“What is it?” she asked, taking his hands.
His words came out as a tremble. “I got a call. Abby’s uncle’s had a heart attack.” There was no easy way to break the news. “Mom, I have to go!”
Lorella motioned to one of the waiting flower girls. “Susan, dear, run quick and get your uncle Joel. Tell him to hurry!”
When the child returned, she was tugging more than Joel. Seeing the commotion, Burnell had joined in and was bringing up the rear.
“What is it?” Joel asked, wearing all the terror of a cancelled wedding.
Lorella filled him in. “It’s an emergency. Abby’s father—Abby is Carter’s girlfriend—he’s had a heart attack. Carter has to leave!”
“Can’t it wait until after the wedding?” Burnell asked with unintended brashness.
Lorella left no room for debate. “No!” she retorted. “He needs to go now! If he misses the last flight he’ll have to wait until morning and . . . well, that won’t do.”
“Have you called the airlines?” Joel wondered. He didn’t wait for an answer to explain. “My friend works for the airport authority. He can pull some strings. Let me find out if he’s working.” Joel clutched his phone and dialed.
Carter rocked forward on his toes. The ceremony was supposed to be starting, and he was holding it up for everyone. “Mom, I’m completely messing up your wedding. I feel terrible. I’ll just wait!”
“Carter James Cross!” No one misunderstood her tone. “Do you love this girl or don’t you?”
Nobody had ever asked him so directly, so forcefully. He didn’t need to wrestle with the words. “Yes . . . yes, I do!”
“Then look around, Son. Learn something. Don’t be sorry later.”
It was Burnell’s turn to weight-shift. He seemed to sense he was part of her lesson, but he didn’t disagree. “I told you,” he reinforced, with a slap to Carter’s back. “Value in use. It’s the one I should have used.”
Carter’s eyes must have been scrunching. “I’ll explain it again to you later,” his father said, “and I want you to listen more carefully next time.”
Joel was barely hanging up his phone. “Evan is working,” he confirmed. “He’ll meet you at the curb. If there’s any chance of you flying out tonight, you need to leave now!”
“Let me call a cab,” Carter said.
“There’s no time,” Joel replied. “Lorella, can we delay the wedding an hour? I’ll take him.”
Carter spun a quarter turn. He was facing both Joel and Lorella. “No, no, no! You’re getting married!” he hollered, since it appeared the crazies had suddenly forgotten the purpose of their own gathering.
“I can take him.” The voice belonged to Grayson, Carter’s older brother, who must have wandered up from behind.
Silence confirmed that the family finally agreed on something.
“We’ll still delay an hour,” Lorella told him. “Can you be back?”
“I’ll do my best,” Grayson replied. He turned to direct Carter. “I’ll pull up the car and meet you out front.”
As Grayson trotted away, Carter reached across to embrace his mother. His words were coated with candor. “I’m sorry to have come this far and then miss your wedding. I’m also sorry I was so weirded out by all of this at first. I can see that Joel really is a terrific guy, and I’m extremely happy for you.”
“That’s all that I wanted you to see, so thank you!” The twinkle in her eyes was as bright as the surrounding Christmas lights. “And simply because we’re a bit dysfunctional,” she added, “doesn’t mean we aren’t always here for you.”
He hugged her and perhaps held her too tight because when he pulled away she was trickling tears.
“And bring Abby with you next time,” she sniffled. Then she glimpsed her watch. Her tears instantly scattered as her voice assumed a level closer to Burnell’s. “Now, go!” she commanded.
Carter mouthed his last thank you, turned toward the entrance . . . and ran.
Grayson Cross was three years older than Carter—and three years more intimidating. In high school, he’d lettered in basketball, dated a cheerleader, made the honor roll. Grayson, unlike the wayward second child in the family, had followed in his father’s footsteps to Cornell, graduated with honors, then taken an associate position at his father’s firm. There was no question he was the preferred son; when Carter was still living at home, friends and neighbors commonly referred to Carter as Grayson’s brother.
“I appreciate the ride to the airport,” Carter told him for the umpteenth time.
“Relax,” replied Grayson. “As I said, it’s no problem.”
For the next minute no words were spoken, and what should have been comfortable silence between brothers swelled into awkwardness. Carter used a question to cut the apprehension.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know what value in use means?”
Grayson laughed low and long, giving both of them time to relax. “Don’t tell me that Dad gave you the value in use lecture?”
“Then you’ve heard it?”
“Sure. He mentions it a lot, especially when he’s drunk. I’m curious . . . did the context have something to do with a girl?”
“How did you know? What does it mean?”
“It’s Dad’s way of admitting that he blew it.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Let me see if I can get his definition right. Value in use weighs the utility of an object in satisfying—directly or indirectly—the needs or desires of human beings. Does that sound about right?”
“That’s it exactly.”
“It’s the value of something you can’t put a price on. The desire of human beings is, of course, love. It’s Dad’s way of conceding that relationships rather than money may in fact be what makes life worth living.”
“Our dad?” Carter questioned.
“He has his moments,” Grayson replied, his gaze calm and kind. “Granted, they’re few and far between—and, as I said, sometimes liquor is involved.”
Carter shook his head, dusted away the doubt. “How about you? How is life at the firm? Have you made partner yet?”
Grayson’s smirk uncurled. It was a look that said he couldn’t tell if Carter was being serious or not. “Now you’re just mocking me, aren’t you?”
Wrinkles folded at the corners of Carter’s eyes. “Mocking you? What are you talking about?”
Grayson glanced from the road to Carter. “You’re rubbing it in that I’m stuck at the firm and you’re not.”
Every muscle in Carter’s face read he was clueless. “I’m completely serious. You’re an attorney. You’re making a killing. You own a home. You’re following your dream. Me? I’m technically unemployed at the moment. At least one of us is making Dad proud.”
Grayson’s grin returned, but the corners were weighted down with disbelief. “You’re so dense sometimes it’s laughable,” he told him. “Dad pressured us both to go to law school, and I was too timid to stand up to him. You, on the other hand, had the sense to walk away, to get out. You don’t even see that, do you?” He gestured toward Carter with his nose, as if trained to sniff out the foolhardy.
“I’ve never looked at it that way,” Carter said. “I guess I always considered myself the disappointment.”
“Whether Dad appreciates it or not, I’m telling you that I admire what you did. It took courage. Going to law school, following Dad’s footsteps—that was the easy way out, and easy always comes at a price.”
Carter let the thought swim around him before pivoting the topic. “What do you think of Joel?”
“As far as I can tell, he and Mom are pretty great together. I’m kind of happy for them both. You?”
This time Carter’s reply was soft around the edges. “Joel seems
. . . fabulous. Grayson?”
“Yes?”
“Next time I come out, which will be soon, I’d love for us to spend some time together, go golfing, genuinely catch up. What do you say?”
The silence was finally warm.
“I can’t wait.”
When Joel said his friend had connections, he wasn’t joking. Evan was waiting as Carter arrived at the airport. He ushered Carter into a nearby office suite and then slid behind a computer. He tapped the keyboard like a seasoned secretary.
“Here’s what we’ve got. Unfortunately, you’ve missed the last flight leaving for Hartford tonight. You can stay overnight here—I can get you a room at the Hilton next to the airport and then get you on a flight first thing in the morning . . .” he hit a few more keys “ . . . that will get you there tomorrow night, around nine.” More tapping, more scribbling codes on a piece of scratch paper with his pen, “Or . . . there’s a redeye that leaves in an hour that will get you into Boston by morning. You can grab a rental car and be in Springfield by noon.” He glanced to Carter for his preference.
“Boston sounds like the better choice, right?”
“There’s one issue,” the man added, twisting the screen around for Carter to see. “I can see the weather warnings sent to the pilots, and it appears there’s a storm blowing down the coast that they have a close eye on. They’ve flagged it as a potential divert or delay, which could happen before you land in Boston. It’s unlikely but possible. I’ll let you make the call.”
“I’m still thinking Boston,” Carter said, watching to see if the man agreed. As an afterthought, Carter asked, “What’s the price difference between the two flights?”
The man’s scrunching eyebrows deflected all concern. “I spoke with Joel, and we’ve got this covered for you.”
Carter offered a gracious nod, considered, calculated, and then concluded. He turned to the man waiting behind the computer.
“Send me to Boston!”
With just twenty minutes until he was to board his flight, Carter dialed his mother. He told her to thank Joel, then listened to her recite how grateful she was that he had come out. He could hear the wedding party raging in the background and had to threaten to hang up to convince her to return to her guests.
Carter had one more call to make.
His dad’s phone clicked right to voice mail. Carter considered calling back but decided if he didn’t get the words out now, they may refuse later.
“Dad, this is Carter. I’ve been thinking about the situation between you and Mom—the divorce and her new marriage—and . . . I blamed you. I realize now that it wasn’t my place, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Plus, I sincerely appreciate your advice on value in use. I’ve been thinking about the concept and I plan to take it to heart.” He paused for a second, waiting for the words to catch up with his thoughts. “Next time I come out, I’m going to bring Abby. I’d like you to meet her.” It was a notion that carted contentment. “I’m boarding now, so I’ll call you later. Thanks, Dad.”
Abby tilted forward to keep her legs from falling asleep. The chair, though hospital worthy, was about as comfortable as raw plywood—but she wouldn’t leave. She held Mannie’s fingers, occasionally squeezing, continually praying he would soon squeeze back.
The door cracked open, and Seven slid into the room.
“Abby, let me sit with him for a while. You go home and get some sleep.”
Abby squinted her confusion. “I thought you were taking Rosa and André home.”
“Honey, I did. Now I’m back to spell you off.”
Seven had already edged against the bed, already rested her hand on Mannie’s. She was not giving Abby a choice.
“I can’t go home,” Abby contested. “I wouldn’t sleep there, either, and at least here I’m not alone.”
Seven’s head lifted and then lowered. It was as if she expected nothing less. “Then at least let me sit with Mannie while you go and get something to eat. It’s been hours, and I insist.”
Abby’s eyes shone gratitude. Not for the chance to eat, but for knowing that there were others around who truly cared.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.
She freed Seven’s hand, shuffled zombielike to the cafeteria—surprised to find it still open—and bought a plastic-bowled salad she likely wouldn’t eat. She sat at a table near the window and subconsciously segregated the bowl’s contents with her fork.
The words she’d been repeating to Mannie clung to her, still reeking of despair. “Don’t leave me, Uncle. I’m not ready to have you go. I’m not ready to face life alone.”
The cafeteria sat on the ground floor, and as she glanced at the outside window, a misty image of the moon filled the pane. She was too young to remember her parents’ passing, but she’d been told the story of how she watched the moon from an adjacent room as those closest to her quietly slipped away.
Tonight, the eerie moonlight filled her with panic, representing only sorrow and death. She stood, left her uneaten salad on the table, and hurried back to be with Mannie.
Two doors away, she passed another room with a window to the outside world, this one covered with stained glass. It was the hospital chapel, and, despite her anxiety, she couldn’t help but step inside.
At this late hour, she was alone, and her intent was to hurry to the front, bow silently in a pew beside the stained-glass image of Christ, and offer a quick but heartfelt prayer. Then a twinkle of light near the opposite wall snared her attention. It was a makeshift manger scene, lit with strands of white Christmas lights, and it drew her close like the smell of baking cookies might draw a child.
She was looking for a spot to pray, and it would do fine.
As she waited for the words to assemble, irony also edged in through the colored glass. The moonlight illuminated the makeshift cradle, highlighting the obvious message: People come into the world and people go. Birth and death hold hands. It’s the way life has been for a million years.
The truth of it didn’t stop her heart from aching. Is there a heavenly allocation, she wondered? Do we all have our appointed time to die, or does heaven offer some flexibility in the process?
As she contemplated death and birth, a thought she knew to be selfish squirmed into her head. It was an idea that became a whispered plea. “I get that dying is an inevitable part of life, that every day babies are born and people pass—but I need more time. If there’s some sort of quota, some universal balance in play, I’m asking if there’s somebody else you can take tonight, someone who can step in instead? God, I can’t lose Mannie at Christmas. I simply can’t.”
No sooner had she let the words go than she wished she could gather them back. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head in disgust toward the manger. “That was a terrible and self-centered thing for me to say.”
But the words were already floating through the tinted window, winding their way heavenward. And, as many answered prayers will attest, sometimes uttered words are impossible to take back.
Abby quietly left the chapel and walked back to Mannie’s room. When she pulled open the door, her heart sank. Seven was seated in the chair beside the bed with tears channeling down both her cheeks. She was watching a doctor and nurse, one on each side of the bed, work on Mannie.
“No!” Abby screamed as she bolted toward them, but Seven jumped up to stop her midstep. “Abby, don’t worry,” she said smiling, almost laughing. “These are happy tears! Mannie squeezed my hand!”
Just a few hours later, Mannie was sitting up. He was awake and still tethered to the incessantly beeping monitor, but he was complaining about it, so it was a positive sign. The doctor came in, seemed surprised at how well his patient was recovering, then explained that they would continue to run tests, that Mannie’s heart was still enlarged, that the disease hadn’t gone away. He said that although Mannie had inde
ed suffered a mild myocardial infarction, it was likely the lack of oxygen triggered by Mannie’s condition that had caused him to lose consciousness. And there were some remedies to address that.
Abby gripped Mannie’s fingers, squeezed her appreciation, could still scarcely believe the turn of events. “I couldn’t have you go at Christmas,” she repeated, as if his improvement were her doing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mannie replied. “At least, not yet.” And then he passed her a look that let her know it was time they talked.
“We can chat later,” Abby told him. “You need to rest now.”
“You need to listen,” he said, “since in truth neither one of us knows how much ‘later’ I have left in me.”
She recognized that arguing would only agitate him further, so she scooted in close and gave Mannie her full attention.
“Have you talked to Carter?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I tried to call but it went directly to voice mail.”
“There’s something I need to tell you. I know you’re angry that he didn’t say anything to you about me being sick, and you think that means you can’t trust him.” Abby didn’t move, didn’t voice her agreement. She just listened. “But I’m telling you now that Carter not telling you about me means he’s probably the most trustworthy person you’ll ever meet.”
Abby weighed Mannie’s words, doing her best to reconcile them. “What do you mean?”
“Listen. I made Carter swear that he wouldn’t tell you. He was keeping a promise to me, an ornery old fart he hardly knew, when every other guy in the world would have spilled his guts in ten seconds to the beautiful girl. No, Abby, Carter may have many faults, but I’m telling you here and now that not being trustworthy most certainly isn’t one of them.”
If she harbored any lingering doubt about Carter, it cowered at Mannie’s explanation—and the man wasn’t finished. “You also need to know that he cares for you. I could see it the moment I saw you two walk in the room together on that first day. The way he looked at you—you can’t fake that, and you can’t hide it.”
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