One Summer

by David Baldacci

  She turned to leave, and then hesitated. Her fingers fiddled with the guitar case handle. She glanced back but still didn’t meet his gaze. “Just so you know, when you were asleep I duct taped your oxygen line onto the converter so it can’t be pulled off again. Jackie didn’t know what he was doing. Mom didn’t have to give him such a hard time.”

  Jack gathered more oxygen and said, “Thanks.”

  A part of him wanted her to look at him, and another part of him didn’t. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes. Her big, strong father reduced to this. He wondered whom she would marry. Where would they live? Would it be far from Cleveland?

  Will she visit my grave?

  “Mikki?”

  “Dad, I really got to go. I’m already late.”

  “I hope you have a great… day, sweetie.”

  He thought he saw her lips quiver for a moment, but then she turned and left. A few moments later, the front door closed behind her. He peered out the window. She hopped across the snow and climbed into a car that one of her guy friends was driving. Jack had never felt more disconnected from life.

  After dinner that night, Cory, in full costume, performed his Grinch role for his father. Cory was a chunky twelve-year-old, though his long feet and lanky limbs promised height later. His hair was a mop of brown cowlicks, the same look Jack had had at that age. Lizzie’s parents had come over for dinner and to watch the show and had brought Lizzie’s grandmother. Cecilia was a stylish lady in her eighties who used a walker and had her own portable oxygen tank. She’d grown up and lived most of her life in South Carolina. She’d come to live with her daughter in Cleveland after her husband died and her health started failing. Her laugh was infectious and her speech was mellifluous, like water trickling over smooth rocks.

  Cecilia joked that Jack and she should start their own oxygen business since they had so much of the stuff. She was dying too, only not quite as fast as Jack. This probably would also be her last Christmas, but she had lived a good long life and had apparently made peace with her fate. She was uniformly upbeat, talking about her life in the South, the tea parties and the debutante balls, sneaking smokes and drinking hooch behind the local Baptist church at night. Yet every once in a while Jack would catch her staring at him, and he could sense the sadness the old lady held in her heart for his plight.

  After Cory finished his performance, Cecilia leaned down and whispered into Jack’s ear. “It’s Christmas. The time of miracles.” This was not the first time she’d said this. Yet for some reason Jack’s spirits sparked for a moment.

  But then the doctor’s pronouncement sobered this feeling.

  Six months, eight if you’re lucky.

  Science, it seemed, always trumped hope.

  At eleven o’clock he heard the front door open, and Mikki slipped in. Jack thought he saw her glance his way, but she didn’t come into the den. When Jack was healthy they had kept a strict watch over her comings and goings. And for months after he’d become ill, Lizzie had kept up that vigil. Now she barely had time to shower or snatch a meal, and Mikki had taken advantage of this lack of oversight to do as she pleased.

  When everyone was asleep, Jack reached under his pillow and took out his pen. This time he wasn’t crossing off dates on a calendar. He took out the piece of paper and carefully unfolded it. He spread it out on a book he kept next to the bed. Pen poised over the paper, he began to write. It took him a long time, at least an hour to write less than one page. His handwriting was poor because he was so weak, but his thoughts were clear. Eventually there would be seven of these letters. One for each day of the last week of his life, the date neatly printed at the top of the page—or as neatly as Jack’s trembling hand could manage. Each letter began with “Dear Lizzie,” and ended with “Love, Jack.” In the body of the letter he did his best to convey to his wife all that he felt for her. That though he would no longer be alive, he would always be there for her.

  These letters, he’d come to realize, were the most important thing he would ever do in his life. And he labored to make sure every word was the right one. Finished, he put the letter in an envelope, marked it with a number, and slipped it in the nightstand next to his bed.

  He would write the seventh and last letter on Christmas Eve, after everyone had gone to bed.

  Jack turned his head and looked out the window. Even in the darkness he could see the snow coming down hard.

  He now knew how a condemned man felt though he had committed no crime. The time left to him was precious. But there was only so much he could do with it.

  4

  Jack marked off December twenty-fourth on his calendar. He had one letter left to write. It would go into the drawer with the number seven written on the envelope. After he was gone, Lizzie would read them, and Jack hoped they would provide some comfort to her. Actually, writing them had provided some comfort for Jack. It made him focus on what was really important in life.

  Jack’s mother-in-law, Bonnie, had stayed with him while the rest of the family went to see Cory in the school play. Lizzie had put her foot down and made Mikki go as well. Bonnie had made a cup of tea and had settled herself down with a book, while Jack was perched in a chair by the window waiting for the van to pull up with Lizzie and the others.

  Sammy came by, stomping snow off his boots and tugging off his knit cap to let his long, shaggy hair fall out. He sat next to Jack and handed him a gift. When Jack opened it he looked up in surprise.

  It was five passes to Disney World, good for the upcoming year.

  Sammy gripped Jack by the shoulder. “I expect you and the family to get there.”

  Jack glanced over to see Bonnie shaking her head in mild reproach. Bonnie O’Toole was not a woman who believed in miracles. Yet Jack knew the man well enough to realize that Sammy fully believed he would use those tickets. He patted Sammy on the arm, smiled, and nodded.

  After Sammy left, Jack glanced at the tickets. He appreciated his friend’s confidence, but Jack was the only one who knew how close he was to the end. He had fought as hard as he could. He didn’t want to die and leave his family, but he couldn’t live like this either. His mind focused totally on the last letter he would ever compose. He knew when his pen had finished writing the words and the paper was safely in the envelope, he could go peacefully. It was a small yet obviously important benchmark. But he would wait until Christmas was over, when presents were opened and a new day had dawned. It was some comfort to know that he had a little control left over his fate, even if it was simply the specific timing of his passing.

  He saw the headlights of the oncoming van flick across the window. Bonnie went to open the front door, and Jack watched anxiously from the window as the kids piled out of the vehicle. Lizzie’s dad led them up the driveway, carrying Jackie because it was so slick out. The snow was still coming down, although the latest weather report had said that with the temperatures staying where they were, it was more ice than snow at this point, making driving treacherous.

  His gaze held on Lizzie as she closed up the van, and then turned, not toward the house, but away from it. Jack hadn’t noticed the person approach her because his attention had been on his wife. The man came into focus; it was Bill Miller. They’d all gone to school together. Bill had blocked on the line for Jack the quarterback. He’d attended Jack and Lizzie’s wedding. Bill was single, in the plumbing business, and doing well.

  Jack pressed his face to the glass when he saw Bill draw close to his wife. Lizzie slipped her purse over her shoulder and swiped the hair out of her eyes. They were so close to one another, Jack couldn’t find even a sliver of darkness between them. His breath was fogging the glass, he was so near it. He watched Bill lean in toward Lizzie. He saw his wife rise up on tiptoe. And then Bill staggered back as Lizzie slapped him across the face. Though he was weak, Jack reared up in his chair as though he wanted to go and defend his wife’s honor. Yet there was no need. Bill Miller stumbled off into the darkness as Lizzie turned away and marched toward
the house.

  A minute later he heard Lizzie come in, knocking snow off her boots.

  Lizzie strode into the den, first pulling off her scarf and then rubbing her hands together because of the cold. Her face was flushed, and she didn’t look at him like she normally did. “Time for the presents; then Mom and Dad are going to take off. They’ll be back tomorrow, okay, sweetie? It’ll be a great day.”

  “How’s your hand?”

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  He pointed to the window. “I think Bill’s lucky he’s still conscious.”

  “He was also drunk, or I don’t think he would’ve tried that. Idiot.”

  Jack started to say something, but then stopped and looked away. Lizzie quickly picked up on this and sat next to him.

  “Jack, you don’t think that Bill and I—”

  He gripped her hand. “Of course not. Don’t be crazy.” He kissed her cheek.

  “So what then? Something’s bothering you.”

  “You’re young, and you have three kids.”

  “That I get.” She attempted a smile that flickered out when she saw the earnest look on his face.

  “You need somebody in your life.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” She tried to rise, but he held her back.

  “Lizzie, look at me. Look at me.”

  She turned to face him, her eyes glimmering with tears.

  “You will find someone else.”

  “No.”

  “You will.”

  “I’ve got a full life. I’ve got no room for—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now? It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I can’t be picky about timing, Lizzie,” he said, a little out of breath.

  Her face flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I… you look better tonight. Maybe… the doctors—”

  “No, Lizzie. No,” he said firmly. “That can’t happen. We’re past that stage, honey.” He sucked on his air, his gaze resolutely on her.

  She put a hand to her eyes. “If I think about things like that, then it means, I don’t want to… You might…”

  He held her. “Things will work out all right. Just take it slow. And be happy.” He made her look at him, and he brushed the tears from her eyes. He took a long pull on his oxygen and managed a grin. “And for God’s sake, don’t pick Bill.”

  She laughed. And then it turned into a sob as he held her.

  When they pulled away a few moments later, Lizzie wiped her nose with a tissue and said, “I was actually thinking about next summer. And I wanted to talk to you about it.”

  Jack’s heart was buoyed by the fact that she still sought out his opinion. “What about it?”

  “You’ll probably think it’s silly.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was thinking I would take the kids to the Palace.”

  “The Palace? You haven’t been back there since—”

  “I know. I know. I just think it’s time. It’s in bad shape from what I heard. I know it needs a lot of work. But just for one summer it should be fine.”

  “I know how hard that was for you.”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out a photo. She showed it to Jack. “Haven’t looked at that in years. Do you remember me showing it to you?”

  It was a photo of the O’Tooles when the kids were all little.

  “That’s Tillie next to you. Your twin sister.”

  “Mom said she never could tell us apart.”

  Jack had to sit back against his pillow and drew several long breaths on his line while Lizzie patiently waited.

  Finally he said, “She was five when she died?”

  “Almost six. Meningitis. Nothing the doctors could do.” She glanced briefly at Jack, and then looked away. Her unspoken thought could have been, Just like you.

  “I remember my parents telling me that Tillie had gone to Heaven.” She smiled at the same time a couple of tears slid down her cheeks. “There’s an old lighthouse on the property down there. It was so beautiful.”

  “I remember you telling me about it. Your grandmother… still owns the Palace, right?”

  “Yes. I was going to ask her if it would be all right if we went down there this summer.”

  “The O’Tooles exchanging the sunny ocean for cold Cleveland?” He coughed several times, and Lizzie went to adjust his air level. When she did so he started breathing easier.

  She said, “Well, I think leaving the Palace was because of me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I never really told you about this before, and maybe I’d forgotten it myself. But I’ve been thinking about Tillie lately.” She faltered.

  “Lizzie, please tell me.”

  She turned to face him. “When my parents told me my sister had gone to Heaven, I… I wanted to find her. I didn’t really understand that she was dead. I knew that Heaven was in the sky. So I started looking for, well, looking for Heaven to find Tillie.”

  “You were just a little kid.”

  “I would go up in the lighthouse. Back then it still worked. And I’d look for Heaven, for Tillie really, with the help of the light.” She paused and let out a little sob. “Never found either one.”

  Jack held her. “It’s okay, Lizzie; it’s okay,” he said softly.

  She wiped her eyes on his shirt and said, “It became a sort of obsession, I guess. I don’t know why. But every day that went by and I couldn’t find her, it just hurt so bad. And when I got older, my parents told me that Tillie was dead. Well, it didn’t help much.” She paused. “I can’t believe I never told you all this before. But I guess I was a little ashamed.”

  His wife’s distress was taking a toll on Jack. He breathed deeply for several seconds before saying, “You lost your twin. You were just a little kid.”

  “By the time we moved to Ohio, I knew I would never find her by looking at the sky. I knew she was gone. And the lighthouse wasn’t working anymore anyway. But I think my parents, my mom especially, wanted to get me away from the place. She didn’t think it was good for me. But it was just… silly.”

  “It was what you were feeling, Lizzie.” He touched his chest. “Here.”

  “I know. So I thought I’d go back there. See the place. Let the kids experience how I grew up.” She looked at him.

  “Great idea,” Jack gasped.

  She rubbed his shoulder. “You might enjoy it too. You could really fix the place up. Even make the lighthouse work again.” It was so evident she desperately wanted to believe this could actually happen.

  He attempted a smile. “Yeah.”

  The looks on both their faces were clear despite the hopeful words.

  Jack would never see the Palace.

  5

  Later that night his father-in-law helped Jack into a wheelchair and rolled him into the living room, where their little tree stood. It was silver tinsel with blue and red ornaments. Jack usually got a real tree for Christmas, but not this year of course.

  The kids had hot chocolate and some snacks. Mikki even played a few carols on her guitar, though she looked totally embarrassed doing so. Cory told his dad about the play, and Lizzie bustled around making sure everyone had everything they needed. Then she played the DVD for Jack so he could see the performance for himself. Finally his in-laws prepared to leave. The ice was getting worse and they wanted to get home, they said. Lizzie’s father helped Jack into bed.

  At the front door Lizzie gave them each a hug. Jack heard Bonnie tell her daughter to just hang in there. It was always darkest before the dawn.

  “The kids are the most important thing,” said her dad. “Afterward, we’ll be right here for you.”

  Next, Jack heard Lizzie say, “I was thinking about talking to Cee,” referring to her grandmother Cecilia.

  “About what?” Bonnie said quickly, in a wary tone.

  “Next summer I was thinking of taking the kids to the Palace, maybe for the entire summer break.
I wanted to make sure Cee would be okay with that.”