“I’m always surprised by mom’s internal strength,” continued Sandy. “She cried, but only for a minute or two. Then she started calling my brothers, other relatives, a few old friends.” She turned to fluff her pillow. “Mother never loses control. You know that.”
“Her strength comes from her faith,” offered Steve.
Sandy stopped brushing and turned to look at her husband. “Faith in what?” she spat, pointing the brush at him like a knife. “Haven’t we progressed beyond believing in an all-knowing, allseeing wizard? I think Toto pulled back that curtain.” Her tone was cold, her words razor sharp. “My dad’s a drunk and has been an embarrassment to the family for years. Mom may be relieved when the time comes.” When Steve didn’t reply, Sandy turned her back to him and began brushing her hair once more, her strokes fast and almost manic in their intensity.
Steve sighed and put her hand on his wife’s shoulder. The brushing stopped immediately, but she didn’t turn around to face him. “I understand, Sandy,” he began tentatively, knowing he was tiptoeing through an emotional minefield. “What we see is always dependent upon where we stand. I love your dad. He’s the only father I’ve ever known. He’s been good to me. Trust me when I tell you that as a fatherless kid, a drunk father is better than no father at all …” Steve’s voice broke.
Sandy turned back to look at Steve. She still held her brush, but was no longer wielding it like a weapon. “You have never talked about this before,” she whispered.
“Your dad never left you,” he continued. “My dad never looked back as he walked out the door. I have no idea where he went or even where he is today. I don’t even know if he’s alive. He doesn’t care about what I’m doing or where I am.” He glanced at the glass of red wine on Sandy’s nightstand. “And your dad suffers from an addiction to alcohol. Mine didn’t have that excuse.”
“So what’s your point?”
“It all started when your dad left his job at the plant and started his business. He told me he needed his beer at night to relax. I can’t judge him.” He paused before his voice took on a steely tone that matched the passion in his eyes. “I won’t judge him.”
“Then don’t judge me,” Sandy snapped, interpreting his words as an accusation about her own behavior. She glared at him when his glance slowly returned to rest on her wine glass. “Oh, I get it,” she said with deep sarcasm. “I don’t have to have this wine.” She picked up the glass and studied the ruby Pinot Noir for a moment. “I enjoy it. But I don’t need it. Besides, it’s good for my heart. And I have never embarrassed you or the kids.”
“No you haven’t,” he answered, “but I wasn’t insinuating anything. I just think you’ve always been too harsh on the old guy. He’s your dad. At least you have one. There must have been good times with your father, Sandy. I mean, the old-timers around town still call you ‘Shadow.’ According to them, wherever Tom went, you were always right there by his side. You were daddy’s little girl—”
“Once,” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “A long time ago.” She put the brush down and slid between the sheets, settled back against her pillows and the headboard, “He’s not your father, Steve. You didn’t grow up with him. It’s easy for you to be so nonchalant about what he’s done to all of us.”
Steve climbed into bed next to her. “True enough,” he admitted. He’s a World War II vet. In my book, that earns him hero status. He married your mom and never left her side. His service to his country and devotion to his family says a lot. He raised you into the woman you’ve become and the woman I love.” He stopped for her to respond. When she remained silent, he continued. “Remember, he’s the one who allowed you to join that drum and bugley thing you love. He’s the guy who worked all day, then drove you seventy miles round trip to rehearsals. He couldn’t have been that bad.”
“That bugley thing?” She mocked his words, shaking her head. Steve had never understood her relationship with The Vanguard. “If you were in The Vanguard, no explanation is necessary. If you weren’t, no explanation is possible.” She looked at her glass of wine, raising it so the light reflected through the rich color. “And that’s too bad,” she added, anxious to change the subject.” You would have been pretty cute in that red cadet uniform.”
While Steve chuckled, Sandy sat upright in bed. “Get this. A mother of one of my students stopped me in the parking lot today. She told me she was praying for me.” She paused to take a long sip. “Praying. It was horribly uncomfortable. I’m afraid I was rude.”
“You?” he replied with obvious surprise evident in his features. “I’ve never seen you be rude to anyone but me.” He laughed, but he did so alone. “Sandy, what’s gotten into you lately?”
She ignored Steve’s question. “It’s all left to me.”
“What’s left to you?”
“The mess!” She emptied what was left in her glass, put it on the nightstand, and turned back to her husband. “There’s more than two decades of garbage stored in that filthy old warehouse he calls a pole barn. Who is going to go through all that crap? Mom? My out-of-state brothers? Of course not. It will be me.”
Now it was Steve’s turn to sit up. “Sandy, I’ll help you! I can—”
She cut him off again. “You don’t have time, Steve, and this is not a weekend project! It will take weeks or longer to sort through that disgusting place. My entire summer vacation will be spent trying to figure out what is worth keeping and what needs to be tossed.” The more she spoke, the louder and angrier she became. “You know what? I think he did this to me on purpose. He ruined my birthday, and now he’s going to ruin my summer.” Her eyes drilled into Steve’s stunned gaze. “Tom Loucks. World War Two hero and Father of the Year.”
“Come on Sandy, that’s crazy. You don’t mean that.”
“I sure do!” Her voice ticked up another notch as the tempo of her speech increased. “So now he dies and leaves his barn full of worthless crap, stacked floor to ceiling. Mom told me his final request was that I clean it up. Me! No one else! She made me promise! And what did he think would happen to all that stacked up garbage?”
When Steve didn’t immediately answer, Sandy threw one pillow on the floor, punched down her remaining pillow, and rolled away from her husband.
“Good night, Sandy,” he whispered as he turned off the lamp. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry this all happened on your birthday.”
The only reply was the ticking clock on his nightstand.
Chapter 3
Sandy picked up the receiver on the fourth ring and managed a mumbled, “Hello?” with a simultaneous glance at the clock. It was nearly midnight.
“Mrs. Richards? Sandy Richards?” It was a female voice, older and authoritative.
“This is Sandy. Who’s calling?” she replied.
“I am so sorry to bother you at this hour. This is Ann Puleo. I’m an RN and nightshift floor supervisor at the Kankakee River Valley Hospice Center.”
Sandy sat up in bed, now wide awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Your father’s breathing has become very labored and his heart rate is irregular, Mrs. Richards.” She paused before continuing. “Your father is failing and it might be best for you and your family to come, quickly.”
Sandy and Steve dressed, called and picked up Sandy’s mom, and drove the twenty miles to the hospice facility within an hour of receiving the call. It was too late. Less than two weeks after his diagnosis, Thomas John Loucks was gone.
Sandy consoled her distraught mother for nearly thirty minutes without shedding a tear of her own.
“He didn’t even have the common courtesy to wait until we arrived,” Sandy replied when Steve asked her how she felt a few hours later when they arrived back home. “He just left without saying good-bye. I don’t care about me. But he didn’t wait for Mom.”
Chapter 4
The outpouring of respect for the man Sandy had grown to disrespect both confused and angered her.
She was in
the process of climbing into a black limousine when she stopped to survey the long line of cars stacked up like horizontal dominos behind it. “I can’t believe all these people,” she whispered to Steve before sliding inside next to her mother.
Her words were meant for her husband’s ears only, but her mother’s hearing was better than she had thought. A small white-gloved hand came to rest upon her arm. “These people respected and loved your father, Sandy. I’m well aware of how you feel—but you are wrong.” Dorothy Loucks stared out the window for several seconds as if counting to ten to temper the words to follow. “I only wish you could see your dad as I saw him.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean any disrespect—”
“No, Sandy, you never do,” her mother cut in. “The man in that casket supported this family and helped me raise our three children. He always made sure that none of us—especially you—ever wanted for anything.”
“I know, mom, I was—.”
Her mother cut her off a second time, her voice taking on an unaccustomed agitated tone. “Who clothed you? Who made sure you got a good education? My goodness, who drove you seventy-miles, round trip to Vanguard rehearsals until you were old enough to drive yourself?”
Sandy remained silent.
“But what, Sandy?” Her mother asked sharply. “I am sure there is a ‘but’ about to come out of your mouth.” Dorothy barely paused to take a breath before continuing. “You never had to pay off a student loan. Who moved you out of your dorm and into your first apartment? And who paid your rent until you started your first job?”
Sandy looked at her mom, who locked her eyes on her daughter and refused to let go.
“From the moment you were born that man loved you. No, that’s not true. He was crazy about you even before you were born. Every night before he went to sleep, he talked to you as you grew inside me. He told you stories. He sang to you. When you were born, no man was ever happier to have a daughter. He rocked you, cared for, and sang to you. Why, until you were twelve, you wouldn’t respond to your own name. You only answered to Shadow. Wherever your father was, his shadow was right there with him. You loved that nickname—Shadow—and so did he. Do you remember?”
When Sandy nodded, Dorothy took a breath and continued. “Your father … why, he cherished you!” The last words caught in her mouth. She stopped a moment, wiped an eye with her tissue, and continued. “You changed his life. Now he’s gone, and you seem to have no idea who he was, or how much he adored you. And that’s why he wants you to clean the barn. And don’t you dare forget your promise to do so.”
It was then her mother, the good and faithful wife who had remained by her husband’s side for forty-nine years, began to sob.
Sandy swallowed hard but was unable to stop the stream of unexpected tears flowing down her own cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her mother lifted her gloved hand from Sandy’s arm and held it up, palm out, in a gesture that could only be interpreted as stop!
Steve reached in the seatback pocket in front of him for a Kleenex while Sandy smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her blue skirt.
The black hearse in front of them slowed and came to a stop, triggering a similar chain reaction behind it that extended the length of several city blocks. Steve reached across his wife and gently cupped his mother-in-law’s hand with his own, using his other to hold one of Sandy’s empty hands. “We love you mom. And we loved Tom. In so many ways he was my father, too.”
The awkward silence was interrupted when a crisply attired Marine officer in his dress blues approached the limousine and tapped lightly on the side window. It was only when Steve lowered the window that he noticed several medals pinned to his chest. The tall officer leaned slightly into the open window. His eyes met those of each passenger until they came to rest upon Mrs. Loucks.
“Ma’am. I’m Captain John McClellan. It’s my honor and privilege to be your escort.” His voice was solemn, formal, deep, and melodious. The Marine paused a moment before opening the door and extending his white-gloved hand to assist Sergeant Tom Loucks’ widow in exiting the limo.
“I’m sorry—did you say captain?” she asked with a confused look on her face.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Captain McClellan, my husband was in the army.”
The Marine extended his bent arm. “Yes, ma’am. I’m taking you to meet Captain Frank Pamper. He’s a soldier like your husband. Would you mind walking just a short distance with me?”
Dorothy nodded approvingly, took his arm, and together they began a slow walk toward the cemetery, her back almost as straight and rigid as the Marine officer’s. Sandy and Steve followed behind them.
They walked a short distance before stopping next to another officer. “Mrs. Thomas John Loucks,” announced Captain McClellan, “this is Captain Frank Pamper, United States Army, Ma’am.”
“Mrs. Loucks,” responded Captain Pamper with the firmness and clarity one would expect at a military funeral. Like Captain McClellan, he wore the dress uniform of his branch of service. “We’re here today to honor your husband and pay tribute to his service to our country. Please allow me to escort you to your seat.” He offered Dorothy his crooked arm for support. Turning to Sandy, Steve, and the rest of their family, he added, “Please follow us.”
With the six pallbearers carrying the casket just to their front, Captain Pamper led them to chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet and reserved for immediate family only. Once they were seated. Steve and the girls stood directly behind Sandy and her mom.
“Please be seated,” said the Loucks’ family pastor as he surveyed the large crowd with what could only be described as a pleased look on his face. “God of Grace and Glory,” he began,
we remember before You today, our brother, Thomas John Loucks, husband, father, grandfather, friend, businessman, and soldier. We thank you for giving Tom to us to know and to love as a companion in our earthly pilgrimage. In Your boundless compassion, console those of us who mourn. Give us faith to see that death has been swallowed up by the cross and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Be with Tom’s family. Give them the peace and comfort through Your assurance that Tom is now with You and that he is free of the stresses and pressures of this life. In the name of Your Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
The pastor cleared his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “It is fitting that today, Tom, our dear friend and family member, is honored for his service to our country,” he began. “A member of the World War II generation, he rose to the occasion, answered the call of his country, and served bravely and honorably.” The pastor’s gaze scanned the entire gathering before settling upon Sandy. “I knew Tom well. Very well. Few will ever understand the price he paid in defense of his country. Very few.”
The Walton Center American Legion Honor Guard of seven men ranging from fifty to eighty years of age snapped to attention. When the moment arrived, their rifles snapped to their shoulders in unison.
“Fire!” Sandy’s body jerked at the eruption of the first volley.
“Fire!” the second volley seemed much louder, and the third louder still.
The members of the Honor Guard carefully removed the flag from the casket, folded it, and once formed into the ceremonial triangle, handed the sacred banner to Captain Pamper. The captain tucked the flag against his waist, stepped toward the family, and knelt on one knee in front of the widow.
“Mrs. Loucks,” he began, “this flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army. Please accept this flag that draped your husband’s casket as a symbol of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service of Sergeant Thomas John Loucks.”
Dorothy, her cheeks awash in tears, cradled the flag in her arms and pulled it close. “God bless you, ma’am.” The captain nodded his respects to the rest of the family, turned smartly, and walked away.
When a single tear leaked out of Sandy’s right eye and began tracing its way through her makeup, a sudden rus
h of emotion welled up inside her chest. She reached back for Steve’s hand. As always, he was there for her.
Alone bugler sounded the haunting melody of Taps. He held the last of the two dozen notes for several seconds. It took a moment for its echo to fade away. Silence drifted once more over the cemetery.
“God bless you all,” the pastor concluded. “The family has asked you to join them at the church hall where a luncheon has been prepared. On behalf of the family and our departed friend Tom, thank you for joining us today.”
Chapter 5
The alarm sounded at 6:00 a.m., lifting Sandy out of a deep sleep into the arms of the first morning of summer vacation. She had no intention of sleeping in. Today was a work day, and she would spend it in her father’s pole barn.
The unmistakable scent of frying bacon filled the bedroom. She breathed deeply and dressed quietly, pulling on a pair of blue denim shorts before slipping a white short-sleeved T-shirt trimmed with bright red piping over her head. She glanced in the mirror at the red and black shield logo with the word Vanguard strategically placed as if it were over her heart. The brush she ran through her hair several times removed the tangles. What she could not shake free was her mother’s heated reminder from three weeks earlier that it was her father who always made the long drives to and from her Vanguard rehearsals. Digging through her top drawer, she settled on a pair of white athletic socks, laced up her worn red and black running shoes, and joined Steve in the kitchen.
“You’re up early for a Monday, Steve,” she said reaching for the coffee pot.
“Thought I’d make my girl a good breakfast to kick off her summer.” He pulled her close and kissed her forehead before turning the thick bacon strips sizzling in the black iron skillet.
“Thanks,” she replied, “but I really need to get started—and get this over.” Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, she filled her mug and headed out the door.
The Final Service Page 3
