The Plan (53 page)

Callum rarely used his legs these days, even less than he did in his youth. They'd become more uncomfortable over the years, though he'd gotten new ones whenever the other ones became worn. His body, now in its seventies, didn't adjust to changes the way it used to. He was much more comfortable in his chair. Yet, on special occasions—and there had never been any more special than this—he dusted the legs off and put them on again. He used a cane now when he walked. He was no longer quite as steady on his feet. But there was no way he was going to miss actually
walking
his daughter down the aisle.

“I'm going to go take my seat,” Gia said. Callum had nearly forgotten she was still in the room. He only had eyes for his daughter.

He turned as Gia kissed him on the cheek and then did the same to Maggie.

“You look incredible,” she said to her goddaughter.

“Thanks, Aunt Gia…for everything.”

Gia nodded and turned before Maggie could notice the tears.

Gia had been a godsend all these years. Her pain over losing Claire had been as raw as Callum's, nearly ripping her apart. But the two of them had held tight to each other for support, and onto Maggie, whom they both loved fiercely.

Three years after Claire died, Gia and Wyatt married. Maggie had been their flower girl. Callum was sorry Claire had missed the special day. She would've been so excited for her best friend, seeing how happy she was, finally with a “real man,” as Claire had called Wyatt. And not a “loser,” as both Claire and Gia had referred to the other men Gia had dated.

Wyatt and Gia had gone on to have three children of their own. Two boys, Cole and Preston, and a girl they named Clarissa, a variation on Claire's name.

The three adults had raised all the kids as cousins and Maggie and Callum had always viewed them as family, spending most of their holidays, birthdays, and special events together—the ones that weren't spent in Ireland. Clarissa was the little sister Maggie never had and was serving as her maid-of-honor.

“Are you ready?” Callum asked Maggie.

“Not yet,” she said. “I have something to show you first.”

Claire went over to her laptop and inserted a flash drive into the USB port. Flash drives were a thing of the past, of course. Technology had progressed faster than Callum could keep up with it. However, when Claire was alive, flash drives were what one used to save documents
and pictures and videos. Callum knew, if Maggie was holding one now, what she was about to show him had to do with Claire.

“This was in my wedding letter,” Maggie said simply.

My wedding letter.
Callum needed no more explanation than that.

Callum had thought Claire had spent all those hundred-plus days on bedrest doing nothing more than watching movies, reading and knitting. But he'd been wrong.

Unbeknownst to him, she'd been making preparations.

Claire never thought she'd die. Callum believed that with all his heart. It wasn't that she'd put on a brave face for him. She truly didn't think something was going to go wrong.

However, she'd also never thought she'd lose her whole family one December night.

So she was prepared. Just in case.

Callum had found the box about six months after Claire's death—and Maggie's birth. He'd been missing Claire terribly that day. Maggie had just cut her first tooth and the fact that Callum couldn't share that news with his wife had nearly broken his heart. He missed her so much. Missed her touch. Her voice. Her smell.

He went into her closet to try to find that smell. He'd pulled her dresses close to his face, trying to breathe her in. And that's when he saw it. A box, on the floor behind her clothes.

Callum
was all it said.

He'd pulled it onto his lap and rolled back into their bedroom. He found the letter she'd written him. The sight of her perfect, flowy handwriting had nearly made him sob.

My Dearest Callum,

I don't expect you'll ever read this. I plan on destroying it once the baby and I are home from the hospital and we are finally alone as a family—the three of us.

But, just in case…

I have loved you with a love more fierce than a mama lion protecting her cub. You put me back together when I was nothing but pieces of grief. You fought for us when I was too cowardly to fight alongside you. You believed in me when I could no longer believe in myself.

If I'm no longer here, but Maggie is, I know—in the deepest part of my soul—you will raise her to be an amazing woman. She is blessed to have you as her father. As I was blessed to be your wife.

I'm not gone. I will never be gone. I'm in the smile of our daughter and her laughter and the way she looks up at you with complete trust. I'm in the music you hear and the cool breeze of the spring. I'll never truly leave you. And you will never leave me.

These letters are for Maggie. I plan to be there, in the flesh, for all her special days.

But, just in case…

You'll know what to do with them.

Until we're together again…

Claire

It had taken Callum the rest of the day, and most of that night, to stop crying. When he finally did, he took out the envelopes in the box and held them close.

Claire had left a letter for Maggie for each of her special days. One letter for every birthday until she turned eighteen. A letter for her fifth grade, eighth grade, high school and college graduations. And one more, just in case she went to graduate school. A letter for her first date. A letter to be opened when she got her period. A letter for when she started wearing makeup—with photos of how to apply it. A letter for her first broken heart. A letter for when Daddy seemed to be mean and not understanding. A letter for the first time she was bullied. A letter for the day she lost her first tooth.

There was a letter for everything of significance in Maggie's life. Claire hadn't missed a thing.

There was even a letter for the day Daddy someday remarried.

That letter had never been opened. And never would be.

Callum would never remarry. He knew it from the moment Claire had died. He knew it before then.

She was his whole world. The mate of his soul. There would be no other.

In her hand, Maggie was holding the letter Claire had written for her wedding day. Inside it had been the flash drive.

“Watch this,” Maggie said, pushing “Play.”

An image of a young Callum popped up on the screen. It was a video Callum hadn't seen in years.
Decades.
Definitely not since Claire had been gone.

It was the interview he'd done. The one where the reporter had asked his greatest dream. The one that had nearly cost him Claire.

Callum watched with tears in his eyes.

“Did you ever think, as a little boy in Ireland,” the reporter asked. “You'd someday be in front of that many people?”

“Never.”

“So, it was a big dream of yours?”

“No, it never even crossed my mind. I just wanted to survive the playground,” Callum said.

“What, then, is your biggest dream in life?”

Callum watched as his young self paused before responding.

“Honestly, I sometimes dream of the day I'll walk my daughter down the aisle.”

“So, having children is a possibility for you?” the reporter asked.

“Oh, absolutely.” Out of the corner of his eye, the current Callum could see Maggie smiling. “At least, the doctors say they don't see any physical reason why I can't have them. I just need to find the right woman and get started making those babies.”

“You'd like a lot of kids?” the reporter asked.

“I'd love a whole houseful. As many as God sees fit to give us. There's no greater blessing than a child.”

Callum put his arm around Maggie and kissed her hair, as Maggie stopped the video, just the way he'd kissed her mother's a thousand times many years ago.

She picked up a small, folded sheet of ivory paper and held it up to Callum.

“This was in the envelope for you,” she said.

He removed his arm from around Maggie and opened the paper.

Here's to making that dream come true.

It wasn't signed. Callum knew who had written it.

He tucked the note inside his jacket pocket and held out his elbow to his daughter.

“Shall we?” he asked.

•  •  •

The church was filled with a hundred people—all the ones they loved, some new friends, some dear, old ones. Alison and Mitch were seated on the bride's side, their children and grandchildren by their sides. Frank was there, too. He was getting up there in age and had problems seeing these days, but he was there. He'd married the widow he'd begun to date around the time of Claire's death. Between his children and hers, they'd been blessed with fourteen grandchildren. And one great-grandson.

Nancy and Bill had passed away many years ago, but not before becoming an integral part of Maggie's life. Maggie grew up knowing all about the brother and sisters she'd had who'd lived, and died, before her—Luke and Ella and Lily. She knew Nancy and Bill had been their grandparents and, because of a great love, they were hers in a way now, too.

Maggie and Callum walked down the aisle, very slowly, as that was the only way Callum could walk these days. His mind was suddenly
flooded with precious memories. To the side of the altar, there was a small photo of Claire, but he didn't need a photo to remember her. The memories were as clear and vivid as the day she left them—the day she'd given him the greatest gift by making the ultimate sacrifice.

Along with the memories, Callum couldn't help but reminisce over the plan that had been laid out for his life. It hadn't always been the one he'd have wanted. Oftentimes, it'd had more valleys than mountains. But, in the end, it had come to a beautiful conclusion.

He'd been given the most amazing daughter a man could desire. She, in turn, was literally changing the world, giving hope and life and mobility to millions who, without her, would be left dealing with the greatest nightmare of their lives.

If there hadn't been Claire, there would never have been Maggie. If there hadn't been a Callum with nothing but one arm, there wouldn't have been a little girl, growing up in his care, seeing his struggles, traveling the world, understanding the needs of so many.

His little girl had taken the best, and worst, parts of him and Claire and turned them into something that shined.

He could have never seen that coming.

Never seen that part of the plan.

All he'd been able to do was trust.

As Callum and Maggie reached the end of the aisle, and he lifted Maggie's veil to kiss her cheek, Callum suddenly remembered the rest of that interview, the part that came later.

“And what about walking your daughter down the aisle would be so special?” the reporter had asked him.

“Well, walking her anywhere on my own two legs would be, in and of itself, a sort of miracle.” Callum had laughed at that point. “A miracle, by the way, I expect to see possible in my lifetime. You mark my words. Someday, some genius doctor or scientist will come along and find a way for amputees to walk, again, on their own two feet, or drive a car with their own two hands.

“But, what will be so uniquely special about someday walking my own daughter down the aisle is that it will signify the completion of a journey. Sending my daughter into the world to learn what plan God has in store for her life. The plan he had before she was even conceived.”

Callum placed Maggie's hand in her groom's outstretched one and stepped back to take his own seat. He was alone in his row. There was no mother-of-the bride by his side. But she was there. Claire had been right. She'd always been there. Today, she was in the smile of their beautiful bride, the sparkle in their little girl's eyes and in the hand he and Claire were, together, offering to one very lucky man.

As he gazed at the photo of his lovely wife, the end of the interview continued to play through his mind.

“It's the discovery of that plan that makes life worth living, you know?” he'd said to the reporter. “It may not always be an easy path, but the way I see it, it's the only one worth taking. They say the way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans. I'd choose God's plan, over mine, any day, no matter how difficult certain parts may be. Because, in the end, His plan is perfect. I know all things, even if you can't see it at the time, work together for the good.”

Callum remembered the smile he'd given the reporter at that moment, just as he was smiling now.

And then he'd said, “It's that, not my wheelchair, which keeps me moving forward.”

The End

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