“Elizabeth, dear. Are you okay?”
“No,” she cried through the door.
“I’m coming in,” I said, pushing the door open.
She slammed it back closed. “No, you can’t see me.”
“Just take my hand,” I said. “Please.”
She cracked the door and I slid my arm through. I waited, my heart racing until I finally felt her touch.
“Sweetheart, talk to me.”
“It’s my Bible.”
“Your family Bible?”
“Y-yes. It’s gone,” she whimpered.
“What do you mean, gone?”
Elizabeth had been so excited about the minister marrying us with a Bible that had been in her family for generations. Her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had all been married with that Bible.
“Daddy said it’s missing. What are we going to do?”
My mind was racing. I knew the Bible was important to Elizabeth, but there was no way I was going to let this special day pass by because it had come up missing.
“Sweetheart, my mother always says it’s not the book that matters. It’s what’s in the book. And what’s in the book is in our hearts.”
Silence came from the other side of the door and my heart skipped. Finally, Elizabeth said, “You’re right. It’s in our hearts.”
We’d moved forward, and the next day I’d gone out and bought her a new Bible, to begin a new tradition. That’s the one my grandchildren had ripped to shreds.
I continued running my finger along the frayed edges of the book in my hands. I flipped it open and smiled at where it landed.
The book of Jeremiah, Elizabeth’s favorite passage. The day our grandson Jeremiah was born, Elizabeth held him in her arms and recited the verse. For I know the thoughts that I think toward you . . .
A chill shot through me as I heard a voice finish the verse.
. . . thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. It sounded as if the voice was right there in the room with me. I slammed the book shut and set it back on the nightstand.
I shook off the eerie feeling buzzing in my ears. My nerves were getting the best of me. Opening to that chapter had been purely coincidental. I had come to the Markham on a mission, and I couldn’t let anything derail my plan.
I took a deep breath, nervous about pulling the trigger. No more delays. I put the gun to my head and started muttering, “One . . . two . . .”
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. “Housekeeping,” the voice called out.
I jumped up. “Are you serious?” I muttered. Why the heck did they have a Do Not Disturb sign if they were going to disturb you? I ignored the voice and was just about to put the gun back to my head when I heard the door open.
“Housekeeping,” she called out again.
I threw the gun under a pillow and raced toward the end of the bed. “It says ‘Do Not Disturb’ for a reason!” I yelled. I must have frightened her.
“I’m so sorry. I thought you were out . . .” she said, quickly closing the door.
“That’s why the Do Not Disturb sign is there!” I barked.
“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” she said from the other side.
I muttered silent curses and then shook away my irritation. I didn’t want to spend my last moments on earth angry and worked up.
I headed back to my spot on the bed, determined to get this over with before there were any more interruptions. I pulled the gun from under the pillow and had just positioned myself against the headboard when I noticed the anchor on the five o’clock news, which had just come on. But today, what was on the screen caused me to jump up and unmute the TV. The camera zoomed in on my son, Charlie, who was clutching a tearful Britt. They were looking at something as the anchor talked over the video of them.
“. . . Police are on the scene, trying to talk the young man down,” the anchor said.
I remained frozen, my eyes riveted to the TV and the camera as it panned from Charlie to Britt to a figure on the bridge. I had to sit down so I didn’t lose my balance when I saw the purple hoodie that Jeremiah always wore.
The anchor for Channel 26 continued, “Savannah Graham is live at the scene with an update. Savannah, what’s the latest?”
Savannah was one of my favorite reporters, not just because she was Yvonne’s best friend, but because she was genuinely good at what she did.
“Melissa,” Savannah began, “authorities are trying to talk the young man down. Witnesses say the boy reportedly jumped out of a car when it came to a stoplight here at Highway 59 and Shepherd. He took off running and came here to the overpass on Interstate 59. He was able to climb over the fence and is now on the other side, suspended over the highway. Authorities are in the process of shutting down the highly trafficked freeway.”
All thoughts of anything I was about to do evaporated, especially when the camera zoomed in on a panicked Charlie pleading through the fence to Jeremiah.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could see the despondent look in my grandson’s eyes. I recognized it because I bore it myself.
My heart raced as I noticed the rush-hour traffic. There were some cars whose drivers must have been oblivious to what was going on, because they whipped by.
I slid the gun under the mattress, grabbed my keys, and bolted out of the room, praying I could make it to Jeremiah before it was too late.
chapter
* * *
23
The only other time I’d felt fear like this was when I’d held my dear Elizabeth’s hand and watched her take her last breath. I was mortified at the sight of my grandson teetering on the bridge, overlooking Highway 59. Thankfully, they’d stopped traffic below so there were no cars. I’d had to take back streets to get here and left my truck illegally parked in someone’s driveway.
The firemen had set up a trampoline under the bridge, I guess to catch him if he fell. I wanted Jeremiah to see me, because maybe I could get through to him.
“Dad! Thank God you’re here,” Charlie said when I approached the scene. Though they’d been near Jeremiah when I first saw them on the news, they were now standing behind some police tape about a hundred feet away.
Britt was a nervous wreck, sobbing and moaning, “My boy, someone save my boy.”
I ignored her as I turned to Charlie.
“What happened?”
“We were fighting as we were headed to pick up Paige, and the next thing I knew, he jumped out the car at the stoplight,” Charlie said. “Now, the cops won’t even let me try to talk to him.”
“My boy . . . My boy . . .”
I wanted to tell Britt that she was just making everything worse, but I kept my focus on Charlie.
“What did you say to him?”
“How do you figure it was me?” Charlie asked, then another police car sped up on the scene. “Can you believe this mess Jeremiah has gotten us into?” Charlie barked. “It’s all on the news. This is just ridiculous.”
I wanted to shake some sense into my son, get him to focus on the real issue at hand, but he’d have to wait.
“Please, may I get through?” I asked the police officer standing in front of the yellow tape.
“No, sir. No one can go in yet,” the officer said.
“I’m his grandfather. I may be able to talk to him,” I pleaded.
The cop looked over at another officer who was looking our way. The other officer nodded, and the cop in front of the tape stepped aside to let me through.
I took measured steps toward the wire fence. Jeremiah had his fingers intertwined in the fence from the other side as he stood on the tiny edge of the bridge, facing away from me. One wrong move and he would plummet thirty feet.
“Jeremiah, what are you doing?” I gently said.
Tears were streaming down my grandson’s face, and my heart dropped as he looked at me but didn’t say anything.
“Son, talk to me,” I said.
He didn’t reply, just
continued crying. Finally, he said, “I can’t take it anymore, Grandpa.”
“I know.” I nodded. “I know firsthand how hard it is for you.”
I took a step closer, then motioned to the officers nearby to let me do this as they moved in like they were about to stop me. Thankfully, they backed down.
“No, you don’t know what I’m going through,” Jeremiah said. “I’m bullied at home. I’m bullied at school, and I’m just sick of it. I’m tired of living.”
“I know, son. Me too. I was sick of living, too.”
“Huh?” he said, looking back at me in confusion.
I got right up on the fence and was able to touch his hands through the wires.
“I know you might not be able to understand, but just a few minutes ago, I was about to do what you’re doing. Seeing you in distress saved me.”
Confusion spread across his face. “You were about to jump off a bridge?”
“No, but I was about to take my own life.”
His eyes widened in horror. Then, he said, “You’re just saying that.”
I shook my head. “Have you ever known me to lie?”
He thought for a moment, then said, “No.”
“You have been calling me, right?” I continued.
“Yes, you haven’t been answering.”
“Just a few hours ago, I was where you are, despondent. I felt like life wasn’t worth living. And I was prepared to do something about it. I was prepared to die.”
“You were really going to leave us?” Jeremiah asked.
I nodded in shame. “I just wasn’t happy. I wanted to die. But driving here in a panic, I thought about you leaving me and I realized all the people I’d hurt if had done that.” I fought back my tears. “I’m going to be real hurt if you leave me, Jeremiah.”
At that point a fireman eased up on the side of me. He had a long, thick rope in his hands. We exchanged unspoken words. “Can this nice fireman throw the rope over and pull you to safety?” I asked.
Jeremiah looked at me, then over at his parents, then at the crowd that had gathered.
“Grandpa, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just let him toss the rope over so he can pull you to safety.”
Jeremiah looked back down onto the freeway and fear finally crept up on his face. He gripped the fence tighter and said, “Okay.”
I nodded for the fireman to step up. I kept caressing Jeremiah’s fingers through the fence. “You know, I was sad because I didn’t have your grandmother, but I have you. And you have me.”
The firefighter tossed the rope over.
“What’s your name, son?” the firefighter said.
“Jeremiah.”
“Okay, Jeremiah, wrap the rope around your waist and tie it into a knot. Then I want you to climb back over. I’ll pull the rope so you don’t have to worry about falling.”
Jeremiah nodded as the firefighter threw the rope over the fence. My grandson kept one hand clutched onto the fence and took the other and grabbed the rope.
“Wrap it around your waist, son,” the firefighter said.
Jeremiah did as he said, then the firefighter reached through the fence and grabbed the rope.
“Okay, so I have you now. I need to you tie a knot,” the firefighter said. “You gotta use both hands, but don’t worry. I’m super strong so I’m not going to let this rope go.”
Jeremiah paused, then slowly released his grip on the fence. Once he was confident the fireman wouldn’t let go, he tied the rope in a double knot around his waist.
“Good job,” the firefighter said.
“Jeremiah, we love you,” I said. “Don’t you worry about—”
Before I could finish, the fireman reached over, grabbed him, and pulled him to safety.
The crowd that had gathered broke out cheering and crying. I rushed to my grandson, took him in my arms, and sobbed with them.
Britt came rushing over, Charlie by her side. “Oh, Jeremiah, why would you do something like that?” she said, smothering him with kisses as he embraced her.
I could tell Charlie wanted to read him the riot act, but I shook my head in silent retribution. Thankfully, for once in his life, my son listened. He hugged Jeremiah. “You gave me such a scare.”
Jeremiah didn’t hug him back, and that made my heart sad. Watching my son and grandson, and their damaged relationship, I knew—this was the reason God didn’t let me go. This was why I’d stopped to look over the Bible, why the housekeeper interrupted me. To buy time for me to see the news.
Everything happens for a reason, I heard Elizabeth’s voice say. Every time I’d get upset because something didn’t pan out the way I wanted, she would remind me of that. And now, I knew the reason I hadn’t pulled the trigger. I couldn’t leave this earth until I’d helped the two men who needed me the most.
Jeremiah tore himself away from his parents and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” I said, stroking his back.
The paramedics came over and examined Jeremiah. Two police officers talked to Charlie and Britt; the news media shouted out requests for interviews. I saw Yvonne’s friend Savannah trying to get to us. But I stayed close to Jeremiah’s side and kept them all at bay. We wouldn’t be exploiting his pain. I had a new purpose—protect my grandson at any cost.
+ + +
The day’s events had worn on all of us. We were back at Charlie’s house, trying to decompress. I knew Charlie wanted me to leave—he’d told me as much on several occasions—but I wasn’t going to until I knew Jeremiah was all right.
We’d just eaten dinner when Charlie cleared the table, sat back down, and set his gaze on his son.
“Jeremiah, we gotta talk about what happened today. Why would you do something like that?” he said.
I was grateful that he wasn’t going ballistic, so I didn’t interject.
Britt sat behind Charlie, looking like the day’s events had sucked all of the life out of her and for the first time I realized that her instability made her incapable of supporting her son.
Jeremiah just shrugged, refusing to look his father in the eye.
“You scared a lot of people.” He pointed to Britt. “Your mother is still shaking.”
“That was so selfish, you little brat,” Paige said. Someone had sent her something on social media, and all she was worried about was how everyone was going to think their “family was nutty.”
Jeremiah winced, and I realized that Paige had picked up her father’s emotionally abusive ways. And Britt, in her fragile emotional state, was no help to any of them.
“You know what?” I said, standing. “I think Jeremiah should come take a ride with me.”
“Dad, we’re talking to Jeremiah,” Charlie said.
“No, you’re talking at Jeremiah. And after the day he had, that’s not what he needs right now.”
Charlie slammed his palm on the table, causing us all to jump. “That’s his problem. You and his mama are always babying him, making him into a pansy. I’m not raising a weak boy.”
“Too late for that,” Paige snarled.
“Suicide is for the weak, son. You need to man up—”
“Stop it!” I yelled. “Then count me as weak, too!”
Charlie looked at me in confusion, but I ignored him as I turned to Jeremiah.
“Now do you see why I’m tired?” my grandson said before I could speak. “It’s like this every day. I hate it here. I hate them. I hate life. I would be better off dead!”
Britt sobbed. The words caught Charlie off guard, and he stared at his son in shock.
“Let’s go, Jeremiah.” This time I didn’t wait for Charlie to interject. I grabbed my grandson’s hand and led him out. I had to go back to the hotel to get my things and check out anyway.
This was a perfect time to get my grandson out of that toxic environment and come up with a plan to remove him permanently.
chapter
* * *
24
Silence filled our ride back to the Markham Hotel. I wanted to give Jeremiah time to calm down, and I needed to come to terms with what I should do. I knew that Charlie was bad, but I hadn’t fully realized the effect that it was having on my grandson. I was so blinded by my own grief that I was oblivious to my grandson’s plight.
I couldn’t help but reflect on where I had gone wrong in the raising of Charlie. When he was growing up, I used to blame Elizabeth for babying him. Just like he was blaming Britt now. I supposed that Charlie simply had the worst of both of us in him: my father and me.
It was too late for me to save my son, but I was determined that my grandson wouldn’t grow up in a household like the one I grew up in.
“Why are we here, Grandpa?” Jeremiah asked when I finally pulled up to the valet at the hotel.
“Come on.” I handed the valet my keys and made my way inside.
“This is the hotel where I was when I saw the news. It has some special meaning,” I told him. “It’s where I proposed to your grandmother, and where we got married.”
“It doesn’t look that old,” Jeremiah said.
“I know, they’ve done a lot of remodeling.”
Instead of heading up to the room, I made a right in the lobby and headed toward the courtyard. “Come on, let me show you something.”
I led Jeremiah out a side door and over to the old oak tree.
“This spot is where your grandmother said she would marry me, and where we later exchanged vows.” I thought standing here would make me sad, but it actually made my heart smile.
Jeremiah leaned down and read the historical marker.
“Planted by Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Martin, 1938. Wow.”
We stood together in comfortable silence. I felt Elizabeth’s presence throughout. And this time I heard her say, Job well done, my love. Job well done.
After a few minutes, I said, “Let’s head upstairs so I can get my stuff out of the room.”
Jeremiah remained silent as we made our way up in the elevator. Once we reached the third floor, I reached in my pocket and took out the key to open Room 316.
The Book in Room 316 Page 11
