One Summer by David Baldacci
There were a few moments of silence; then Bonnie said, “The Palace! Lizzie, you know—”
“Mom, don’t.”
“This is not something you need, certainly not right now. It’s too painful.”
“That was a long time ago,” Lizzie said quietly. “It’s different now. It’s okay. I’m okay. I have been for a long time, actually, if you’d ever taken the time to notice.”
“It’s never long enough,” her mother shot back.
“Let’s not discuss it tonight. Not tonight,” said Lizzie.
After her parents left, Jack listened as his wife’s footsteps came his way. Lizzie appeared in the doorway. “That was a nice Christmas Eve.”
He nodded his head dumbly, his gaze never leaving her face. The tick of the clock next to his bed pounded fiercely in Jack’s head.
“Don’t let her talk you out of going to the Palace, Lizzie. Stick to your guns.”
“My mother can be a little…”
“I know. But promise me you’ll go?”
She nodded, smiled. “Okay, I promise. Do you need anything else?” she asked.
Jack looked at the clock and motioned to the access line below his collarbone, where his pain meds were administered.
“Oh my gosh. Your meds. Okay.” She started to the small cabinet in the corner where she kept his medications. But then Lizzie stopped, looking slightly panicked.
“I forgot to pick up your prescription today. The play and… I forgot to get them.” She checked her watch. “They’re still open. I’ll go get them now.”
“Don’t go. I’m okay without the meds.”
“It’ll just take a few minutes. I’ll be back in no time. And then it’ll just be you and me. I want to talk to you some more about next summer.”
“Lizzie, you don’t have to—”
But she was already gone.
The front door slammed. The van started up and raced down the street.
Later Jack woke, confused. He turned slowly to find Mikki dozing in the chair next to his bed. She must have come downstairs while he was asleep. He looked out the window. There were streams of light whizzing past his house. For a moment he had the absurd notion that Santa Claus had just arrived. Then he tried to sit up because he heard it. Sounds on the roof.
Reindeer? What the hell was going on?
The sounds came again. Only now he realized they weren’t on the roof. Someone was pounding on the front door.
“Mom? Dad?” It was Cory. His voice grew closer. His head poked in the den. He was dressed in boxer shorts and a T-shirt and looked nervous. “There’s someone at the door.”
By now Mikki had woken. She stretched and saw Cory standing there.
“Someone’s at the front door,” her brother said again.
Mikki looked at her dad. He was staring out at the swirl of lights. It was like a spaceship was landing on their front lawn. In Cleveland? Jack thought he was hallucinating. Yet when he looked at Mikki, it was clear that she saw the lights too. Jack raised a hand and pointed at the front door. He nodded to his daughter.
Looking scared, she hurried to the door and opened it. The man was big, dressed in a uniform, and had a gun on his belt. He looked cold, tired, and uncomfortable. Mostly uncomfortable.
“Is your dad home?” he asked Mikki. She backed away and pointed toward the den. The police officer stamped off his boots and stepped in. The squeak of his gun belt sounded like a scream in miniature. He walked where Mikki was pointing, saw Jack in the bed with the lines hooked to him, and muttered something under his breath. He looked at Mikki and Cory. “Can he understand? I mean, is he real sick?”
Mikki said, “He’s sick, but he can understand.”
The cop drew next to the bed. Jack lifted himself up on his elbows. He was gasping. In his anxiety, his withered lungs were demanding so much air the converter couldn’t keep up.
The officer swallowed hard. “Mr. Armstrong?” He paused as Jack stared up at him. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident involving your wife.”
6
Jack sat strapped into a wheelchair staring up at his wife’s coffin. Mikki and Cory sat next to him. Jackie had been deemed too young to attend his mother’s funeral; he was being taken care of by a neighbor. The priest came down and gave Jack and his children holy communion. Jack nearly choked on the host but finally managed to swallow it. Ironically, it was the first solid food he’d had in months.
At my wife’s funeral.
The weather was cold, the sky puffy with clouds. The wind cleaved the thickest coats. The roads were still iced and treacherous. They’d been driven to the cemetery in the funeral home sedan designated for family members. His father-in-law, Fred, rode up front, next to the driver, while he and the kids were squeezed in the back with Bonnie. She had barely uttered a word since learning her youngest daughter had been instantly killed when her van ran a red light and was broadsided by an oncoming snowplow.
The graveside service was mercifully brief; the priest seemed to understand that if he didn’t hustle things along, some of the older people might not survive the event.
Jack looked over at Mikki. She’d pinned her hair back and put on a black dress that hung below her knees; she sat staring vacantly at the coffin. Cory had not looked at the casket even once. As a final act, Jack was wheeled up to the coffin. He put his hand on top of it, mumbled a few words, and sat back, feeling totally disoriented. He had played this scene out in his head a hundred times. Only he was in the box and it was Lizzie out here saying good-bye. Nothing about this was right. He felt like he was staring at the world upside down.
“I’ll be with you soon, Lizzie,” he said in a halting voice. The words seemed hollow, forced, but he could think of nothing else to say.
As he started to collapse, a strong hand gripped him.
“It’s okay, Jack. We’ll get you back to the car now.” He looked up into the face of Sammy Duvall.
Sammy proceeded to maneuver him to the sedan in record time. Before closing the door, he put a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll always be there for you, buddy.”
They were driven home, the absence of Lizzie in their midst a festering wound that had no possible healing ointment. Jackie was brought home, and people stopped by with plates of food. An impromptu wake was held; devastated folks chatted in low tones. More than once Jack caught people gazing at him, no doubt thinking, My God, what now?
Jack was thinking the same thing. What now?
Two hours later the house was empty except for Jack, the kids, and his in-laws. The children instantly disappeared. Minutes later Jack could hear guitar strumming coming from Mikki’s bedroom, the tunes melancholy and abbreviated. Cory and Jackie shared a bedroom, but no sound was coming from them. Jack could imagine Cory quietly sobbing, while a confused Jackie attempted to comfort him.
Bonnie and Fred O’Toole looked as disoriented as Jack felt. They had signed on to help their healthy daughter transition with her kids to being a widow and then getting on with her life. Without the buffer that Lizzie had been, Jack could focus now on the fact that his relationship with his in-laws had been largely superficial.
Fred was a big man with a waistline large enough to portend a host of health problems down the road. He tended to defer to his wife in all things other than sports and selling cars, which was the line of work that had brought him to Cleveland. He was a man who would prefer to look at the floor rather than in your eye, unless he was trying to sell you the latest Ford F-150. Then he could be animated enough, at least until you signed on the dotted line and the financing cleared.
Bonnie was shorter than her daughter. The mother of four grown children, she was now well into her sixties, and her figure had lost its shape. Her waist and hips had turned into a solid wall of flesh. Her hair was white, cut short and rather brutally, and her eyeglasses filled most of her square face. Fred kept sighing, rubbing his big hands over his pressed suit pants, as though attempting to rub some dirt off his fing
Fred sighed again, and this seemed to rouse Bonnie.
“Well,” she said. “Well,” she said again. Fred eyed her, as did Jack.
She looked over and gave Jack a quick glance that was undecipherable.
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.
7
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 e
“Cor,” he began. But his son turned and ran back upstairs.
A minute went by as Jack lay there, feeling like a turtle