Abbey Burning Love. Donan Ph.D. Berg
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Club. She opened eyes to see a nurse in green scrubs leave.
Melissa realized first visualization attempt began too shallow and stereotypical. She visualized Jane and Pedro’s strength, especially Jane’s courage to confront debilitating fears. Jane, conditioned by a controlling mother, abhorred hospitals and passed out numerous times within their walls. Melissa visualized relationship commitment as a fear that knocked her out. Sarah suggested in a late night gabfest Melissa needed to get past outward appearances and grasp inner feelings. As Sarah phrased it: feel the pulse of the other person’s heart and soul.
Her search for Rob Campbell at the gala was to have been a journey to explore Sarah’s suggestion with Melissa willing to be the pursuer. Rob’s employment didn’t meet an ideal of a high-powered job with material trappings. His bureaucratic mid-level position with the city allowed time to be at home without frequent extensive travel. She hadn’t heard any damaging scuttlebutt. From prior personal experience with the zoning commission, he exercised a strict code of right and wrong. From youthful paper route to high school basketball to decorated military service he both knew and was revered by many in the community. That would be good for Wally’s Club. Stop Melissa. This soul searching is personal, not business.
Contrary to Sarah’s admonitions to disregard, she considered Rob’s handsomeness a plus, notwithstanding the black patch issued by the U.S. Army to protect his left eye socket until an acrylic eyeball could be inserted. He must have sexual ability. She released a schoolgirl giggle. Although he and Nancy didn’t have kids, they were together years before her disappearance after his return from the Army. It wasn’t like either sought a divorce or an annulment. Yet, Rob hadn’t seemed to move on after Nancy’s disappearance. Cancer patients couldn’t obtain the most life offered until discovering a focus outside their own skins and Rob’s apparent chronic introspection a concern. But couldn’t she likewise condemn herself? However, she couldn’t evaluate or determine what was indeed true without knowing Rob better. If absolutely hostile, he wouldn’t have visited with Bull and Steve although his actions markedly reserved. The card with the boxed Willow Angel bore his signature, along with Bull, Steve, and Lisa.
The Abbey fire complicated all future attempts to “touch his soul.” The quest, admittedly limited, to identify the rescuing mystery man had been fruitless to date. Oscar lifted hope’s spirit only to quash it by identifying Clarence ostensibly carrying his wife. Then the plant delivery to spread joy to others hospitalized brought forth apparent truth of previously rumored past sexual slavery sins associated with the historic nunnery. Constance’s pronouncement delivered with passionate, seething anger and undeniable proof, if verified. Although decades in the past, vestiges of clergy abuse would dry donations and kill Father’s dream. She couldn’t let that happen even if it meant a future destiny lived to the grave as a frustrated old maid.
Eyes opened at the sound of footsteps. The nurse returned to record vital signs. Melissa remembered a promise to call Father.
* * *
At ten o’clock the next morning, Melissa waited in a wheelchair inside the hospital entrance with wet concrete visible through the glass doors. Hands folded discharge papers, cinched a plastic bag pull cord safeguarding few soiled clothes, and the Willow Angel Rob presumably contributed to.
Early morning raindrops no longer bounced off the concrete and Melissa required little help in getting into Sarah’s Ford Taurus. They chatted about their mundane morning activities until Sarah remarked the day represented the fire’s first week anniversary.
Melissa asked her friend to detour past The Abbey before dropping her at home. Within minutes, Melissa’s lower jaw slacked when presented with the destruction panorama beyond the lowered passenger window. Reality clashed with the brain’s memory of a towering bell tower, biblical stained-glass windows, and Father’s shade garden and curving mulch pathway.
Sarah applied the brakes and cut the engine; Melissa watched her friend’s hands tightly grip the Taurus steering wheel.
“Omigawd, Sarah. Never expected all this devastation.”
Partial stonewalls streaked black by flames coated in soot. Two tower bells crashed to earth and padlocked in chains. The building’s ballroom roof caved in. Father’s Patriot Hostas, roses, daylilies, and ornamental bushes trampled or crushed, even the mulch charred. Melissa couldn’t stem the tears. Salty streaks streamed from eyes to jaw. She wiped a cheek with the back of a hand. “Father’s hard work all gone. How do we start over?”
Sarah stared unblinking at the debris. No facial movement until tight, compressed lips parted. “You’ll find the silver lining. You always have.”
“If we tap the spirit of the kids, rebuilding will materialize. Never realized so many people could recount a connection to The Abbey.”
“Many were friends of your dad.” Sarah released steering wheel grip.
“Countless numbers asked me to convey their best wishes.” Melissa watched Sarah lower a hand to unlatch the driver’s door. “Found it hard to express Father’s condition. You know Mrs. Longstreet don’t you?”
Sarah rested hand at the door handle. “If you mean the retired spinster teacher, sure. I’m thinking I might end up alone like her.”
“She asked about Father, and while we spoke early this morning in her room I noticed she didn’t have a single plant or bouquet. Later located two plants where the giver hadn’t written on the store tag and took both to second floor nurse’s station. Lied they’d been wrongly delivered.” Sarah removed hand from the door handle. “Hope Mrs. Longstreet doesn’t remember my sixth grade handwriting.” Melissa tried to flash a mischievous smile.
“You’ve made me cry.”
Neither opened car doors, stared at the ruins. Sparrows, finches, and wrens flew past seemingly unwilling to land where life no longer flourished. Melissa repressed thoughts of Rob and any man. She permitted an aborted memory attempt to conjure up an image of the male who carried her off the stage. He should be nominated for an award.
She continued to stare at the massive ruin. Finally, deep within her subconscious, clouds, dark, black, and ominous were all she could visualize. The clouds surrounded and pressed against the optic nerve creating a blindfold masking all reality, feet kicking, suspended alone in unknown sphere.
* * *
Lounging in sweats on the sofa, Melissa turned down Sarah’s telephone invitation for a Saturday night at the movies. Dark crescents supporting both eyes deepened in bluish-black color each time she walked past the closet mirror until she slammed the door. The prior night’s dinner tossed under the kitchen sink after a mock race of meat, mashed potatoes, and carrots powered by a fork lapped the plate four times. Thereafter, restful sleep never came in the first night home since the fire. Spirits conjured up terrifying images of a fiery hell and exploding brimstone. Flames engulfed a church steeple. Men screamed. A bleeding woman lay trampled and pummeled by the hoofs of a rearing stallion. A little girl crying with black-streaked cheeks crouched behind a Sacred Heart statute holding tight to an American Girl doll. She woke up startled and alone clutching a pillow. In reality the statute of Jesus with its visible heart in The Abbey Chapel toppled and damaged beyond repair. The nightmare individuals roamed without distinguishable faces.
This morning she telephoned Dr. Raverty. Carol agreed to pick up a sleeping pill prescription on her way over. The front door bell clanged. Handed the prescription, Melissa stored it in the master bathroom and invited Carol into the kitchen where both eventually wandered to seated table positions.
“You want to stay with me for a few days?” Carol asked. She accepted a bottle of iced tea offered by Melissa.
“Need to battle and conquer my fears.”
“You’ve always had an independent streak. The community I’m sure labels it as drive.” Carol took a sip. “Don’t let yourself drift into plain old Malone stubbornness.”
“Won’t. Don’t you get Abbey nightmares?”
“Sure. Then try to force myself to think