by Lou Mindar
Liz nodded and looked at Scott. “Do you have any questions?”
Scott had a million questions, most of which the doctor had no way of answering. He cleared his throat. “Is she going to be all right?”
“We’re going to do everything in our power to make sure she’s all right. I can’t make any promises, but I’m very optimistic.”
*
In the car on the way home from the hospital, Scott was quiet. He racked his brain on how to get out of this life, to start over and let Liz live. If starting over and avoiding her meant she could live a long, healthy life, he’d gladly do it.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Liz said.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
“How could you make things worse?” she asked. “I just got the worst news of my life. I could really use my husband’s support.” She tried to force a smile, but it didn’t work.
Scott pulled the car over to the curb. He shook his head and fought back tears. “I’m devastated, Liz. This is all my fault. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Your fault?” Liz snorted. “How on earth can this be your fault?”
He shook his head again and his shoulders drooped. “I don’t know.”
“It’s not your fault,” Liz said in a soft voice. “It’s nobody’s fault. It just happened. All we can do now is react to it, try to kill the cancer before it kills me.”
“You’re not going to die,” Scott snapped. “That’s not going to happen.”
“No, I’m not going to die,” Liz said. “But I need you there to fight with me. Can you do that?”
“Of course.”
“I need a husband right now. Not a parent or a caregiver. I don’t need you deferring to me or waiting for me to make decisions. I need you to be my husband.”
“I am your husband.” Scott was confused, not sure what Liz was saying. It must be the stress of her diagnosis. She must not be in her right mind.
Liz patted Scott on the arm. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 89
October 1991
Whitecaps rolled across the surface of Lake Mendota. A few weeks earlier, sailboats, canoes, and kayaks had dotted the lake. Now, the wind blew hard, the temperatures dipped, and whitecaps had the surface of the lake all to themselves.
Scott sat on the deck behind his house in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that was too light for the weather. He sipped a Jack Daniels and Coke that both warmed and chilled him, and he hoped, would soon numb him. His brain was working overtime and he wanted to escape it, even if just for a moment.
He marveled again at the way history was not repeating itself. He had grown used to knowing the outcome of certain events.
Was it possible that changing one thing in a person’s life could change other things? Obviously, because she wasn’t with Scott somewhere other than Naperville, Kathy had died in November 1989. But this thing with Liz—this cancer—was a different story. She was living in the same town she had lived in in her previous life. She was around a lot of the same people. The only real difference was she wasn’t working at the high school, but she was married to Scott. Was he the cause of the hardships the women in his life had suffered? By marrying Melanie instead of breaking up with her, had Scott caused her to become an alcoholic? Had marrying Holly led to her to having another man’s child? And worst of all, did Liz now have cancer because she had married Scott instead of the man she had married in her previous life?
All this time, from Melanie to Holly, and now, to Liz, he had only thought about himself. The relationships were there to serve his purposes, to satisfy his needs. Even when he decided to completely dedicate himself to Liz, he did so for selfish reasons. He wanted to have a successful, fulfilling relationship for himself. Who the relationship was with and what the other person needed were secondary concerns.
Scott took a drink. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wanted out. He wanted to fall asleep, find his father, and tell him that he wanted out of this life. Send him back to Holly or Melanie. Send him anywhere.
He wiped at the tears with his shirt sleeve and finished his drink. The wind howled across the lake and washed over him. He closed his eyes and thought about Central Park and wooden benches. He thought about being surrounded by white clouds and seeing his father. He willed himself out of this life and into another. “Please, Dad,” he said under his breath. When he opened his eyes, he saw white caps rolling across the water. He stood unsteadily and threw the glass toward the dock and the lake beyond. Ice cubes flew into the yard, and the glass landed harmlessly in the browning grass, well short of the water.
Chapter 90
December 1991
The nurse ushered Scott and Liz into the doctor’s office and asked them to have a seat in the two chairs placed in front of the doctor’s desk. “Doctor Harding will be right in,” the nurse said. She left the office, closing the door behind her.
Liz had been going through radiation treatments for weeks. After her last treatment, the nurse told her that the doctor would like to meet with her to review her progress, and suggested she bring her husband along.
Liz sat slumped in her chair. Scott saw she was tired. The radiation treatments had taken their toll. Liz’s arms were thin, the skin hanging loose, her face drawn and pale.
Doctor Harding came in wearing a forced smile. He shook Scott’s hand and gave Liz a gentle hug. “Thank you both for coming in.”
“After seeing you so often in the exam room, it seems odd to see you in here,” Liz said.
Doctor Harding smiled. “I wanted to talk to you today. To both of you.” Doctor Harding’s speech was clipped and his movements stiff, as if he was uncomfortable.
Liz sat up straighter in her chair. Scott reached over and held her hand.
“When you started treating, I knew you were very sick, but I was optimistic that we could successfully treat you,” Doctor Harding said. “I became even more optimistic when we were able to remove so much of the tumors during surgery.”
Liz squeezed Scott’s hand.
“Unfortunately, the cancer hasn’t been responding to the radiation.”
The air went out of Liz, and she slumped again in her chair.
“We’ve thrown everything we have at the cancer, but I’m afraid the tumors have grown and spread. The PET scan shows you now have tumors in your lungs and liver, as well as in your neck.” The doctor exhaled, then leaned forward and tented his hands in front of his mouth. He seemed to be steeling himself. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. I really am sorry.”
Scott fought back the urge to vomit. “There must be something else you can do, some drug or experimental treatment.”
Doctor Harding shook his head slowly. “I wish there was, but we’ve used all of the weapons we have.”
Liz sank deeper into the chair, her arms crossed, hugging herself. Scott leaned forward in his chair. He alternated his gaze between his wife and the doctor. “We can’t give up. Not yet. There must be more that can be done.”
Liz suddenly sat up. She placed her hand on Scott’s arm to quiet him. “We did everything we could.” She stood. “I’m tired, Scott. Take me home.”
Chapter 91
February 1992
The waiter dropped off their food. Scott picked up his fork, moved his food around a little, then put his fork down. He scooted his plate away and sat back in the booth he shared with his mother.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said. “Liz has only been gone a month.”
“The house was for Liz, Mom,” Scott said. “Without her, I’d just as soon sell it.”
“But you’ve always loved that house, and the view of the lake.”
“That’s because I shared it with Liz. Without her, it’s just not the same.”
“Of course, it’s not the same,” his mother said. “But there’s no need to rush into anything. Give it a few months at least. It’s not good to make big decisions so
soon after something like this.”
Scott felt a swell of anger rise in him. Something like this? His wife died. There was nothing like this except this. He took a deep breath. He knew she meant well. She was just trying to help. And if he was being honest, she was probably right. What would he accomplish by selling the house? Where would he go?
He had grown used to the rhythm of living until his forty-fourth birthday, then starting over at a younger age. As best he could tell, the extra lives were given to him so he could find out once and for all who he should have married. But now with Liz gone, his three possibilities had been exhausted. What happened next? He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that he was twelve years away from his forty-fourth birthday and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
“You’re right, Mom. I’ll give it a little time.”
His mother smiled. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
*
He promised his mother that he wouldn’t sell the house at least for a few months. She wanted him to take his time and not rush into anything. But he hadn’t promised her that he wouldn’t prepare to sell the house. After she went home, Scott started boxing up Liz’s things. He knew Liz wouldn’t want anything to go to waste, so he gave her clothes to a local women’s shelter. He donated her books to the library’s annual book sale, and he found some school supplies that he donated to her old school in DeForest.
As he cleaned out the nightstand, he found Liz’s diary. He tossed it into a box of things he was going to throw away, but then thought better of it. He pulled the diary out of the box and walked downstairs.
It was late afternoon and the sun was just about to set. He clicked on a light and sat next to it on the couch. He felt a little strange as he opened the diary, but it was all he had left of her, and he desperately wanted to spend time with Liz again, even if just with her words.
The first few entries were about their honeymoon. Liz wrote about things they had seen and places they had visited. She wrote as if she was sharing the experience with an old friend, and Scott enjoyed reliving the memories with her.
Near the mid-point of the diary, Liz’s tone changed. It turned more introspective. She stopped recording events and began sharing more about her feelings toward him and their relationship. The first few were about her love for Scott and her gratitude that they were together. But the entries slowly changed.
There’s no doubt that I love Scott. He’s a wonderful man. But there’s something missing in him and in our relationship. He’s kind and caring and funny and loving, but something’s not right in the way he acts toward me. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it. The more time we spend together, the more I can feel it. I love him, but he’s not the same person I met in Chicago. Something has changed.
Scott thought back to the day he had returned to this life, when he and Liz were running along the lakefront. Of course, he was different. At that moment, when he had returned, he wasn’t the same person. He had three lifetimes behind him, and he had returned knowing some—although, as it turned out, not all—of what the future held for them.
He turned the page and continued to read.
Scott makes everything about me. I know that, on the surface, that sounds great, but it really isn’t. I want to share a life with him, not have him sacrifice his life to cater to me. But how do I tell him that? How do I tell him that he needs to think less of me and more about himself? He’s being genuinely loving and caring toward me. I can’t very well tell him to stop.
Scott was surprised to read his wife’s words. He never once thought he was being too nice or that his concern for her had been more of a burden than a gift. Of course, he had dedicated himself to Liz. He had done it to make sure that they had a happy, successful life together. But to read her words, it sounded like his efforts had fallen short.
This is crazy. Scott spent the day doing exactly what I wanted to do. He cooked my favorite breakfast, then we spent the day shopping for bedroom furniture because I said I was tired of our current furniture. We drove all the way to Milwaukee until I found the exact set I wanted. I found bedroom sets I liked in Madison, but Scott wouldn’t stop until I found exactly what I wanted. Then, after all of that, he wanted to know where I wanted to go for dinner. I asked him where he wanted to go, and he gave me the same answer he always gives me: “I want to do what you want to do.”
This is our problem. Scott doesn’t want a life separate from me. But that’s so limiting. Rather than sharing our lives together, we’re only sharing my life. Does that make sense? He’s like a live-in concierge who caters to my every need but doesn’t bring any of himself to our lives. I want to know him. I want to do things he likes. I want to share in his life. But he really doesn’t have any hobbies or interests that don’t involve me. Even as much as he likes kayaking, he doesn’t like to go anymore unless I go with him.
I’m being horribly selfish. I know that. I should be grateful for everything we have and the time we spend together. But I feel like, after I got the job in DeForest (a job I miss every day), he shut himself off. He gave up his job, gave up his ambition, and dedicated himself to me and our relationship.
He flipped to the end of the diary.
It’s not going to be much longer now. The doctors have given up and it’s just a matter of time before I die. It feels weird to write that, but in a way, it’s a relief. Either I’m in horrible pain or I’m on medication that prevents me from experiencing my life. It’s no way to live.
I wanted to talk to Scott today, to tell him things I should have told him years ago, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to know that, as much as I love and appreciate him, he needs to stop sacrificing himself for me. He’s a young man, and when I’m gone, he’ll eventually fall in love again with someone else. I want him to be happy, so he has to understand that he needs to build his own life so he can share it with someone else. Spending your life trying to please another person isn’t a good life, for either person. You have to care for yourself as much as you care for the other person. I should have told him this a long time ago, but I didn’t have the guts. Maybe I will tomorrow.
Scott put the diary down on the table. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he dabbed at them with the back of his hands.
He had tried to do everything he could to make her happy, but in the end, he had only made her miserable. Maybe not miserable, but less happy than she could have been. And now that he knew the truth, he had twelve years or more to live with the guilt.
Chapter 92
August 1992
Behind the house, on the lake, Scott got into his kayak and started paddling. He felt numb and had little energy, but after looking at the kayak sitting in the backyard next to the dock for months, he felt the need to get back out on the water.
His paddling felt mechanical, the movements practiced during lifetimes of kayaking, but his shoulders creaked, and his arms ached from months of inactivity. Even so, he kept paddling, moving his boat farther out into the lake.
He had taken his mother’s advice and kept the house on Lake Mendota after Liz’s death. But that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about selling it every day. Now, eight months after her death, he thought he might actually put it on the market.
He felt like a failure. He had been given the gift—if, in fact, it was a gift—of being able to live his life over and over, to build happy, successful relationships. And in each case, he had failed. Now, he had to wait more than a decade for his forty-fourth birthday to see what happened next.
He regretted what he had done to Melanie. She had been a self-assured woman with a promising career that she loved, and he had encouraged her to be a stay-at-home mother. And why had he done that? Because it suited his purposes.
Holly had cheated on him, so he didn’t feel the same sense of guilt he felt about Melanie. But was it really all Holly’s fault? Again, for his own benefit, he had swooped in and married her, preventing her from meeting the guy she was supposed to marry. He had mucked around in
Holly’s life, just like he had done with the other women, and had ended up ruining it. There was plenty of blame to go around, but regardless of who got the blame, the result was the same.
Then there was Liz. He had tried his best to make her happy, to build a successful relationship with her. But instead, he had prevented her from being truly happy. Worse yet, their relationship had killed her. Even in his head, that sounded dramatic, but it was true. If he hadn’t come back and married her, Liz would still be alive.
Scott was far out in the lake now. The rust was wearing off and his shoulders and arms felt much better. They moved more naturally with no pain or stiffness. He looked back over his shoulder and saw his house in the distance. He had loved that house, but without Liz, he didn’t want to stay.
He thought about Kathy. He missed her, more than he ever realized. Even during his lives with Melanie, Holly, and Liz, Kathy was always in the back of his mind. He thought back to his previous life when he had followed Kathy to the restaurant where she was celebrating her divorce. That wouldn’t happen for another three years, but what if he sold the house and moved near Kathy, maybe got to know her a little bit over the next few years?
Scott turned the kayak and headed back toward the house. The thought of being near Kathy again excited him. He was a different person now than he had been when they were together before. He no longer carried the anger and resentment he had felt during their time together. He was ready to be a better partner to her than the old Scott had been. His lives with Melanie, Holly, and Liz had helped make him a better person.
He paddled faster toward home. He wanted to start the process right away. He’d call the realtor when he got home and ask her to come over the following day to list the house. Then, in a day or two, he’d go down to St. Charles, where Kathy was living, and look for a place for himself.
