Chapter 31
Lesley’s father entered her room as John finished the journal entry. His hair curled around his ears, his trim obviously overdue, and the man needed a good night’s rest and a shave to boot. Sooner rather than later.
“Hey, Frasier.” John set the Bible aside and stood to shake his hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay long tonight. I need to get back home to the children.”
“I understand.” The older man nodded and gazed at his daughter. “She hardly looks the same.” Frasier’s strength faltered.
“She’s still beautiful. Nothing will change that.” He brushed a hand across her forehead.
“You’re right.” Frasier’s glance turned down. The hope that had shown in his eyes a few days ago faded as the man placed his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants and gazed at the floor. “I don’t know what to do, John.” Frasier peered back up and met his stare. Tears threatened to fall down the man’s cheeks. “I hate seeing her like this. Being a doctor, I should be used to it, but when she’s my own daughter, it’s unbearable. She’s all I’ve got left.”
So much rode on Lesley’s survival: his heart, and her father’s.
“Hang in there, Frasier. She’s strong.” John squeezed her limp hand. Her clammy and cold skin sent a shiver through him, and he squeezed harder, as if he could transfer some of his life to her.
“What do I do? Keep praying?” Frasier shrugged.
He sighed. “Some people believe that works.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, uncomfortable with the topic. “Praying didn’t do me much good with my wife.”
“Well, I’ve prayed, John. I’ve prayed every damn day and every damn night, and I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair.
John glanced back at Lesley and imagined one of his children in her place. A pain shuddered deep to his soul. He couldn’t, and didn’t, want to imagine what Frasier felt. Watching not one but the two loves of your life suffer was tragic enough, but watching your child suffer…that pain had to be unbearable.
The desire to get back to his children pulled at him even harder. He needed to hold them. Lesley would understand if he left.
“I have to get home, but I’ll call Milton. He’ll come stay with you tonight, or Emma. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Don’t bother them.” Frasier wiped the tears from his eyes. “If you want to bother someone, bother that preacher that found her. He seems to be a Godly man. Maybe his prayers will do us some good. Reach a higher realm than mine seem to be.”
“Sure.” John nodded. He didn’t want to call Parks, but perhaps the man could offer Frasier some words of hope and wisdom he couldn’t. “She’s strong, Frasier. She’ll pull through this.” He tugged Lesley’s dad into a hug. The man completely broke down, his wet tears covering John’s shirtsleeve. He held him until he finished.
“I’m good.” Frasier ended the hug with a slap on John’s back before he wiped his eyes. “Get home to your kids.”
“Yes, sir.” He shut the door on his way out, the need for fresh air pulling him.
An hour later, he crossed the threshold of his home.
“Daddy,” Matthew shrieked as he walked through the door.
Emma and his children sat at the kitchen table, eating rotisserie chicken for dinner. His stomach churned, but he hadn’t been in the mood to eat lately.
“Hey.” His sister stood and walked to the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Grab a seat. I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Thanks.” He pulled Matthew out of his chair and plopped his son in his lap, smelling the sweet scent of his little boy shampoo mixed with the dirt and grime of a child.
“Hey, Daddy.” Bits of chicken stuck between Rachel’s teeth.
“Hey, baby.” He rubbed the back of her head. Both of his babies were safe, loved. “How was school today?”
“Good. Mrs. Williams made us all make a card for Lesley today as our homework. Wanna see mine?”
“I would love to.”
His little girl scooted out of her chair, ran for her backpack, pulled out a folded piece of construction paper, and waved the card in the air. “I picked pink because Lesley’s a girl.”
His heart swelled with emotions: love, care, and sorrow. All of them as his daughter beamed about her Get Well Soon card. The town really did care about Lesley and about them.
“Owen picked blue. I told him Lesley didn’t like blue, but he didn’t listen.”
John assumed Owen was a kid in her class. “I know she will like whatever you kids make her.” He took the card, the front cover designed with a picture of a heart. He flipped the paper open and saw stick figures; the two taller ones held hands. “Who are all of these people?”
“That’s me, Matthew, you, and Lesley. You love her don’t you, Daddy? I do.”
His mouth watered as his stomach grew sick with fear, and his mind seemed almost as if it was shutting down from emotional and physical exhaustion. The degree of Lesley’s illness hit home—not only would he and Frasier suffer if Lesley died, but his children would grieve as well. Matt and Rachel loved her and had accepted her into their lives. They couldn’t endure this again. He’d sworn to himself he would protect them.
What if he failed?
“Yeah, honey.” He pulled his daughter close. “I do love Lesley.”
Emma placed a plate in front of him.
“That’s a beautiful card.” He handed the paper back to his little girl. “Why don’t you go put it back in your backpack and you and Matthew go play a little before bed, all right?”
“Okay, Daddy.” She ran back to her school bag.
John kissed his son on the head and hugged him.
“You’re squeezing too tight.” Matt giggled.
“Oh.” He gave another little squeeze. “Sorry. Now go play.” He placed the boy to his feet and gave him a love tap on his behind.
When the kids were out of earshot, Emma asked, “How is she? Really? You look terrible.”
“Thanks. You look lovely, sis.”
She took a sip of her tea. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
He picked up his fork and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s not good. She isn’t showing signs of waking. She looks lifeless. Frasier’s losing strength and hope.” He avoided eye contact and stared at his chicken, eating was too strenuous of an activity. He placed his fork down and rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t do this again, Emma. Once was enough.”
She cupped a hand around his forearm. “You have to stay strong, John, for Lesley, and for Frasier. They need you.”
“What about what I need, huh?”
She released his arm, sat back, and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll say a prayer for you.”
He shoved his chair back from the table. “What is it with everyone in this town and praying? It didn’t do me any good with Sandra, and it won’t do any good now.” He stood, his mind on Lesley and her slim figure, lifeless on that hospital bed. “I’m going to get the kids ready for bed. You mind staying here tonight? After I put them down, I need to run an errand.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, sis.” He studied her features, many the same as his, yet each one all her own. Her hair a little darker, her eyes a little bluer and so strong. Not only had his children kept him grounded, but his sister helped him keep his life together. “I don’t tell you enough, but I love you. I want you to know that.”
“I love you, too.”
He squeezed her shoulders and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Can you give your preacher a call? I think Frasier needs him.”
****
The creek of the iron gate sang in John’s ears as the wind whistled through the open land. A common sound he’d come accustomed to anytime he stopped by the cemetery. Visiting Sandra this time of night was always so peaceful, even with the slightly eerie noise from the entrance. John didn’t understand why people were scared of cemeteries. He’d never seen anyone rise from the dead since he began visiting Sandra’s grave. At one time, he might have wished for such a thing to happen, just to have one more chance to hug his wife, tell her he loved her.
Brushing the grown grass away from the tombstone, he placed the bouquet of flowers on top. He’d finally come to terms with her passing. Lesley had helped.
The thought of having to go through the process of another funeral broke him as the silence of the night filled with his sobs. No one there to hear him, he could finally let it all go. Find his release.
He cried freely, screaming into the open air, his throat burning from the strain of his voice, “Why? Why is this happening to me again? I can’t handle this.” A feral scream left his lungs as he fell to his knees, the impact of the hard ground jostling his bones, vibrating the pain up his hips to his spine. He didn’t care. He’d gladly take the pain of his body smacking the earth if it would take away the pain in his soul. He placed his head in his hands, his heart bleeding out as his body quaked, and uncontrollable sobs thrashed through him. “I need her. My children need her. Please,” he begged, his voice merely a whisper this time through his ragged breathing. “Please, don’t do this to me again. Please don’t do this to Lesley.”
John stayed on the ground, covering his eyes with his palms, releasing his sorrow, until he’d shed all his tears.
Knees wet from the earth, he rose, wiping the moisture from his cheeks as he looked up toward the sky. Everyone around him believed there was something up there, high in the clouds, waiting to listen. Maybe there was. At this point, for his children and for himself, he’d be willing to try. They couldn’t lose Lesley, too.
“If you’re some miracle worker,” he shouted again, turning in slow circles, “then give her a miracle. She deserves that much.”
A deep silence followed his plea, with the only sound being that of his heart beating in his ears. He didn’t know what he expected, but the bottomless sound of nothing wasn’t it.
He dropped his head. Figures.
A snap of a twig in the distance caught his attention. His heart hammered fast as he glanced around, looking for the source.
Nothing.
Nowhere.
He hung his head again. Shit, what is wrong with me?
So desperate, he’d resorted to screaming to the open air, causing some poor, helpless animal to run off scared. What the hell else did he think would happen from all his ranting? A bush catch on fire? Someone answer him back?
He sucked in a deep breath then whispered to himself, “Get a grip, man.”
Using his palms, he rubbed both hands down his face again, certain through this whole ordeal with Lesley he’d lost his mind somewhere along the way. Rest was in order. Lots of rest.
In the still of the night, lightning suddenly flashed above as the wind whirled around him.
What the hell?
A cooing sound caught his attention, and he glanced down at Sandra’s grave to find a white dove sitting on the marble stone near his flowers. The bird sat perfectly still, staring right at him.
An odd yet familiar feeling came over him, like a warming sensation in his stomach. He inched closer. The bird cocked its head to the side but continued to study him.
Could it be?
Surely, this wasn’t the same bird he saw the day Sandra left him. Couldn’t be.
John held his hand out and stepped closer. Before he could reach the dove, his cellphone rang in his back pocket.
He jumped, but the bird stayed still as he pulled his phone out.
“Hello?”
“John, it’s Pastor Parks.”
Parks. He must be heading to the hospital.
If he didn’t know any better he could have sworn the bird smiled at him. A smiling bird? He really needed rest.
“Hey, Pastor, thank you for going—”
“I’m here at Mercy South with Frasier and Lesley.”
Already? Fast driver. “Okay, that’s great. I think Frasier really needs a friend right now.”
“Yeah, he probably does, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
His gut clenched, and he braced himself, remembering the last time the pastor called.
He gripped his phone tighter. “Then, why are you calling?”
“It’s Lesley. She just woke up, John, and she’s asking about you. I was with Frasier when the doctors talked to him. Her lab results came in. Her margins are close.”
Close? Close to what? “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s no more tumor. The tissue that was around it still has a few cells they are concerned about. Instead of going back in for more surgery, the doctor wants to do chemo. But, he said he was certain she can fight this and be back to her old self.”
Certain. His heart raced. Not once had any doctor told him they were certain Sandra would live.
Still, to go through all of this again…he was scared to get his hopes up. “Is the doctor sure she can fight this?”
He glanced to the dove still staring at him, watching, smiling. The damn bird really was smiling. He inched closer.
“Yes, that is what the doctor believes. He wants to start chemo as soon as possible. It’ll be a rocky road for her for a while, but she’s alive, awake, and has a high chance for survival. We couldn’t have asked for better.”
Rocky road. He’d rather their road be rocky than none at all. The pounding of his heart threatened to break his ribs. Despite his past hurt, he couldn’t help but feel hope, excitement from the news. His Lesley—she had a damn good fighting chance…
And she was awake.
“I’m on my way.” He clicked off the phone and jumped as he fist pumped the air. “Yeah,” he screamed. “Yeah.” She had a fighting chance. A real fighting chance. Tears of joy flooded his eyes. He ran a shaky hand over his forehead. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but she was alive, and awake, and asking for him.
John glanced back toward the bird, but only a smooth tombstone met his hazy gaze. Gone. Of course it was gone. He stood screaming like a lunatic in the middle of the night. What bird would sit still to watch that? He shook his head; his mind had played tricks on him. After he saw Lesley, he would get some sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.
Smiling birds. Ha!
He ran to his truck and dialed his sister’s number, his finger shaking on the buttons.
“Hello.”
“Lesley’s awake. I’m heading there now. Do you think you can work something out with Uncle Milt about getting the kids to school in the morning?”
“Oh my God, that’s amazing! Yeah, we’ll take care of it. No worries, but please, be careful, John. You haven’t had much sleep.”
His thoughts exactly.
“I will. I’ll stop on my way out and grab a coffee. Thanks sis. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hung up and went to place his phone in the cup holder…only to be greeted by a steaming to-go cup of coffee. On the side, the Styrofoam was adorned with the image of a small dove drawn in black marker.
What the hell?
John picked up the cup as Sandra’s words echoed in his mind, “Have faith.”
“I’ll be damned.” He wasn’t losing his mind, and he knew that old bird, Dovie, had been real…and right about more than one thing—they would be seeing more of each other.
Because he finally understood, finally believed. Finally had faith.
****
January 3, 1940
I opened the mail today to find a postcard addressed to me, but with no return address and no note. The picture on the card is of the Eiffel Tower.
Samuel!
Surely, it is his way of letting me know he is still thinking of me. He still loves me, and he has made it to Paris.
I suppose he did not write a note because no note needed to be written. If Papa saw a letter from Samuel confessing his love for me, I would have suffered another inquisition or worse, and Samuel knew that. If Papa was able that is…but Samuel doesn’t know Papa is not well.
Then again…maybe he believes I do not love him since I did not leave with him. Perhaps that is why he did not confess his love to me on the card.
If he only knew.
I check the papers religiously for any sign of him. I had begun to lose faith in our love, but the postcard proves what I already knew. Samuel is waiting for me. He still remembers me as that fifteen-year-old he fell in love with. I hope I do not disappoint him when we meet again. The past few years have not been kind.
Still, I have not opened the letter from the oak. Just in case I am interpreting this all wrong, and his last letter to me is not what I want to read.