. “Are you not glad for that?”
He was, certainly, so he settled back into his pillows with a grunt. “Well, all right, but you better make it funny.”
Arthur smiled. “Tell you what: if I don’t make you laugh, I’ll sneak downstairs and get the accounts for you to look at.”
That made Harrington smile, too, and he held out his hand to his son, sealing the deal.
Arthur did manage to make his father laugh, but he smuggled the shop accounts up to his father anyway. I encouraged this, because I believed the work would be good for Harrington, and the small secret would be good for their relationship.
Little by little, as Brid says. If I am lucky and careful, in time they will both be more comfortable with one another, perhaps more so than they ever were. I certainly hope that I can bring about such a positive result.