What She Deserved

by A. L. Jambor

  When Ginger came to the foyer, Charlene was petting Beelzebub.

  "I've been stopping by to feed the cat when I get off my shift."

  "That's awfully nice of you."

  "It's no bother. I don't live that far away, and I worried about Beelzebub."

  "What will happen to him now?"

  "I'll see if I can find him a home." She handed Ginger a slip of paper. "These are the directions to the hospital. It's right off the parkway so you shouldn't have any trouble finding it."

  "Thank you, and thanks for feeding the cat. I'll let him know it's being taken care of." Ginger cringed. "He's in a coma. He won't be talking."

  "Are you gonna be okay?"

  Ginger sighed and shook her head. "I'll be fine. The rental has one of those GPS things, and a nice young man showed me how to use it." She went to the door and then looked at Charlene. "I'll feed the cat while I'm here. I'd like the company."

  "I'll keep that in mind while I look for a home for him," Charlene said.

  Ginger got into the car and sat for a moment. Her back ached and her legs hurt, but other than that, she felt good. Birdie had asked her to bring Charlie home to Wisconsin, but like their sister Myrna, who had died of a stroke not long ago, he would never be able to travel. Ginger shook her head as she thought about her older sister. Birdie had inherited Grandma's house, but she wanted more. Birdie always wanted more.

  Ginger looked at Charlie's house. It needed paint, and the landscaping had been ignored for quite some time. Despite what Birdie said about them, Ginger would have to call Charlie's kids and ask them what they wanted to do with the house. They were his heirs and they would have to be consulted.

  She'd forgotten to ask Charlene if they'd been to see him, but she doubted they had. Neither of them had come when he'd had his heart attacks. Neither had responded when his caregiver tried to contact them, leaving messages on their phones. Ginger thought of her own daughters and sighed. She couldn't imagine them treating her that way.

  She got on the parkway, drove to the Oceanville exit, and had no trouble finding the hospital. Charlie was in intensive care, and she was able to go straight to his room. His eyes were closed and he was on a ventilator. She sat in the chair near the bed and a nurse approached her and smiled.

  "Are you family?"

  "I'm his sister."

  "I'll let the doctor know you're here so he can stop by to talk to you."

  "He's not good, is he?" Ginger looked tired, and the nurse shook her head.

  "He hasn't regained consciousness since they brought him in. The doctor will be able to tell you more."

  Ginger looked at Charlie. Her mind swirled with thoughts of all the things she'd have to do if he died. She'd have to go through his file cabinet to find a copy of his will, or if he had an advance directive. She couldn't imagine he'd want to stay on a ventilator for long, but she'd honor his wishes no matter what. While she waited for the doctor, she listened to the machines and watched Charlie's chest go up and down.

  She recalled following Charlie around the farm when she was very young. Even then, she knew he barely tolerated her. There was no affection between them, but for some reason, she found him fascinating. Perhaps it was his lack of interest that made her try to get his attention, only giving up when she started going to school and made new friends.

  Her sisters showed Ginger how to do chores around the farm. Her memories were sweet, and by the time she was ten, Charlie had gone off to the war in Korea. Grandma had kept photos of him on the mantel. Mama had died in a car accident when Ginger was five, leaving Grandma to raise her. Birdie helped Grandma, and could be hard at times, but she did love her sisters. Myrna and Ginger were close, but Kerry was a loner who protested the Vietnam War and died of a heroin overdose in 1972.

  Birdie, Ginger, and Charlie were the only ones left, and now Charlie, the Mayor Emeritus of Cape Alden, was fading. He had run for office several times and won. Grandma was thrilled with his political career, but Ginger couldn't equate his run for office with the introverted boy she'd known. When she talked to her grandmother about him, Grandma talked about how he felt the need to give something back to the community, and Ginger had asked why he couldn't do that in Wisconsin.

  "It's his burden," was all Grandma said.

  "What burden?" Ginger asked, but Grandma always changed the subject whenever Ginger asked, and her sisters were as perplexed as she.

  Whatever the reason, Charlie had been a good mayor and raised a fine family, and now he lay in this bed with no one by his side but his baby sister, a woman he hardly knew. Why weren't his children here?

  Ginger dialed Birdie's number and it went to voicemail. She wanted to know if Charlie's kids had called her, or if anyone had heard from them, so she left a message. Half an hour later, the doctor came in and smiled as he put his hand out to her.

  "I'm Dr. Graham."

  "I'm Charlie's sister, Mrs. Turner."

  He looked at the computer chart. "Your brother suffered a stroke that damaged a large area of his brain." He looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "Since this is a second stroke in a short period of time, it's likely that he won't recover, but he was placed on life support because there was no advance directive in his file."

  "Can you take him off life support and see if he can breathe on his own?" Ginger asked.

  Dr. Graham shook his head. "Not unless he specified that." He typed something into the computer, and then looked at her. "If there is no directive, and we determine that his brain function has ceased, then we respect the wishes of the family."

  "I haven't heard from his children yet, and I wanted to look through his desk to see if he'd left anything about what he wanted." She looked at Charlie. "I guess I should go and take care of that."

  "I'll be here tomorrow around the same time. You can always talk to the nurse and she can contact me."

  He left her alone and she stared at her brother.

  Is this what we come to? she thought, lying in a hospital bed alone with no one to care whether we live or die?

  She got up, kissed Charlie's forehead, and left the room. She told the nurse she would return tomorrow, left her telephone number, and went to her car.

  The traffic was terrible as people made their way to the shore for the weekend. Ginger found herself drifting off as the cars moved slowly toward the Cape Alden exit. She wished she'd waited a few more days before coming to New Jersey. Perhaps her brother would have died naturally without her having to make such a daunting decision.

  Once off the parkway, she went straight to Charlie's house. Beelzebub was waiting for her when she got home and he ran his body along her legs as he mewed loudly.

  "All right, I guess you're hungry," she said.

  Ginger ate a can of soup and fed the cat. She fell asleep watching TV, woke up at ten, and looked around as she tried to remember where she was. She stretched, and then turned off the TV.

  Before she went to bed, she went to Charlie's desk and began to look through his files. There was no living will, no advance directive, nothing that indicated what his last wishes were, and when she was just about to close the drawer, something shiny caught her eye. She pulled the drawer out and saw the edge of a gold chain sticking out of a file folder, so she pulled it out of the drawer. The file was labeled "Charlotte Johnson."

  The object was a necklace bearing an oval pendant with a pearl in the center, and on the back were the initials "Love, JMJ." The fastener was broken as if it had been yanked off someone's neck, and the charm was worn in places so that the metal underneath the gold showed through.

  The folder also contained newspaper clippings from the thirties and early forties. They were from the Cape Alden Courier, and most were from the sports section.

  "Local High School Hero Wins Again!"

  The local hero was a boy named Joshua Jackson. He was holding a football over his head as if he was about to pass it to another player, and Ginger thought he was quite handsome. Was he a member of the family? I
f so, why hadn't she heard of him before?

  Perhaps he was a distant cousin killed in the war, one that lived on the east coast, and maybe Charlie had been doing a search of their genealogy. All the clippings were of Joshua Jackson, and she was about to put the folder away when one fell out of the folder.

  It was a clipping from the Sunday supplement featuring another article on Joshua Jackson. There was a photo of the lighthouse and another of Joshua with his arm around "his little brother, Charlie." Ginger's back straightened. She recognized Charlie right away. She also recognized "his sisters, and his parents" featured in other photos.

  She read every word of the article but it made no sense. She had never heard of this boy, but the article kept referring to him as the son of Joe the lighthouse keeper. Had he died in the war and they just didn't tell her about him? No, she thought. No one forgets a loved one who dies in war. They make little memorials to them, like the one Birdie made when Joe died. Ginger had seen it on the mantel every day growing up.

  She read all the other articles, searching for more information. She looked at the clock -- it was eleven, too late to call Birdie, who went to bed early. She'd have to wait until tomorrow.

  Ginger looked at each piece of paper inside the folder. She found out that a Charlotte Johnson had been murdered in May of 1941. There were photos of her and photos of a woman named Celia Morton, the woman accused of killing Charlotte. Ginger sat back and wondered what Charlotte had to do with Joshua Jackson, but she knew there had to be some connection, something that made Charlie collect these articles and keep them in a folder.

  She looked at the medal. The initials were most likely those of Joshua Jackson, but they could have been her parents' as well. Before she closed it, she placed the necklace back into the folder. Her head hurt. She had been up since dawn and was too tired to think about anything anymore. She closed the file and put it back in the cabinet before turning off the light and heading to bed.

  Ginger

  The doctor was already standing outside Charlie's room when Ginger arrived the next morning. He was writing notes with a pen this time, not putting them into the computer. The doctor who'd been tending her grandmother had been writing notes, too, only it wasn't notes; it was his signature on her death certificate. After finding the file the night before, she had hoped that by some miracle Charlie would come to so she wouldn't have to decide his fate, but as she got closer to his room the doctor's face said it all.

  "He's gone, isn't he?" she asked.

  The doctor nodded. "He went a few minutes ago. We tried to revive him, but he didn't respond."

  "Is he still here?"

  "Yes, you can sit with him as long as you'd like."

  She walked into the silent room and went to the side of his bed so she could see his face. Her grandmother had looked peaceful, as had her sister, Myrna, but Charlie looked angry. The lines on his face were still hard, as if he was having a nightmare, and she had to look away.

  She went to the window and looked at the ocean. It was several blocks away, but she could see the green water of the Atlantic. It was a bright, sunny day, and she thought of all the people who would be coming to the shore. Now that Charlie was gone, she might be able to just make the arrangements for him and go home. She took out her phone to see if his children had tried to call, but there were no messages.

  If his own children don't give a damn...no, I can't think that way. He was my brother.

  Ginger tried to remember a conversation she'd had with him, or a moment they had spent together as siblings, but nothing came to mind. Even when she and her family visited years ago, Charlie had been too busy to spend time with them. She stood at the foot of his bed and felt nothing for him, just her familial duty, with none of the attendant emotions.

  "Sorry, Charlie," she said, and then suppressed a smile as she recalled that old tuna commercial.

  Ginger went to the nurse's station and told them she would have to go home so she could make the arrangements for his funeral, and then she glanced at the door of his room one more time before leaving, wishing she could feel more for his loss, and then left the hospital.

  When she got into her car, she called Birdie. Her sister answered on the last ring.

  "Hi, Birdie. I have some bad news."

  "He's gone."

  "Yes, and I still haven't heard from his children."

  "I'll try calling them again. I know they were never close to their father, but you would think they'd care enough to return our calls."

  "Do you know if he had a will?" Ginger asked.

  "Geez, no, but he'd have to, wouldn't he? Did you look in his desk?"

  She hesitated. "Yes, and I found something that I wanted to ask you about." She hesitated. "There was a file in there labeled Charlotte Johnson, and inside were all these articles about a boy named Joshua Jackson. Is he any relation to us?" Birdie didn't speak. Ginger thought they'd been cut off. "Birdie."

  "What were the articles about?"

  "They were all about the sports he was involved in, and there were pictures of Mom and Dad, and kids outside the lighthouse, oh, and in one this Joshua had his arm around a boy named Charlie. I assume that's our Charlie, so who was this guy?"

  "Forget him. He's not important. He died in the war. I'll call the kids. Let me know where the funeral will be so I can send flowers."

  She hung up before Ginger could say goodbye. Birdie had sounded strange, and she'd never hung up on Ginger before. Now her curiosity was piqued. If he was not important, then why did Charlie keep all those clippings? Birdie had lied, and Ginger wanted to know why.

  She drove back to the house and fed Beelzebub before heading to Charlie's desk. She saw the light blinking on Charlie's landline phone and listened to the message Charlene had left after Ginger went to the hospital. Charlene had found a home for the cat and wanted to know when she could come by and get him, but Ginger wasn't ready to let him go. She called Charlene and told her to come for him after she went home.

  She looked at the desk drawers. There were two she hadn't looked in so she pulled the first one open. There were more files, but they contained household bills and Charlie's banking information. The next drawer contained more papers, no will, and no indication of who Joshua Jackson was.

  Underneath the papers she found an old address book that had listings for three attorneys. She called each and one of them, a man named Bertram Gleason, told her that yes, Charlie had a will, and that he had prepaid for his funeral at a place called McGinty's in Cape Alden.

  "All you have to do is call and they will take care of the rest," he said. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm holding up."

  "Would you mind coming into my office before you return to Wisconsin?"

  "Is it possible to see you today?"

  He put her on hold and she imagined him asking his secretary to rearrange his schedule.

  "Thanks for holding, Ms. Turner. I can see you at noon."

  He gave her directions and she jotted them down. When she hung up, she felt better. Just having someone to help eased the burden, but her lack of empathy toward her brother still made her feel sad. She had no idea the type of man he'd been, or how he'd lived, or what he liked to eat for breakfast.

  If his children's lack of attention was any clue, than he had not been well-liked, and this made her feel even sadder. It also made her feel glad that her daughters were always there for her. They knew what she liked for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  She sat back in the chair and sighed. The house was full of antique furniture Charlie's wife had collected. Ginger had met her once during that visit years ago and she had been polite, the perfect hostess, but she was aloof, like an overdressed mannequin in her favorite Jersey store, Bamberger's. While Ginger had loved going to the beach with her girls, Olivia wouldn't accompany them. Instead, she looked down her nose at Ginger as if the woman had lost her mind.

  "The sun never touches my skin," she said.

  The memories of Charlie's wi
fe grew more intense when she saw Olivia's portrait in the living room, which is why Ginger had avoided that room after seeing the painting the day she arrived.

  Ginger got up and went to the bookcases lining the study wall. She wandered from one end to the other, and then she spotted a book called A Murder in Cape Alden. She pulled it from the shelf and flipped through it, lingering over the lurid black and white crime scene photos, and pausing to look at a photo of Charlotte.

  Her features were oddly familiar and she thought Charlotte was attractive rather than pretty. Whoever killed her must have hated her guts, and Ginger wondered again why Charlie had been so interested in her, then she saw a photo of the cottage with the caption, "The cottage, located just a few yards from the lighthouse in Cape Alden."

  She had lived near the lighthouse. Had she been friendly with the Jacksons? It would make sense that if Charlie had known her, he would be interested in what had happened to her, but that still didn't explain who Joshua Jackson was.

  She kept turning pages, and finally looked in the index for his name, but he wasn't in the book. As she flipped through the pages, something fell to the floor, and Ginger bent over to pick it up. It was a strip of four photos of Charlotte and a young man that must have been taken in one of those booths on the boardwalk. He had his face buried in her neck and she looked like she was giggling. In the last picture, the man showed his face, and Ginger saw that it was no man at all, but a boy, the same boy she'd seen in the newspaper clippings -- Joshua Jackson.

  Phil

  August, two weeks closer to the end of his misery, and Phil had made it -- he'd endured. He'd looked at used cars and found one he could afford, insured it, and bought the tags. The first time he drove it, he almost felt like his old self again, though he got a little apprehensive driving past the scene of the accident on Main Street.