Proof of Heaven by Mary Curran Hackett

Pierce. It was real. And the purpose of that love produced a child. But just because it was real, it didn’t make it right. It didn’t mean it would last forever. Her head knew that, but her heart felt an entirely different thing. She missed him. She imagined various scenarios in which he, with his guitar slung behind his back, would surprise her by arriving on the doorstep of their apartment or by meeting her at the same subway station where he first saw her all those years ago. She dreamed he would touch her cheek, smooth the hair on top of her head, and slide his hands over an escaped wisp and tuck it behind her ear as he gently kissed her. If she closed her eyes, she could feel it, almost believe he was real. He was there and he loved her. But when she opened her eyes, he was gone and it was her own hand tucking her hair. And it hurt all over again. She had to believe the pain of his leaving her, of his leaving their son, would subside someday. It just hadn’t happened yet. Yes, it hurt considerably less than it did all those years ago, but at any moment the pain asserted itself—a note to the parents of Colm Magee, a homemade Father’s Day card from the day-care center that went to no one, a Dylan song on the radio. Yes, whenever Cathleen felt the familiar sting, she reminded herself of the words the monsignor spoke often, “These things take time, dear. Let your heart heal. No reason to get back out there right away. You have Colm now to love—that’s all you need now.”
    She reminded herself of his wisdom as she brushed her teeth without looking up at herself again in the mirror. Then she turned out the lights and headed off to her bedroom. If life had taught Cathleen Magee anything, it was this: No matter what, the morning always came and whatever it brought her—a note on the mirror, a trip to the hospital—she would survive as long as her brother and son were by her side.

Chapter 12
    S ean woke up abruptly feeling the violent, burning surge lurching up his esophagus. For a second he had forgotten where he was—on Cathleen’s couch—so when he stood up and headed toward what he thought was his own bathroom, he tripped over the coffee table, causing his half-filled glass of club soda and whiskey to spill across the table and soak Cathleen’s Elle Décor .
    â€œShitgoddammitall,” he said, stumbling over the table, ignoring the mess. He knew he had only seconds to get to the bathroom.
    Once down the hall, he slammed the bathroom door shut behind him and began making a loud retching sound that echoed in the toilet.
    Cathleen sprang out of bed immediately and screamed out, “You all right in there, Sean?”
    â€œYeah, fine. Nothing to worry about,” Sean whispered, staring into the bowl. Without looking, he reached behind himself, grabbed Cathleen’s bath towel, and wiped what he thought was the usual clear liquid dripping out of his nose. When he pulled the towel away, he noticed a mixture of fluorescent-colored bile tinged with blood. He stared for a second and then stood up in front of the mirror. He looked for cuts on his lips, but then he realized the blood was coming from his stomach. The thought of this made him gag again, and when he looked at the vomit in the bowl, he saw the green and red swirl.
    â€œNever, ever again,” he whispered to himself. “Never.”
    â€œSeriously, Sean, are you OK? What’s going on?”
    â€œNothing, don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Nothing a solid Bloody Mary won’t fix.” He laughed, trying to make an ill-timed joke.
    â€œGeez, Sean.”
    â€œI’m joking. Come on! It’s nothing.”
    â€œWell, hurry up in there. I want to get ready and get to the hospital before Colm wakes up,” Cathleen said, shaking her head and trying to hold back her usual tirade against his drinking.
    â€œGive me a minute,” Sean said as