One Summer (4 page)

Then came more silence.

Finally, a few minutes later Fred helped Jack get into bed, and then he and Bonnie went up to Jack and Lizzie’s room. They would be staying here full-time until other arrangements were made.

Jack lay in the dark staring at the ceiling. The days after Lizzie had died had been far worse than when he’d received his own death sentence. His life ending he’d accepted. Hers he had not. Could not. Mikki and Cory had barely spoken since the police officer had come with the awful news. Jackie had wandered the house looking for his mother and crying when he couldn’t find her.

Jack slid open the drawer of the nightstand and took out the six letters. He obviously had not written one on Christmas Eve. In these pages he had poured out his heart to the person he cherished above all others. As he looked down at the pages, wasted pages now, his spirits sank even lower.

Jack rarely cried. He’d seen fellow soldiers die horribly in the Middle East, watched his father perish from lung cancer, and attended the funeral of his wife. He had shed a few tears at each of these events, but not for long and always in a controlled way. Now, staring at the ceiling, thinking a thousand anguished thoughts, he did weep quietly as it finally struck him that Lizzie was really gone.

The next morning Bonnie took charge. She came to see Jack with Fred in tow. “This won’t be easy, Jack,” she cautioned, “but we really don’t have much time.” She squared her shoulders and seemed to attempt a sympathetic look. “The children of course come first. I’ve talked to Becky and also to Frances several times.”

Frances and Becky were Lizzie’s older sisters, who lived on the West Coast. The only brother, Fred Jr., was on active military duty, stationed in Korea. He had not been able to make it to the funeral.

“Becky can take Jack Jr., and Frances has agreed to take Cory. That just leaves Michelle.” Bonnie had never called her Mikki.

“
Just
Michelle?” said Jack.

Bonnie looked momentarily taken aback. When she spoke, her tone was less authoritative and more conciliatory. “This is hard on all of us. You know Fred and I had planned to move to Tempe next year after things were more settled with Lizzie
and the kids. We were going this year, but then you got sick. And we stayed on, because that’s what families do in those situations. We tried to do our best, for all of you.”

“We couldn’t have gotten on without you.”

This remark seemed to please her, and she smiled and gripped his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

She continued, “We’ll take Michelle with us. And because Jack Jr. will be in Portland with Becky and Cory in LA with Frances, they will all at least be on or near the West Coast. I’m sure they’ll see each other fairly often. It’s really the only workable solution that I can see.”

“When?” Jack asked.

“The Christmas break is almost over, and we think we can get all the kids transitioned in the next month. We decided it was no good waiting until the fall, for a number of reasons. It’ll be better all around for them.”

“For you too,” said Jack. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.

Bonnie’s conciliatory look faded. “Yes, us too. Jack, we’re taking care of all the children. They’ll all have homes with people they love and who love them. You can’t have an issue with that.”

Jack touched his chest. “And me?”

“Yes, well… I was getting to that, of course.” She stood but didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at a spot right over his head. “Hospice. I’ll arrange all the details.” Now she looked at him, and Jack had to admit, she didn’t look happy about this. “If we could take care of you, Jack, in the time that you have left, we would. But we’re not young anymore, and taking in Michelle and all…”

Fred added, “And Lizzie dying.”

Jack and Bonnie stared at him for an instant. Each seemed surprised the man was still there, much less that he had spoken. Bonnie said, “Yes, and Lizzie not… well, yes.”

Jack drew a long breath and mustered his strength. He said, “
My
kids,
my
decision.”

Fred looked at Jack and then over at his wife. Bonnie, though, had eyes only for Jack.

She said, “You can’t care for the kids. You can’t even take care of yourself. Lizzie did everything. And now she’s gone.” Her eyes glittered; her tone was harsh once more.

“Still my decision,” he said defiantly. He had no idea where he was going with this, but the words had tumbled from his mouth.

“Who else will take three kids? If we do nothing, the matter is out of our hands and they’ll go into foster care. They’ll probably never see each other again. Is that what you want?” She sat down next to him, her face inches from his. “Is that really what you want?”

He sucked in some more air, his resolve weakening along with his energy. “Why can’t I stay here?” he said. Another long inhalation. “Until the kids leave?”

“Hospice is much cheaper. I’m sorry if that sounds callous, but money is tight. Tough decisions have to be made.”

“So I die alone?”

Bonnie looked at her husband. Clearly, from his expression, Fred sided with Jack on this point.

Fred said, “Doesn’t seem right, Bonnie. Taking the family away like that. After all that’s happened.”

Jack shot his father-in-law an appreciative look.

Bonnie fidgeted. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” She sighed. “Jack, I’m not trying to be heartless. I care about
you. I don’t want to do any of this.” She paused. “But they just lost their mother.” Bonnie paused but didn’t continue.

It slowly dawned on Jack, what she was getting at.

“And to see me die too?”

Bonnie spread her hands. “But you’re right. You are their father. So I’ll leave it up to you. You tell me what to do, Jack, and I’ll do it. We can keep the kids here until… until you pass. They can attend your funeral, and then we can make the move. They can be with you until the end.” She looked at Fred, but he apparently had nothing to add.

Jack was surprised, then, when Fred said, “Anything you want, Jack, we’ll take care of it. Okay?”

Jack was silent for so long that Bonnie finally rose, clutched her sweater more tightly around her shoulders and said, “Fine, we can have an in-home nursing service come. Lizzie had some life insurance. We can use those funds to—”

“Take the kids.”

Fred and Bonnie looked at him. Jack said again, “Take the kids.”

“Are you sure?” asked Bonnie. She seemed to be sincere, but Jack knew this way would take a lot of the pressure off her.

He struggled to say, “As soon as you can.”
It won’t be long,
Jack thought.
Not now. Not with Lizzie gone.

When she turned to leave, Bonnie froze. Mikki and Cory were standing there.

Bonnie said nervously, “I thought you were upstairs.”

“You don’t think this concerns us?” Mikki said bluntly.

“I think the adults need to make the decisions for what’s best for the children.”

“I’m not a child!” Mikki snapped.

Bonnie said, “Michelle, this is hard on all of us. We’re just trying to do the best we can under the circumstances.” She paused and added, “You lost your mother and I lost my daughter.” Bonnie’s voice cracked as she added, “None of this is easy, honey.”

Mikki gazed over at her father. He could feel the anger emanating from his oldest child. “You’re all losers!” yelled Mikki. She turned and rushed from the house, slamming the door behind her.

Bonnie shook her head and rubbed at her eyes before looking back at Jack. “This is a big sacrifice, for all of us.” She left the room, with Fred obediently trailing her. Cory just stood there staring at his dad.

“Cor,” he began. But his son turned and ran back upstairs.

A minute went by as Jack lay there, feeling like a turtle toppled on its back.

“Jack?”

When he looked over, Bonnie was standing a few feet from his bed holding something in her hand.

“The police dropped this off yesterday.” She held it up. It was the bag with Jack’s prescription meds. “They found it in the van. It was very unfortunate that Lizzie had to go back out that night. If she hadn’t, she’d obviously be alive today.”

“I told her not to go.”

“But she did. For you,” she replied.

The tears started to slide down her cheeks as she hurried from the room.

The room was small but clean. That wasn’t the problem. Jack had slept for months inside a shack with ten other infantrymen in the middle of a desert, where it was either too frigid or too hot. What Jack didn’t like here were the sounds. Folks during their last days of life did not make pleasant noises. Coughs, gagging, painful cries—but mostly it was the moaning. It never ceased. Then there was the squeak of the gurney wheels as the body of someone who had passed was taken away, the room freshened up for the next terminal case on the waiting list.

Most patients here were elderly. Yet Jack wasn’t the youngest person. There was a boy with final-stage leukemia two doors down. When Jack was being wheeled to his room he’d seen the little body in the bed: hairless head, vacant eyes, tubes all over him, barely breathing, just waiting for it to be over. His family would come every day; his mother was often here all the time. They would put on happy expressions when they were with him and then start bawling as soon as they left his side. Jack had witnessed this as they passed his doorway. All
hunched over, weeping into their cupped hands. They were just waiting, too, for it to be over. And at the same time dreading when it would be.

Jack reached under his pillow and pulled out the calendar. January eleventh. He crossed it off. He had been here for five days. The average length of stay here, he’d heard, was three weeks. Without Lizzie, it would be three weeks too long.

He again reached under his pillow and pulled out the six now-crumpled envelopes with his letters to Lizzie inside them. He’d had Sammy bring them here from the house before it was listed for sale. He held them in his hands. The paper was splotched with his tears because he pulled them out and wept over them several times a day. What else did he have to do with his time? These letters now constituted a weight around his heart for a simple reason: Lizzie would never read them, never know what he was feeling in his last days of life. At the same time, it was the only thing allowing him to die with peace, with a measure of dignity. He put the letters away and just lay there, listening for the squeaks of the final gurney ride for another patient. They came with alarming regularity. Soon, he knew it would be his body on that stretcher.

He turned his head when the kids came in, followed by Fred. He was surprised to see Cecilia stroll in with her walker and portable oxygen tank resting in a burgundy sling. It was hard for her to go outside in the cold weather, yet she had done so for Jack. Jackie immediately climbed up on his dad’s lap, while Cory sat on the bed. Arms folded defiantly over her chest, Mikki stood by the door, as far away from everyone as she could be. She had on faded jeans with the knees torn out, heavy boots, a sleeveless unzipped parka, and a black long-sleeve T-shirt that said,
REMEMBER DARFUR
. Her hair was
now orange. The color contrasted sharply with the dark circles under her eyes.

Cory had been saying something that only now Jack focused on. His son said, “But, Dad, you’ll be here and we’ll be way out there.”

“That’s the way
Dad
apparently wants it,” said Mikki sharply.

Jack turned to look at her. Father’s and daughter’s gazes locked until she finally looked away, with an eye roll tacked on.

Cory moved closer to him. “Look, I think the best thing we can do, Dad, is stay here with you. It just makes sense.”

Jackie, who was struggling with potty training, slid to the side of the bed and got down holding his privates.

“Gramps,” said Mikki, “Jackie has to go. And I’m not taking him this time.”

Fred saw what Jackie was doing and scuttled him off to the bathroom down the hall.

As soon as he was gone, Jack said, “You have to go, Cor.” He didn’t look at Mikki when he added, “You all do.”

“But we won’t be together, Dad,” said Cory. “We’ll never see each other.”

Cecilia, who’d been listening to all this, quietly spoke up. “I give you my word, Cory, that you will see your brother and sister early and often.”

Mikki came forward. Her sullen look was gone, replaced with a defiant one. “Okay, but what about Dad? He just stays here alone? That’s not fair.”

Jack said, “I’ll be with you. And your mom will too, in spirit,” he added a little lamely.

“Mom is dead. She can’t be with anyone,” snapped Mikki.

“Mikki,” said Cecilia reproachfully. “That’s not necessary.”

“Well, it’s true. We don’t need to be lied to. It’s bad enough that I have to go and live with
them
in Arizona.”

Tears filled Cory’s eyes, and he started to sob quietly. Jack pulled him closer.

Jackie and Fred came back in, and the visit lasted another half hour. Cecilia was the last to leave. She looked back at Jack. “You’ll never be alone, Jack. We all carry each other in our hearts.”

Those words were nice, and heartfelt, he knew, but Jack Armstrong had never felt so alone as he did right now. He had a question, though.

“Cecilia?”

She turned back, perhaps surprised by the sudden urgency in his voice. “Yes, Jack?”

Jack gathered his breath and said, “Lizzie told me she wanted to take the kids to the Palace next summer.”

Cecilia moved closer to him. “She told you that?” she asked. “The Palace? My God. After all this time.”

“I know. But maybe… maybe the kids could go there sometime?”

Cecilia gripped his hand. “I’ll see to it, Jack. I promise.”

They all came in to visit Jack for the last time. They would be flying out later that day to their new homes. Bonnie was there, as was Fred. Cory and Jackie crowded around their father, hugging, kissing, and talking all at once to him.

Jack was lying in bed, dressed in a fresh gown. His face and body were gaunt; the machines keeping him comfortable until he passed were going full blast. He looked at each of his kids for what he knew would be the final time. He’d already instructed Bonnie to have him cremated. “No funeral,” he’d told her. “I’m not putting the kids through that again.”