Deadly Decision (32 page)

Part of me wanted to leave South Carolina, distance myself from the pain I knew was coming as Trina's disease progressed.

I doubted my ability to confront the monster of cancer again. And yet, Trina was my daughter, and I loved her. I would do anything for her, even if it meant standing by helplessly to watch as the dragon devoured her, one body cell at a time.

The front door opened. Sandra, holding a pad of paper and a pen, came and sat on the swing beside me. We had developed a companionable silence lately, Sandra and I. Neither of us had a need to constantly fill the air with idle chatter. But I knew there was a question she would eventually ask, because I had asked the same question of myself a hundred times. I concentrated on the squeak of chain on hook.

“So, have you decided?” she asked.

Push.
Screech
. Push.
Screech
.

“I've lived in Ashland all my life. My dad lived there all his life. Betsy lives there, and my job is there.”

“We need teachers in South Carolina, too.”

“I know.” I wasn't ready to tell her I had already looked, and found a couple of potential positions, should I decide to stay.

“When I have to make a decision,” Sandra continued, “I look at it as a business deal.”

“My future is hardly a business deal.”

“I know, but thinking that way helps me sort the emotion from the fact.”

“So I need to cut the emotion from my life?” I was feeling unusually argumentative, and if I had been Sandra, I would have got up and left me to sulk alone on the swing. But she didn't.

“Emotions are what give life meaning. But sometimes the emotional part is so thick it clogs our brains and we can't think. That's why I call it the business deal process. I try to take out the emotional part and focus on the facts.”

“All right,” I said, turning to face her. “If staying or leaving is business, how would you decide?”

“I would get a piece of paper and make two columns. One I would label ‘stay' and the other ‘leave.' Then I would list the reasons in each column. No emotions, just facts.”

“You've come prepared.” I nodded toward the paper and pen resting in her lap.

“Do you want help?”

“Sure,” I lied. Well, it was only a partial lie. What needed written on the paper was private, but having Sandra beside me more than balanced the discomfort.

She took the paper, drew a line down the middle, and then looked at me expectantly.

“First, the reasons to go home,” I said.

She poised her pen over the second column.

“My job is there, and I've taught at the same school for over twenty years. I'm comfortable there.”

“Job,” Sandra said as she wrote.

“Then there's my house. It'll be hard to give up the place; it has so many memories.” I had lost my wife there, and I had raised Trina alone. If I lost Trina, memories would be all I would have. But those were emotions, so I didn't mention them.

“House,” Sandra repeated.

I was annoyed by Sandra's way of reducing my life to one simple word, but I kept on. “I've always lived in Ashland. My father lived there. Betsy still lives there.”

“Betsy.”

“I have friends in Ashland: my church, people who count on me.”

“Friends.”

Push.
Screech
. Push.
Screech
.

“Should we work on the ‘stay' column?” Sandra suggested.

“Sure.” This was going to be harder. The reasons to stay were keeping me awake at night. I started with a safe one. “The dreams have stopped.”

She turned and looked at me. “The dreams stopped? When?”

“Right after we opened the satchel. I haven't had the dream since.”

“Don't you think that's strange?”

“I suppose. I should ask Trina if her dreams have stopped.”

“Do you think they'll come back if you go to Ohio?”

“I doubt it. I found what God wanted me to find.”

Her eyes burned on my face. “Dreams gone.”

“Then there's the fact that Trina lives here.” I turned my head toward the street and blinked. This was supposed to be without emotion, but my heart died a bit more each time I thought about Trina. “She's my only child.”

“Only child.”

“Pastor Steve,” I continued, moving to a safer topic. “We've become good friends.” I faced Sandra again. “He's helped me through a lot, and I respect him. If I go, I'll miss him, both as a friend and as a Christian mentor.”

“Christian mentor.”

I wondered why my ‘stay' column got two words and my ‘go' column only got one word, but I figured I was being picky.

There were only two more reasons I wanted to stay, and I didn't want to share either one. They were the big ones. Hedging a bit, I said, “The bed and breakfast, Trina won't be able to run this place much longer.”

“She'll need more help later.”

“So you think I should go home and finish out the year, then come back?”

“That's up to you. Have you talked to her about it?”

“No.”

It bothered me that Trina still had not confided in me about her cancer. I had always allowed her to have her own space; she would tell me when she was ready. But I needed to know how much longer she had to live before I could make my decision. Trina wasn't having chemotherapy or radiation; she wasn't gone from home that often. Her disease must be too far advanced. But she looked so good; in fact, lately she looked better than she had in several weeks.

“Any other reasons you might want to stay?” Sandra asked.

Push.
Screech
. Push.
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.

“There might be. I'm not sure yet.”

“Fair enough.”

Push.
Screech
. Push.

“Here's your list.”

She kissed my cheek. “Talk to Trina,” she whispered.

My heart screamed at me to grab Sandra and hold her. Instead, I grunted and sat like a bump on a log.

She walked away. Her hips moved just enough to cause her shirt to brush against her shorts. I liked the soft sound of her sandals on the wood planks.

My body sagged against the swing. Emptiness filled the cracks in my heart.
What's wrong with you? Have you been alone so long you've forgotten the special love of a woman?

I thought about what it would be like to have Sandra at my side forever: to share meals together, gardening together. To share a bed together…

It was impossible to move on with my life, to allow Sandra to become a part of it, until I dealt with losing my daughter. And I couldn't deal with what I couldn't confront.

Jimmy's laugh drifted through the screen in the windows. Trina's voice mingled with his.
She would have been a great mother.

It wasn't long before Trina came and sat beside me on the swing. “Sandra said you might need some company.”

Push.
Screech
. Push.
Screech
.

We rocked back and forth, gently, companionably. I hated to break this time of quietness, this time when dad and daughter were simply two generations doing what God intended for them to do—love each other.

And then the dam broke.

At first they were only rivulets of pain ran down my cheeks, but soon the rivulets escalated into torrents of gut wrenching sobs. It was like someone had opened a release valve, and all the pent-up pressure I had been holding onto so tightly gushed out.

I couldn't stop. I put my hands over my face, as the tears poured. My body shook. Trina wrapped her arms over my shoulder, unable to get my full bulk in her tiny reach.

“Dad, what's wrong?”

The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of my daughter. This is not how I had planned on asking her about dying, or how I had planned on assuring her I would be her rock.

Blinking the tears from my eyes, I looked at Trina, so brave and beautiful. Emotions threatened to overwhelm me again. “I love you so much, honey.”

“I know that Dad.” Her eyes were brimming with questions.

“I know about your condition.”

Trina looked surprised. “I thought I hid it pretty well from you. How did you guess?”

“Oh, lots of little things. I've been through this before, you know.”

Trina leaned over and hugged me. “Oh Dad, I love you so much.”

I pulled away, unable to ask my next question while she was still warm in my arms. “So how much longer do you have?” I dreaded the answer. No time would be enough.

“Five more months.”

She was smiling. I could hardly look at her, smiling in the face of death.
Oh God, give me strength.

“That's not very long. I thought you would have longer.”

“It's not long at all, and I have so much to do yet to get ready.”

What can you do to get ready to die, especially if you're already one with the Lord?

“Honey, I know Ted is here with you, but do you need me to stay too? You know I'll stay if you need me.”

“I don't know that I need you, Dad, but I'd love to have you here. If I have to choose between now or later, I choose later because poor Ted is going to need some help for a couple of weeks.”

A couple of weeks?

Nothing was making sense.

Push.
Screech
. Push.
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.

“Dad, to be honest, I thought you would be more excited.”

Shocked, I looked at my daughter. “Excited? How can I be excited when my only child is dying?”

“Dying? Dad, most women don't die giving birth anymore.”

“Birth? What are you talking about?”

“I'm pregnant. You said you knew.”

I sucked air into my lungs like a man who had been submerged in dark water for a lifetime. Lightheaded, I fell back against the swing. Trina wasn't dying!

I stared at her forever, then grabbed her and gave her a real hug.

“A baby! That means I'm going to be a grandpa! When?”

“In five months.” Trina wiggled out from my grasp. “I just told you.”

Jimmy came out the front door holding a book and smiled shyly at me. “Can I read out here with you?”

“Sure you can. Climb on up here.”

“I'm going to start dinner,” Trina said, laughing. “You two men enjoy the swing.”

As she walked to the door, I was overcome again by her beauty, even if she did have her hair in a ponytail. As the tears threatened to surface, I pushed them back, saving them for later, when I was alone.

Jimmy positioned himself on the swing. “Uncle Carl used to like to sit here.”

“So I've heard.”

“He was really old, like you.”

“Is that so?”

“You're not going to die are you?”

I looked down at the brilliant blue eyes of the boy I had first met as a vision from God. “No,” I said gently. “I plan on sticking around for a long time.”

“Good.”

He opened a book.

Push.
Screech
. Push.
Screech
.

When had the grating of metal against metal, chain against eyebolt become comforting? I listened to the rhythmic sound as I pushed the swing back and allowed gravity to return us to normal. A deep, cleansing sigh pushed its way out of my chest.

The evening sun was still hot, but under the wide porch, the air was cool. A squirrel darted across the yard and up the tree, carrying a pecan in his mouth. God had provided well for the small creatures in Darlington.

I glanced at Jimmy, still engrossed in his book. This small creature had become a permanent part of my heart.

I leaned back in the swing and noted the ceiling above my head, the blue that supposedly confused spirits. I was no longer confused. God was with me, and would take care of me and my family, just as He had for generations.

A promise made through prayer generations ago had been accomplished. I wondered if our hard-headedness had prevented us from seeing God's answer sooner. The dreams must have made more sense to my ancestors, but the further from the event, the less we could understand God's intent.

Push.
Screech
. Push…

I was drawn to movement at the porch steps.

My heart leaped to my throat, but the fear I had felt in the past was replaced by gratitude. Standing on the steps was the other ghost boy, the second Jimmy.

We stared at each other for a while. I started to nudge the Jimmy sitting beside me, but I stopped. This visit was mine.

Peacefulness enveloped me. More than peacefulness—contentment I had not experienced before, another gift from God. He had kept his promise to my ancestors and had brought me home. He had protected me when I had foolishly looked for answers outside His will. He had sent the second ghost boy, my great-great-great cousin, to comfort the living Jimmy.

Both Jimmies were mine after all: one in the present and one from the past. I marveled at God's caring grace, sending just the right person to comfort a small child and convict a grown man.

The ghost boy Jimmy smiled and then faded from sight. I knew I would never see him again this side of Heaven. He had done what he had been sent to do.

Continuing to stare at the vacant spot where moments ago the source of both my doubt and spiritual growth had stood, I put my arm around the child at my side.

“I will take good care of him,” I whispered.

 

 

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