by Kate Morris
“No, your sisters have already been there,” he answers.
Reagan has no idea why her sisters were called before her. They aren’t doctors.
“Why did you get them before me? What could they possibly do to help where I can’t?”
“I didn’t wake you to help him, honey,” he replies and opens the door to exit the building. Reagan pauses. “Come on, Reagan. There isn’t much time.”
She looks up at John and receives a nod of encouragement. They walk briskly to the hospital a few blocks away and are permitted entry by a guard standing on watch. They are met by Dr. Avery and her team.
“Reagan, this way,” Grandpa tells her, ushering her past them. “He’s in the second room on the right. I’ll be along shortly. I need to speak with Dr. Avery.”
“I don’t even have my bag,” she complains and pulls her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of her way. “Or scrubs. Where can I change?”
“Just go in,” her grandfather orders.
She draws in a deep breath and pushes through the swinging doors, John still with her. The walk down the nearly dark corridor brings back a lot of bad memories. Memories of the hospital she and John raided, memories of her time at the college during her escape, just all bad memories, in general. The worst one is when her mother died, and they were in a hospital like this, in the middle of the night like this. Up ahead, she can see soft, fluorescent lighting coming from the open door to a room. Derek and Kelly are standing just outside of it.
“John,” Derek acknowledges with a nod, to which her husband returns.
A moment later, Sue and Hannah emerge. They seem upset. Hannah has tears on her cheeks and reaches for and immediately finds Kelly, who leads her away. Lucas is sitting down the hall further with G beside him in chairs set against the wall. Their heads are bowed, close together, and he’s holding one of her hands.
“He’s asking for you, Reagan,” Sue says.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she returns. “I don’t even have my bag. Is the room stocked already?”
Sue frowns and says, “Um, sure. Go on in.”
“I’ll be here when you come out,” John tells her and touches the side of her face.
She shakes her head, “Just go back to our room and get some sleep. This might be a long night.”
He looks at the floor before making eye contact again. “I’ll be here.”
“Ok,” she concedes and walks into the room.
The light was from a lamp on the bedside table. Lucy rises and crosses the room in a flash, hugging her. Reagan pulls back. Family hugs are one thing. She hardly knows this woman.
“Lucille, my love,” her father says weakly from his prone position on the bed, “leave us.”
Without a second thought, his new wife leaves and pulls the door shut behind her. Reagan walks over to the bed and automatically picks up his chart and begins scanning.
“Reagan,” he says from the bed. She doesn’t make eye contact but starts reading some of the finer details of his condition.
“Pneumonia?” she asks.
“Reagan, love, come here,” he implores.
She spies a stethoscope on the counter and collects it before approaching the side of his bed.
“How long have you been symptomatic of pneumonia, Robert?” she questions and presses the bell to his chest through the hospital gown. Definitely pneumonia. Probably malnutrition, and, in all likelihood, poisoning.
“Reagan,” he says quietly and covers her hand with his. “Sit.”
“I just want to get a listen,” she informs him, uncomfortable with his touch but not willing to throw it off. She needs to double check his prognosis.
“Reagan, this is it, my love,” he says in a serious tone. “Sit. Sit with me a minute.”
“But…”
“My little doctor, my little Reagan. Always too busy to stop and see the world,” he says, drawing her attention to his face. There are tears in his eyes. “Sit, please.”
Reagan leaves the stethoscope around her neck but sits in the available chair at his bedside.
“What?” she asks impatiently, wishing she could turn on more lights.
“I wanted to talk to you before I go,” he says, making her uncomfortable. “Give me your hand, daughter.”
“What? Why?” she asks in a defensive manner.
“I want to touch you one last time,” he says. “I need to.”
“I don’t…I’m not comfortable with that.”
He smiles, his lips appearing cracked and dry. “I know.”
Instead of leaving her be like most people, Robert reaches for her hand anyway. She relents and allows it, resting their hands on the bed beside his body. Her father, although he is weak and obviously ill again, still feels warm. His hand is large, bigger even than John’s. She’d forgotten that about him, how big of a man he is.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he apologizes, causing Reagan to look away. “At the university. Dad told me what happened. I’m so sorry. I never would’ve wanted anything like that to happen to you.”
“Yeah, well, me, neither,” she comments wryly.
“You were always so strong, so different from your sisters,” he praises, although she doesn’t want to hear anything like that from him. “I was so proud of you. No father could ever have had so much pride than I did for you. Your mother and I knew you’d go on to do such great things with your life.”
“Yeah, great,” she snorts. “This isn’t exactly the future I had planned for myself, Robert.”
He offers a simple grin, “Nobody did. This is not the life I would’ve wanted for you, but I’m glad you made it home to the farm. I waited until I knew you were home before I left to find Lucy and Gretchen and Lucas. I knew Lucas would take care of them. He’s resourceful, smart, a lot like you.”
“Yes, Luke is smart. I’m glad he took care of your new family for you.”
The expression of pain reflected on his face actually causes her to flinch.
“Yes, I am, as well,” he says. “But I never thought of them as my new family. You girls, your mother, you were my family, too. After she died, I couldn’t raise you girls. I knew I would muck it up.”
“So, you just up and started again with your mistress? I assume she was pregnant with Luke when Mom was on her deathbed? I’ve done the math, Robert. He’s too close to Hannie’s age. You were screwing around on Mom while she was fighting for her life.”
He sighs, the pain in his eyes even more profound. “I’m going to tell you something I don’t want you to share. Not with anyone. Do you understand?”
She begrudgingly nods, although she’d like to get up and leave the room.
“Promise me, Reagan,” he says.
“Fine, I promise. I don’t know why you feel like you need to tell me anything, though.”
“Because you’re the only one I’d trust with this information. Only your grandfather knows, and I only told him when he visited here last because I was afraid I would die with this secret.”
“Fine,” she says with a clenched jaw. “Are you going to tell me that you were so in love with my mother that you waited for her to die before you ditched us for your new family…”
“Lucas is not my son,” he drops like a nuclear bomb. A hush between them falls like a brick wall. Then he resumes, “He’s my adopted son. He and Gretchen are only half brother and sister. Lucy was on my staff, one of my assistants. That’s how I knew her. We were friends. Nothing more. Never. I never cheated on your mother. I loved her. I still love her. I love Lucy, but not like I loved your mother….”
“You and Mom fought all the time…”
“Yes, well, you know how they say there’s a thin line between love and hate? Yes, we had our share of arguments, spats, disagreements. But I loved that woman as I’ve never loved another.”
“You lie,” she says, tears of anger and disbelief forming in her eyes.
“I don’t. I have no reason to. Not n
ow. This is my last night on this earth. If ever I’d want to clear my conscience, it’s right now. And it’s with you. I’ve hurt you so deeply. Sue was almost grown. Hannah needed my mother. I never could’ve dealt with her, with the care she needed at a constant rate. But not you. You were so strong. I didn’t know you’d need me. I thought you were independent. Not like your sisters. I figured you didn’t need me in your life after your mother passed. I never imagined you still needed your daddy.”
That word coming from him almost sends Reagan over the edge. Her heart breaks open just a little. She takes a deep, steadying breath to calm herself.
He continues, “Lucy worked for me. When your mother passed, she was already raising Lucas as a single mother. He was only a bit younger than Hannah. She…she was raped, Reagan. She was brought up not to believe in abortion. She confessed it to me one night when I was working late with her. She told me what happened and just seemed so lost. She didn’t have anyone. Her family was dead. She was an only child. I took one look at her and knew there was no way a woman like Lucy was ever going to be able to raise a child by herself. She’s not like you. She’s a good woman, but she’s weak. She’s a nurturer, a kind person, but she’s not strong, not at all. We were friends. I looked at her that night- I hadn’t left you girls with my parents yet; I was still trying to be a single dad and was failing terribly at it- but I felt like maybe God was trying to tell me that he put this woman in my path for a reason, that I needed to help her.”
Reagan has to swallow the hard lump of emotion stuck in her throat. She refuses to believe her father could do something noble and selfless.
“I didn’t tell my father why I was leaving you girls with him and Mom,” he says, and her heart cracks just a little more at him mentioning Grams. She only ever thinks of her as Grams. It’s easy to forget that her father only ever knew her as ‘Mom.’ The pain he must’ve felt when he found out she was dead when he came to the farm was probably unbearable. “I couldn’t. I didn’t think they’d understand. Hell, I barely knew what I was doing. All I knew is that if I brought Lucy into your lives, it would screw things up even worse than they were. You wouldn’t understand. You girls would think I got her pregnant and cheated on your mother, and we’d have to let you to avoid the truth of Lucas ever finding out that he was the result of a rape. So I left you three with the only people I knew who could do a better job of raising you than me. And I left.”
His voice cracks and tears fall from his bloodshot eyes. After a moment, he recovers enough to continue.
“I left you with them because I knew they’d give you girls what you needed. I married Lucy quickly, and we let Luke think I was his father come home from war. I didn’t dare bring them home to the farm. I knew what everyone would think. I knew what the community would think. Dad had his practice there. Mom and Dad were pillars of the community, still are. It would’ve damaged his reputation having people think I left my girls and married someone else when my wife had just died. People gossip. Especially in small towns. I wanted you girls to have a good life there. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“And G?” she asks.
“With time, I grew to care about Lucy. She told me she’d always been in love with me but had never said anything. She knew I was married. She never would’ve acted on that. She figured it would just be one of those tragic stories of unrequited love. She never would’ve wanted to cause harm to my family. She’s not like that. I didn’t even tell her about you girls. She knew my wife died, but she wasn’t well-acquainted with my personal life. I never shared anything like that at work. I didn’t want my work life to interfere with my personal life. And when your mother died, I poured everything I had into my career. I was driven before, but after, it was even worse. I guess some people deal with things differently than others. For me, it was work. And then Lucy told me she was pregnant with G. I never imagined she would get pregnant. Her birth with Luke was rough. The doctors said she probably wouldn’t have more children. I just assumed she wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I love them just as much as I love you girls.”
“Why didn’t you come home?” she asks, needing to know.
He coughs, and this time Reagan sees blood on his lips, which he quickly blots away with a rag in his other hand. There are already many red stains on it.
“I couldn’t, my love,” he says. “I was too ashamed. I tried to raise Gretchen and Lucas better than I did with you girls. I failed them, too. A man’s legacy isn’t his career, or the medals pinned to his uniform, or his assets. His legacy is in his children. I learned that too late.”
Again, she has to swallow to keep from losing her self-control.
“But my legacy is something to be proud of. Lucas is going to be a true leader of people someday. I just know it. And Gretchen? She’s so strong. He’ll always need her by his side. My legacy is so great. I know that now. Susan is such a wonderful mother. Hannah is my mother all over again, which is no small shoes to fill,” he says with a gentle smile full of fond memories. Then his smile disappears, and he looks at her with deadly seriousness, “But, you Reagan, you’re my greatest legacy.”
“Don’t say that,” she grinds out, fighting back tears of her own.
“It’s true, my love,” he says anyway. “I’m so damned proud of you, little one. You do things every day that make me so proud. Your grandmother always sent me letters and photos of you girls. She’d tell me things you were doing, and my heart would swell. You carry with you all my hopes for the future. Your own children will go on to do great things, too.”
“Stop it,” she whispers brokenly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say these things to you before now,” he apologizes and coughs again. This time when he begins breathing, it is labored and wheezy. “I was a weak man. I’m nothing like you. I never was. Your strength comes from your mother.”
And at this, her tears escape and slip down her cheeks.
“She was always the stronger one,” he says. “You’ll always be ok, my love, because you’re so much like her. You’ll always survive no matter what. You’ll raise those children in strength, not fear, not like me. You will raise them in honesty and love, more than I was ever capable of giving.”
“Don’t,” she warns all the while those tears keep flowing.
“I know you could never forgive me for the things I’ve done,” he admits as she shakes her head to confirm it. “I don’t expect it. I just needed you to know the truth. You finally had to learn. You deserved that much from me. I loved her, Reagan. I loved you girls, too. Someday when you’re in my position, you’ll have nothing to regret. My life is full of them.”
She raises her chin a tad in an effort to get control over her emotions. It doesn’t work.
“I need you to understand my love for you,” he says, and she shakes her head again in defiance. “Still my feisty girl. Still my little Reagan, my tiny one.”
“Don’t do this,” she states. “I don’t want that from you.”
“I know,” he says, a lopsided, weak smile on his mouth. “I’m sorry, love. My timing has never been good when it comes to you. I failed you and your sisters. I know that. I know what I did wasn’t the right thing to do. I was stupid and foolish. If I could go back and change that, I would. I thought I was doing the right thing. Sometimes our judgment is so clouded by things like grief.”
She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry I hurt you. You don’t have to say…”
He coughs and spurts blood again onto his rag. Then he falls back against his pillow and doesn’t move.
“Robert?” she asks in a panic. “Dad?”
He finally opens his eyes. “She’s waiting for me. I saw her.”
“What? Who’s waiting for you? I’m the only one in here.” His lucidity is fading. Reagan curses under her breath. He can’t go yet. There is too much still to say. She feels him slipping, though.
“Your mother. And Mark. He’ll be there, too,” he says, referring to
Reagan’s older brother who was killed in war. He’s referring to the after-life, something she’s not even sure exists. “I love you, pumpkin.”
This is the final straw for Reagan. He used to call her that when she was a little girl. Her breath hitches in her chest, and her father cups her cheek. He runs the backs of his knuckles down her other cheek, the one with the scar, and frowns. Then he smiles at her.
“Don’t leave yet,” she says brokenly. “I want to keep talking. Just keep talking.”
“I do, too, love,” he admits and coughs again. “There’s just never enough time. Don’t forget that. Tell the people in your life how you feel about them, Reagan. Don’t ever run from love. Allow it to consume you. I didn’t do that. I rejected the love of those around me. I rejected my girls, neglected them. I pushed people away. Don’t be like me, love. You deserve to be loved and to give love.”
She nods shakily.
“I love you, little pumpkin,” he says, tears in his eyes brimming over. His breathing becomes more labored than before. He squeezes her hand hard, almost painfully so. He doesn’t seem to be able to catch his breath.
“Grandpa!” she yells. Reagan jumps to her feet and listens to his chest again. It’s mostly fluid moving in there, not air anymore.
Her grandfather is at her side in an instant and begins setting up for CPR and defibrillation should they need it.
“Reagan,” her father says and squeezes her hand firmly again. “I’m…sorry…”
“I…I forgive you,” she finally says, the bough broken, the tears free flowing, her heart open and split and raw and vulnerable like it’s never been before, not even with John. Her father needs this from her. Somehow, she knows that he needs her forgiveness before he can leave. It is not for her to withhold it from him. He needs to hear it. “I forgive you, Dad.”
He reaches out, unseeing now, unfocused, so Reagan grasps his hand in hers. He tries to say something but gags on phlegm. Since the fall, she has seen people die, many times, in fact. He seems afraid.
“Reag…” he tries to say.
“It’s ok, Dad. I’m here. Don’t be afraid. I’m here,” she says, mustering all the courage she doesn’t feel as tears fall down her cheeks at a constant rate. He takes a few more breaths or tries to while Grandpa heats up the paddles. “I love you. I forgive you. It’s ok. Don’t be afraid. She’s waiting for you.”
