At six-thirty a.m. McCabe and Maggie, each clutching a large cup of Starbucks’s darkest blend, walked through the doors of the main entrance of Montefiore Hospital on 210th Street in the Bronx. Though it was only a few miles from the house where McCabe had grown up, it was the first time he’d been in the place for over fifteen years. Not since his alcoholic father had died there from cirrhosis of the liver.
“I’m Michael McCabe,” he said to the silver-haired woman manning the reception desk. “We’re here to see my mother. Rose McCabe. She was brought in yesterday.”
The receptionist pecked away at her computer. “McCabe, Rose. Here she is. Intensive Care. Room 437. I’m afraid only immediate family are allowed up.”
“We are immediate family. Rose is my mother. This is my wife, Rose’s daughter-in-law.”
The receptionist glanced at Maggie’s ringless finger, and then at McCabe’s. She sighed and shrugged. “Fine. Whatever you say. Take the elevator to your left at the end of that hall. Fourth floor. When you get out, follow the signs to the ICU. The nurse there can direct you to the room.”
They headed toward the elevator. “The next time you tell people I’m your wife, you might want to include a ring,” said Maggie.
“Y’mean, people are still doing that ring stuff?”
“I do believe they are.”
They entered an empty elevator big enough to carry the entire starting defense of the New York Giants plus a gurney. McCabe pressed 4. When the door opened they followed signs to the ICU and then a duty nurse’s directions to room 437. The door was partially open. Pushing it all the way, McCabe saw Bobby snoring away on one of those ugly lime-green vinyl chairs that never seem to turn up anywhere other than hospital rooms. Since it was a Monday morning, McCabe’s older brother was still dressed in casual weekend garb. Jeans, a crewneck sweater and Topsiders. A Barbour rain jacket hung from the back of his chair. McCabe didn’t wake him. Just walked to the side of the bed where his mother lay attached to a variety of tubes, wires and monitors. Maggie came in but waited just inside the door to give McCabe a chance for a private moment alone with the woman who’d given him life.
McCabe looked down at Rose’s arms and face. She seemed frail, frightfully thin and badly bruised. Her head was swathed in what looked like a white skullcap. Her eyes were closed and she might have been dead save for the gentle rising and lowering of her chest. McCabe lowered the safety bars and leaned down to kiss his mother softly on the forehead. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at him, uncertain and confused. After a few seconds, she closed them again.
“She’s got a lot of morphine in her,” Bobby said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he didn’t want the woman in the bed to hear. He came up behind his younger brother. “Between the morphine and the dementia, she’s basically in la-la land. Won’t have any idea you’re here. Wouldn’t know you if she did.”
McCabe responded in the same quiet tones. “I understand. Have you given them a DNR?”
“Let’s go out in the hall,” said Bobby. “I can’t escape the feeling that some part of her is still listening to everything we say.”
The two brothers joined Maggie in the hall. McCabe made introductions.
Maggie held out her hand. Bobby ignored the proffered hand, put his arms around Maggie and gave her a hug. “Margaret Savage. Maggie. Been hearing about you for years. Lot more so lately. Glad I’m finally getting to meet you.”
“Me too,” said Maggie.
Bobby turned back to McCabe. “No, I didn’t sign a DNR. Frannie was dead set against it on religious grounds and she convinced me Mam would be against it as well. Not sure it really matters. She’s dying anyway. Basically, they’re just trying to keep her comfortable till she passes. Which will likely be soon. From what the doc says cause of death will probably be pneumonia, which she has now also developed, and not the injuries.”
“They giving her antibiotics?”
“No. I asked them not to. Please don’t mention that to Frannie.”
McCabe frowned at his brother.
“They’d only prolong the agony,” said Bobby. “I was the only one here at the time so I made the decision. I hope you agree.”
McCabe nodded. He wasn’t sure if he did agree but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.
McCabe simply nodded. “Okay. Your call. I understand Sister Mary Frances’s feelings given her religious convictions, and I’m not even sure I totally agree with you. But what with the injuries on top of the Alzheimer’s, let’s just say I understand and I’m not going to fight you on it.”
“I suppose in one sense there wasn’t much point dragging you down here just to watch her fade away. On the other hand I was pretty sure you’d want to be here if only to say good-bye.”
“Of course.”
“And she would have wanted you to be. You were her favorite child, y’know. Her baby.”
“No. Her firstborn was her favorite. When she heard how Tommy died, you remember how it broke her heart.”
“I remember. It broke all our hearts,” said Bobby. “You just happened to be the one who decided to do something about it. She was so happy you did what you did, you inherited the hero’s mantle.”
McCabe didn’t respond. He just stood there looking down at his mother, his mind flashing back to a night ten years earlier standing on a filthy stairwell in an abandoned building in the South Bronx where he’d tracked down the drug dealer. The guy named Two-Times. The guy who’d killed his brother. “Yeah, I killed your crooked brother,” Two-Times said when McCabe called him on it. “And now I’m gonna kill you.”
Two-Times fired his gun first. A dinky little .22. The round whizzed by McCabe’s ear. McCabe fired back. His aim was better.
“I didn’t go there intending to kill him,” McCabe said to his brother. “It really was self-defense.”
“Still, you got payback,” said Bobby. “Not just for yourself but for Rose as well. Which is what made you her favorite from that moment on.”
McCabe shrugged as if he didn’t see much point in arguing. “I guess. If you say so.”
McCabe led Maggie back into the room and to his mother’s bedside. “Mam, I’d like you to meet Margaret Savage. We call her Maggie. She’s going to be your new daughter-in-law. At least she is if she hasn’t changed her mind about accepting my proposal.”
Maggie touched Rose’s hand and gently squeezed. “I’m so sorry we won’t have a chance to get to know each other. I hope you don’t mind that there’s going to be another cop in the family.”
“Congratulations,” said Bobby with a wide smile, joining them at Rose’s bedside. He put his arms around both their shoulders. “And when did this momentous decision get momentously decided?”
“Last night,” said McCabe. “Right after you called.”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Maggie said, “it was all decided nine years ago when your brother moved to Maine and we started working together. You know? Love at first sight and all that jazz. Course it took a lot of doing getting from there to here.”
“And Mam,” said McCabe, “with your permission, since neither Bobby or Frannie will have any use for them, I’d like to give Maggie the engagement and wedding rings Dad gave you.”
McCabe could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile cross his mother’s face, as if she indeed had understood what her son had said. And that she agreed.
“Truth is,” said Bobby, “I’m thrilled. For both of you. But especially for you, baby brother. I know how you’ve felt about this woman for a long time. And you need a second chance so you can learn that marriage can be a way better deal than it was for you the first time around.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, why don’t we take a brief time out and go down to the cafeteria and celebrate your engagement with a crappy breakfast,” Bobby said. He bent down and kissed his mother. “You don’t mind if we run downstairs for a bit, do you, Mam?”
“You and Maggie go,” said McCabe. “I’d like to be alone with her for a while.”
“That’s fine. I’m pretty wiped so I may head home after we eat. Like I said, you two can stay at our place as long as you want.”
“Have you told Zoe yet?”
“No. I tried calling her last night. Just before I called you. Hasn’t gotten back to me yet. And I guess she hasn’t checked her messages. Probably dead to the world. The play closed last night and my guess is she was up late partying.”