Three Shoeboxes e-book

by Three Shoeboxes (epub)

  After proofreading it, she crumpled it up and threw it onto the floor. Collapsing onto the bed, she grabbed Mac’s pillow and hugged it tight. I do miss you, she told him in her mind, the tears rolling fast, but I need to get past that if I’m ever going to survive this nightmare.

  ⧝

  Sitting alone in the corner of the hospital day room, Mac awaited his next round of medication. He looked up to find Nurse Mal standing in front of him, her hands rested on her thick hips.

  “Are you going to waste another day of your life sulking in the corner?” she asked.

  “Sulking?” he repeated, his heart rate on the rise. “You have no idea what I’m going…”

  “You really need to stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she said, interrupting him. “You might find the healing process a lot quicker, if you do.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Trust me, there are people out there who are facing much tougher roads than you are.”

  “Is that right?” he asked, a ferocity rising within him.

  “That’s right,” she said, offering a disarming smile. “My husband and I are going to a fundraiser this weekend for a kid who sustained a complete spinal cord injury, leaving him a quadriplegic.”

  “Oh no,” Mac said, momentarily forgetting his own troubles. “What happened?” he asked, leaning in to hear more.

  Nurse Mal took a seat beside him. “His name’s D.J. Bishop and this past summer, he dove into some shallow water at a local lake.”

  “Oh no,” Mac repeated.

  She nodded sadly. “He hit his head on a rock and fractured his C4, C5 and C6 vertebrae. He was rushed to Rhode Island Hospital where he underwent emergency surgery.” She shook her head. “His burst C5 was replaced and his spine was fused. After eighteen days in the medical ICU, he was moved to Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Boston to begin his rehabilitation.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “He’s made progress but the insurance company’s decided that his time at Spaulding will be coming to an end.”

  “That’s terrible,” Mac said.

  “It is, but his therapy will continue, at least on an outpatient basis.” She shook her head again. “It’s private pay for the family which is why some friends are raising money. D.J. will be supplementing his occupational and physical therapy with an intensive exercise regimen at Journey Forward out in Canton.”

  “Wow,” Mac said, at a loss for more words.

  Nurse Mal grinned again; it was the type of smile that betrayed wisdom. “D.J. has already overcome many unexpected hurdles throughout his recovery and he’s certain to face more. But the one constant that’s remained is his positive attitude and will to fight.”

  Mac nodded, unable to find any words.

  She placed her warm hand on Mac’s forearm. “D.J.’s a gladiator, Mr. Anderson, and you could learn a lot from him.” She removed her hand and stood to walk away. “We all could.”

  ⧝

  Jen had just completed her fourth and final interview at the City Hall, gathering all the quotes she needed to complete her article on the Highway Department’s wasteful spending. Her head was buried in the work; it had quickly become her happy place where she could focus on something other than her suffering family.

  The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck tingled, signaling that someone might be staring at her. She looked up. Across the room, she spotted Philip, a much younger colleague with the physique of an Olympic swimmer, looking in her direction.

  Not likely, she thought, snickering to herself. He would have been too pretty for me on my hottest day. She returned to her work.

  The hairs tingled again, sending a shiver down her back. She looked up again.

  Philip was still looking at her.

  He’s gawking, she thought before looking behind her. There was no one there.

  Philip smiled wide and stood. Without breaking eye contact, he started walking straight toward her.

  There’s no way, she was thinking when her mouth went dry, all of the moisture reappearing on the palms of her hands.

  “Hi there,” Philip said, a few feet from her desk.

  “Hi there,” she repeated, feeling like a giddy school girl.

  “We’ve never formally met,” he said, extending his beautiful hand. “I’m Philip.”

  Aware that her hand was clammy, Jen had no choice but to give his a shake. “I’m Jen,” she said, “and it’s nice to formally meet you.”

  As if he’d picked up on her nervousness, he grinned. “So, what are you working on?” he asked, clearly more interested in keeping the conversation going than the mountain of paperwork on her desk.

  He’s flirting with me, she confirmed, but still looked down at her project. “It’s a piece on the Highway Department that I’ve been investigating for three weeks.” She looked up to find him staring at her left hand. He’s checking for a wedding ring, she thought, and was immediately brought back down to earth. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” she said in a polite but dismissive tone.

  “Absolutely,” Philip said. “I look forward to seeing you around.” Before he turned to leave, he shot her a wink.

  She didn’t know whether to swoon or laugh. He winked at me, she thought. He probably hasn’t been legal drinking age for more than a year, but he winked at me. She laughed for the first time since she could remember. But the brief reprieve from misery made her feel guilty. She looked down at her wedding band and could feel her smile completely dissolve.

  ⧝

  While sheets of heavy rain washed Mac’s small hospital window, he tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming about his teenage daughter with the same vivid detail he’d experienced when the memories had actually occurred.

  ⧝

  Jillian entered the world with an umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Mac still cringed, remembering it. She was blue—not bluish or kind of blue; she was blue. Mac’s knees had buckled and nearly pulled him to the hospital floor. The room immediately filled with medical personnel, causing the worse wave of panic he’d ever felt. But it was their quick response that led to the prognosis, “Your daughter will be just fine, Mr. Anderson.” The truth of it suddenly hit him and he began to cry. As he started to breathe again, he also realized there was nothing they could do to recover the time that had just been erased from his life.

  He also remembered surprising her on Jillian’s thirteenth birthday, picking her up early from school.

  His healthy daughter—for which he still thanked God—had turned thirteen. Mac asked how she wanted to celebrate the coveted passage into her teenage years. She shrugged. “Whatever,” she replied. Although Mac usually despised this term of indifference, Jillian was being honest. She really didn’t care how they celebrated the day.

  After handing her a mushy greeting card—containing a gift card that confirmed this birthday was just as special as any other—they ended up at a restaurant that served breakfast food for lunch; it was a favorite they both shared.

  As they accepted the giant menus, Mac’s only request was that Jillian put away her cell phone while they were there. “No texting or tweeting, just a normal face-to-face conversation.” She respectfully honored the request.

  While Jillian began with her usual update—how school was going, what her friends were up to, how she was dreading all the schoolwork she faced in the coming weeks—Mac sat back, sipped his coffee and took an inventory. While she talked, he found himself taking an account of the most precious task he’d ever been blessed with—raising this girl and her siblings.

  Physically, Jillian was tall and lanky, weighing much less than she should. As such, Mac ordered extra pancakes. A few years earlier, she had discovered that she was best suited as a softball player, which she trained and competed hard at, filling Mac with pride.

  Jillian was a smart kid. In fact, she thought sh
e knew much more than she did. Fortunately, Mac wasn’t too old to forget that he wasn’t all that different at her age. The good news was, coming from her technology-savvy generation, she’d proven resourceful enough to find answers she didn’t actually know. This trait had always been important to Mac.

  As they ate and one topic led to the next, Jillian informed Mac, “It’s not considered disrespectful to return a phone call with a text message.” Although this remained a hotly debated topic between them, she was being truthful; communicating online was precisely how her smartphone generation communicated—period.

  Mac sopped up the yellow yolk with an English muffin and smiled at his daughter, realizing, Jillian’s a work in progress, requiring a few more coats of polish. But he also knew that a solid foundation had been poured—a base strong enough to frame a good human being.

  Nearly an hour and a half had passed before Mac paid the bill, left a tip and they started for the door.

  “Thanks for everything, Dad,” Jillian told him.

  He shook his head. “Thank you, Jill,” he told her and meant it. He’d always believed—from that awesome and terrifying day thirteen years earlier—that the true success of his life would be measured against the woman his daughter would become.

  They got back in the car and Mac had to smile. The doctors were right, he thought, Jill turned out just fine. “Where to next?” he asked her. There was silence. He looked into the rear view mirror.

  Jillian was already back on her cell phone, both thumbs tapping away at an impressive rate—getting caught up on all that she’d missed during her birthday lunch.

  Maybe I should just text her? he thought, before heading off to their next adventure together.

  ⧝

  Emerging from his restless slumber, Mac scrambled to find a pen and paper, needing to capture his thoughts and feelings for his first-born.

  Dear Jillian,

  I hope all is well with you. Well, let’s be honest, I’m sure you’re very angry with me right now. I know I would be. As you know, I was raised by your great-grandparents so I understand only too well what it’s like to be without a parent. Believe me, it’s the last thing I wanted for you—for us. I only hope you’ll come to understand that when I have the chance to explain, and that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I need that from you and your sister and brother more than anything in this world.

  Jillian, I’m so sorry that I’m not there for you right now. Believe it or not, I remember being a teenager and I can honestly tell you they were some of the toughest years of my life...as well as some of the best. At your age, you think you know everything. You don’t. I know that for a fact because even at my age, I don’t know everything...not even close. But if you need to know anything at this point in your life, it’s this: You are an amazing girl who will become an even more amazing woman. You are smart and beautiful, both inside and out. You are a protector, a natural leader—someone who I couldn’t be more proud to call my daughter. And you’re also kind without being frail.

  It was something Mac liked to think Jillian had learned by example. He paused to get the rest of the letter just right.

  You care more about people than things and, for the most part, you’re polite—at least you’ve always been polite in my company. You’re not afraid to stand up for your beliefs and can even get loud when you feel passionate enough about the topic at hand. But you’re equally thoughtful and considerate—as much as you can be for your age.

  Mac was not delusional. He knew his daughter wasn’t perfect. But he never expected perfection; he expected effort.

  Sooner than later, I hope you realize just how special you are, Jill, because I realize it and have from the second you opened your eyes in this world.

  I need to sign off for now, but remember that spring training will be here before you know it. I hope you’ve been practicing. You’re going to have an unforgettable season. I just know you are.

  You Live in My Heart—Always,

  Dad

  Chapter 14

  Jen held the telephone receiver close to her ear, listening attentively.

  “From what Mac tells me,” Roland Dube reported, “he’s doing better.” He coughed once. “He’s making some real progress dealing with his alcohol abuse. And he’s finally gotten on a consistent medication regimen to manage the anxiety and depression.”

  “Is he still having the panic attacks?” she asked, her voice uneven.

  “He is,” Roland said, “but he’s working through them with one of the best doctors in the business.”

  “Oh good,” she said, at a loss for more words..

  There was a pause. “Well, I guess that’s it for now, Jen,” Roland said, lowering his tone. “Again, this is a bit of a conflict for me, so…”

  “I appreciate the update,” Jen said, “and I won’t share it with anyone.”

  “Good. Thanks.” He coughed again before clearing his throat. “You haven’t heard from Mac, right?”

  “He hasn’t tried contacting me, no, but he has sent a few letters to the kids.”

  “Shit,” Roland blurted.

  “Don’t worry,” Jen said, “I’m not looking to hurt him, Roland.”

  There was another pause. “Right,” he said, “good. We’ll talk soon then.” The line went dead.

  Jen hung up the receiver, Not too soon, I hope, she thought, recognizing just how difficult it was to live in two worlds at one time—or impossible to move on.

  ⧝

  Overwhelmed with another panic attack, Mac sat like a frightened child in the corner of his hospital bed. He looked at his nightstand. “I need a pill,” he gasped and, after swallowing it, he stood and paced—eventually calming himself down.

  Faust entered. “Another attack?”

  Mac nodded. “Yeah, but I think I was able to get out in front of this one. It should be on its way down now.”

  “Did you take a pill?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Good, that’s progress,” Faust said, taking a seat across from his patient. “If you had diabetes, you’d take your insulin, right?”

  “I would,” Mac admitted, “but the meds make me feel apathetic, Faust, almost unable to function.” He shook his head, thinking, Sometimes I feel like I’m suspended in a sea of thick syrup where life becomes surreal.

  Faust nodded, waiting for him to go on.

  “I feel increasingly more detached from reality and everyone around me,” Mac explained. “Every pill I pop, I only want to sleep.” Maybe even escape forever, he added in his head.

  “Well, until we address the root cause of the anxiety,” the doctor said, “it’s better than the panic attacks, right?”

  Mac nodded. Hell yeah, he thought. It’s not even close.

  Faust returned the nod. “Listen, Mac, I think we’re very close to a breakthrough.”

  “We are?” Mac asked tentatively.

  “We are, but…”

  “But?” Mac repeated, scared.

  “…but you need to make peace with the past, Mac, before you can even consider stepping into the future.”

  “Faust, if you’re asking me to…”

  “Mac, you have to tell me about your car accident, every detail you can remember.”

  Mac shook his head, feeling another wave of panic crash over him.

  “I know it’s not easy,” Faust said, “but you have to trust me. It’s necessary for you to get past the anxiety and depression…for you to truly heal.” He paused. “I also believe it’s the only path that’ll get you back to your children.”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Do you feel relaxed right now?” Faust asked.

  “Well, not relaxed but…” Mac stared at Faust for a few moments until surrendering with a nod.

  “Let’s try it again, Mac. Just make yourself comforta
ble and take your time. You know you’re safe here, right?”

  “I do.” Mac said before lying down on his bed and closing his eyes. For the first time in a very long time, he allowed his mind to return to that dreadful night, where each detail was as vivid as when it actually occurred. “It happened years ago, a year before I’d met my wife, I think. My friend Sam and I had worked late and were rushing home to get a few hours of sleep before our first class. He was driving and I was half-asleep in the passenger seat. The rain had stopped earlier, but the streets were still wet. I remember thinking that Sam should slow down when I saw them.” He took a deep breath. “A beat-up Chevy Camaro pulled out of a dark parking lot. Sam hit the brakes hard, but our car barely slowed.” He paused. “Just as we struck the side of the Camaro, the teenage boy in the passenger seat—he was maybe two or three years younger than me at the time—he stared me straight in the eyes.” Mac started crying. “No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t get that kid’s terrified face out of my head.”

  “Go on, Mac,” Faust said, encouraging him, “you’re doing great.”

  Mac took a deep breath. “The rest seemed to happen in slow motion—the sounds of broken glass and crumpling steel and then…” He paused. “I heard one of the teenagers scream. It was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard.” He stopped and wept, mournfully.

  Faust didn’t say a word, but waited patiently for him to continue.