Five for Forever (37 page)

At least it’s a happy end for the Vera,
Rick thought when he awoke with a jolt.
Out on the sea where she belongs, totally in her element.
He felt disoriented, almost a little disappointed that the dream was over. Details already started to fade, falling out of Rick’s memory, like heavy mist hiding exact shapes, but leaving the very satisfying knowledge that there was nothing to fear. The boat was never to see its intended shape or purpose again.
Maybe her spirit moved over into Hal and me this night? Have to ask him about his dreams later.

He blinked several times. His mind was fully there, but his body still had to adapt to the state of wake.

Nothing to fear? Total rubbish, of course, Mr. Flint, he thought. I still worry about Dana’s wild spirit, Agnes’s choice to join the navy and getting killed in foreign countries whose names you’ve never even heard of, Charles’s scary genius, and Britta’s rebellion. He looked at Louise’s sleeping body. And of course you, Louise, I will worry about you, too, day in and day out until we meet again, me worried and you hopefully cured.

His watch said 3:10 p.m.; he had slept more than six hours in this still very comfortable chair, a light blanket over his legs, fingers still intertwined with Louise’s hand and tubes. The nurse came in. “Back among the living?”

Rick rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. I had the perfect dream. These chairs are really something.”

“Meant for that. Sleeping, that is, not dreaming. We will charge you extra for that. I gave you a blanket; the air-conditioning sneaks up on you over time.”

“Thanks. What became of Dr. Singh’s ‘just a few minutes’?”

“Dr. Singh does not believe in God or miracles,” Singh said from the door. “Just in science, hard work, and luck. Accept my gracious minutes-to-hours promotion.”

Rick yawned once more and got up, folding the blanket carefully. “Where are the kids?”

“Mr. Floris has taken them somewhere. Hope that is okay with you. They wanted to text you a note.” He led Rick out of Louise’s room and helped him to shed the scrubs. Singh returned Rick his phone.

“What more can you wish for? The kids are going out with a first-class bodyguard.” Rick walked out of intensive care and started the phone. Two texts from Agnes popped up.

Hey, Dadster, sleep well, we are taking in the Baltimore sights a.k.a. shopping mall, ABCD

Hey Dadster, Floris bought us emergency cold weather coats and caps—we all look like the-Walking-Sleeping-Bags-from-Mars. Back at JH 3:30, wheels up 6:00 p.m. for LAX. Luv, ABCDF

Rick walked back into Louisie’s front room, stood at the big window, looking into the patient’s room. Hey, Lou, I’ll go now. Dream of something beautiful. Dream of something strong! Maybe your eternal dream is as perfect as mine was.

thirty-one

Beginnings

Back in Oxnard, arriving super-late, everyone fell into bed immediately. The next day the Flint family was back to normal, as far as normal could get after the events of the harebrained scheme. The winter clothes for four were squeezed into a laundry bag, and Charles started some vacuum experiments. Dinner came and went in its predictable storm of preparation, eating chaos, and cleanup. Any upsetting topic was avoided during conversation, and Rick had the suspicion that Charles had a counting-days list stored somewhere to track the nonresolution of the family issue. Agnes left after cleanup “to meet with her girls,” and off she went, no longer available for a face-to-face.

Rick decided to resolve the topic once and for all and waited Agnes out. Jimmy Fallon came on. During the final music act, the front door lock clicked, and Agnes tried to tiptoe past the living room.

Rick looked up, almost comatose, and hailed her. “Agnes, got a minute?”

Agnes stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Really, Dad, now? I am beat.”

“Me, too! Yes, now, really.”

She came forward and hesitantly stopped in the doorway until Rick patted on the sofa beside him; then she sat down, hugging the sofa cushion with her chin poked into one of the corners.

“I met Colonel Compston, retired, a few days ago in a supermarket. I recognized him, and we talked. He asked me to give you his regards.”

“Thanks,” Agnes said guardedly.

“He holds you in high regard, in very high regard, actually.”

“I thought his work is confidential.”

“He did not talk specifics, but he mentioned a situation in your final interview where you had command over the commanders.”

“Uh-oh, he hadn’t mentioned that to me. Is that bad?”

“No. Compton had been impressed by your natural leadership and presence,” Rick said and swallowed.

“Well, they accepted me, didn’t they?”

“Agnes, I am not perfect. And I know I should have never let it come to this. Not our beef over your college decision, or the breakup with Louise. But I can’t help it; I can’t change how I feel inside. The anger because of Louise’s infidelity. The fear about your future.”

“Dad, you don’t need to explain,” Agnes had tears in her eyes. She hated to see her father suffer.

“But I do. I failed you, and I failed Louise. But I am rambling because now I fear not only for you but also for Louise.”

“Dad, there’s no need to beat yourself up,” Agnes said.

“All I wanted to say is this: all is good, Agnes. I am so proud of you, it makes my chest swell. You will end up top of your class in high school. You impressed some serious military officers. You held this madness we call Flint together all these years when I couldn’t.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Agnes said, crying openly. She abandoned the cushion and put her arms around his neck, giving him a big kiss. They held each other for a moment.

“What changed your mind?” she asked after she had dried her tears.

“The realization that you are not only my daughter but your own self now. It’s not like you turned eighteen, started smoking, and ran off with the boy next door. The opposite. You made a courageous, complex choice even though you could have made a simpler one. You decided to challenge yourself. To be there unconditionally for your country. Even if I’m scared beyond belief about what might happen to you, it shows me what a great girl you’ve become. And I am so proud of you, my head is going to burst if I continue talking about it.”

“This means a lot to me, Dad.” Agnes hugged him again.

They sat side by side for a minute, seeing the final moments of the Black Keys, with the TV on mute.

“Do you think Mom would have approved of my choice?” Agnes asked.

“Don’t test your luck. One redemption per night should do, young lady. But in my considered opinion: over her dead body.”

“Oh, Dad, that’s a terrible joke!”

“I know. But I had to make it.” Rick laughed. “Now, off to bed! I’m beat, too.”

Agnes gave him another kiss and ran upstairs, bouncing steps, a weight lifted off her shoulders.

Rick sat back and turned on the volume again to hear the last bars.

The last time I made that sort of joke was the day I met Louise for the first time. Hope she is hanging on! And by the way, I know that I spoke the truth: you would never have accepted Agnes’s choice, Bella.

The ghost of Bella, as usual, did not confirm or deny.

“Tell me again what your company is going to do if not build furniture?” Rick asked.

He and Styler stood in the empty workshop area that used to be Flint and Heller Fine Wooden Boats.

“Simple, dude! I want to sell dreams. Everyone dreams about owning a fine wooden boat, right?” Styler said, waving his arms around the empty room. He still had his shaggy blond surfer hair, cut-off jeans, and punk band T-shirt. And he had signed the lease for the workshop. Parts of the front yard would be repurposed for boat storage, but the workshop and the waterfront belonged to him now. As did the half-finished
Vera
, waiting for a new purpose.

“Dreaming is the right word. Everyone dreams, no one buys,” Rick said wryly.

“No one buys wooden boats. Why? Too expensive. Too unpractical. However . . .” Styler raised a finger. “People like to be reminded of fine wooden boats. The number of people buying
WoodenBoat
magazine is tenfold the number of people actually owning a wooden boat. So, what can we do to remind them?”

“Furniture?”

“Furniture that reminds them of a fine wooden boat. A garden bench in the shape of a boat cockpit, made from an actual old cockpit. A kitchen counter in the shape of a boat hull that actually was a real boat hull. The possibilities are endless. We will experiment with some designs, and see what sells. We’ll sell dreams of wooden boats. A little part of a wooden boat. We sell the freedom of the sea without all the hassle like saltwater, strong winds, navigational woes, and circling sharks.”

Rick was impressed by Styler’s determination, which for a moment reminded him of Steve Jobs’s presentations.

“So we capture and convey the spirit of wooden boats?”

“Exactly, you got it. Welcome on board!”

“I didn’t say
yes
, yet,” Rick reminded him.

“But you will. You’re no house builder. And you won’t relocate because of your kids and the fine weather. And I’m offering you a good job. We are well funded from my father’s start-up cash and some California state incentives. I want to foster a start-up culture, which means the employees of the first generation will receive ownership, shares. You might become stinking rich.”

“Don’t you think it will be a strange experience, our roles reversed?” Rick said.

“My man, dude. Where did that stiff broomstick in your ass suddenly come from? I am good if you are good! Don’t ever call me sir! I am the Dude.”

Rick looked Styler in the eye. “If I know one thing: I will never call you the Dude. But let’s do it, boss.”

Styler hugged Rick like a brother and patted his back. “I love you, my man, I really do!”

“What about . . . ?”

“I can read your mind, my man! Hal is already on board. We need someone to run the machines and the floor, right?”

“Why didn’t he tell me in person? I thought he wanted time off, to get distance,” Rick said.

“Dude, we wouldn’t want to separate the Siamese twins of the wooden boat business!”

Singh was at his patient’s side when Louise woke up after a week in a coma. The first day, she was still drifting in and out of sleep, the remaining anesthesia still moving through her body. During one of her few lucid moments, her eyes roamed around the room and found her two talismans and a new one sitting on the desk beside her bed.
Bear?
she thought but drifted off again.

The next morning Louise and Dr. Singh talked strategy.

“Your levels are all good, no infection—we took good care of you. Chemo will start after lunch.”

“How do you see my chances?”

Singh shrugged. “Not reacting to the immunotherapy has no influence on the success of the chemo, so you are back at square one. Except that the cancer had time to spread for three weeks.”

“So the uphill got steeper. Bummer. But let’s go for it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Singh sat down beside her bed. “I need to tell you about something. You had visitors while you were sleeping. Four kids and a handsome guy I am quite jealous of.”

“Rick and the kids were here?” Louise was stunned and sat up. “What happened?”

“They were not aware of your dire condition, so in a way they came for nothing. Mr. Flint sat by your side for a while, held your hand, even fell asleep. The little girl left you this gift.” Singh pointed at the small blue bear.

“Did he . . . did they leave a note?” Louise asked.

Singh shook his head. “You want a phone to call?”

She shook her head. “Too hard. I want to focus on the treatment with no distraction.”

“But a family or partner would help you through the next stages.”

“It would disrupt their lives completely. They have their lives out west.”

“We could relocate—” Dr. Singh proposed, but Louise cut him off.

“I want to focus on this now!” she said, louder than she intended.

“That’s the level of energy we need to succeed,” Dr. Singh said, completely unaffected by her emotional outburst.

“Can you fetch me pen and paper before we start?”

“Sure, right away,” Singh left and came back with a stack of sheet paper and a simple Bic pen. Then he gave Louise her privacy.

She stared at the blank sheet of cheap printer paper in front of her. It had been a while since she had written a full-blown private letter. Had she ever? Thank-you notes, business queries, yes. But a real letter?

Beloved Rick . . .

That’s a start, Lou Baby! A piece of paper as wide as the ocean, waiting to be filled with words.

Beloved Rick,

When you will read this, I will have started chemotherapy, as the next stage to battle the cancer. With an unknown outcome. Let’s not mince words—we both screwed up. But this does not matter now. Dr. Singh told me about the Flint gang coming here, and this makes you guys very special to me, even though I was sleeping. Thank Dana for the talisman she left behind.

For me there is no past and no future. I need to live in the moment until I have won. Or lost. Dr. Singh feels it is a good idea to have something to hold on to, someone to hold, a family to behold, someone to hope with, and something to hope for. But there is past baggage and future baggage, and I can’t deal with baggage right now. We are what we are, and I have always been a person who was alone but never felt lonely. And I have fought my battles alone in the past. Should I lose, we will never meet again; many things will be left unspoken. But let me say from my side: you are the love of my life, the man I had, and the man I want to continue to have. (I Googled this, and I am pretty sure that I didn’t quote from another movie here.)

Having said that, here comes a demand and a promise.

I demand that you don’t worry about me. Live your life to the fullest, make your kids happy, marry some other nice girl in case I am unable to be the one.

My promise: should I win, I want to win it all—my life and a life with you and the kids. You will have me unconditionally, Louise Waters the girl from Kansas who likes to play Barbie with Dana, talks skating and surfing with Bri, is amazed by Charles, and follows Agnes Navy career.