Authors: Charles Martin
Mike Ramirez accompanied the nurse who rolled Annie out. I clicked the door unlocked and rudely sat behind the wheel while Mike helped Annie out of the chair and into the car. Cindy grabbed Annie's new supply of stuffed animals and hugged Royer, who had walked out behind them. Mike pushed the chair back inside, a relief to me, and Royer leaned in the window. He looked back at Annie, then at Cindy, and his face switched once again from father to doctor.
The switch told Cindy that she needed to prepare herself. She sat upright and took a deep breath.
Royer said, "I'll list Annie tonight." He put his hand on her shoulder and said, "It's time."
Cindy nodded and said, "Will you try to reach Dr. Mitchell one more time?"
Royer nodded. "Already did. You might say ... I left him a message. If I don't hear from him by tomorrow, I'll call Macon. Basically, once we list her, we could go any day. Could be tomorrow, could be next month, could be three months."
He handed Cindy a plastic bag containing two pagers and one cell phone. "Keep these close. Pagers on you both twenty-four hours a day. Keep the cell phone with you, and don't forget to charge it." He smiled. "The phone is equipped with a GPS, so if I need to find you with the helicopter, we'll be in good shape. Basically, if that pager goes off, and your cell phone is on, I'll already know where you are. Oh, and when that pager goes off? You'll need to be thinking about getting to the hospital."
Cindy held the bundle in her hands like a map that led to the lost treasure in the Sierra Madre.
He pointed at both of them. "Remember, never without your pager. Even in the shower, I want it close enough to touch."
Cindy patted Royer on his wrist and mouthed, Thank you.
"You bet. Now, get her home, get her some rest, but don't treat her like an invalid. Let her get out. Some sunshine will do her some good. She's still very much alive. Let's treat her that way."
We weren't even out of the parking lot before Annie said, "Reese? Did you hear that my test went well and that I didn't wake up?"
"Yeah," I said, looking in the rearview mirror. "I did."
Cindy handed Annie her pager, and they both clipped them to the waistlines of their clothes. Cindy spent a few minutes getting familiar with the cell phone. Finally she slipped it into her purse and smiled sheepishly. "I've never had a cell phone before. Hope I can figure out how to use it before I need to."
WE STOPPED AT THE WELL FOR LUNCH. I FED THEM AS MUCH AS they cared to eat and then drove them home.
When we turned into the drive, the sight was not pretty. Condensation was running down the insides of the windows, and a steady stream of water was bubbling up from under the door and spilling across the concrete front porch. Cindy covered her mouth, and I said, "Wait here."
I opened the door to find the entire house soaked from ceiling to carpet. I sloshed into the kitchen beneath a spray of water from the busted pipe in the ceiling and discovered that a crawl-space pipe had sprung a leak. From the multiple sag holes in the ceiling, it looked like a tiny leak had initially emitted a fine and quiet spray until it split the pipe, deluging the ceiling. The attic river then sought lower ground and found it. Three inches of water stood in the bedroom, and the living room was no better. Annie's stuffed animals looked like they'd been invited to a swimming party. I could turn the water off, but drying out the house would take the better part of a week, and by that time black, sporous mold would be growing off the walls like sprayed-in insulation.
I went back outside.
Cindy asked, "Do I even want to look?"
"It's pretty bad," I said. "Listen, let's worry about this tomorrow. Right now, let's get you two to my house."
I switched off the main water line and left the doors open. The rest would have to wait.
I got them settled at my house, then returned to theirs and collected a few things they had asked for. I opened the windows and spent three hours mopping out as much water as I could, then set three floor fans blowing across the house.
Looking at the mess, I phoned Cindy and asked, "Do you want to contact your insurance agent and have them send someone out while I'm still here?"
"No need."
"Why not?"
"You might say we're . . . self-insured." Cindy paused, and I thought I heard her chewing on a fingernail. "Well, anyway. We didn't have much, so losing what we had doesn't hurt as much as if we were running over with stuff and money."
ANNIE SLEPT THROUGH THE AFTERNOON WHILE CINDY SPENT it pacing back and forth atop the boathouse, thinking through her options. I tinkered with whatever I could get my hands on in the workshop, which wasn't much. I had finished their table and benches and didn't feel like tackling the Hacker. So I cleaned tools, waxed the hull of the shell, and watched Cindy through the crack of the sliding door.
When she descended the stairs along with the sun, I decided I'd try to cheer her up. "Hey, I wanted to show you something."
Cindy walked in, and I led her to the table and pulled off the canvas cover. I slid out the benches and pointed with an open palm. "It's for you and Annie."
Her mouth dropped and she sat gingerly, as if she were afraid it might break.
"Don't worry, it's pretty stout. It'd take a tornado to rip this apart."
She ran her hands across the top, following the grain, and then said, "You made this?"
"Well ... yeah. It's not-"
"It's incredible," she interrupted. "I've never seen anything like it. What's it made out of?"
"This is heart of pine. About two years ago Charlie and I salvaged it out of an old barn like yours, but a bit older. The wood itself comes from the 1840s."
Cindy's eyes grew large and round, and the corners filled with tears.
"I put it together with mortise and tenon. Meaning, there's not a nail in it. It's all sort of dovetailed together."
She ran her fingers along the edges, holding back the flood for as long as she could. Finally, she broke. After a minute or two, her shoulders were shaking, and a mixture of both fear and anger poured out of her.
I sat next to her, unsure whether I should just sit or put an arm around her. She fell against me and buried her face in my chest.
"Reese," she said through the sobs, "I don't care about my stuff, I really don't. I don't have anything anyway. But that little girl up there is barely clinging to life ..." She sat upright. "Why? God knows what's going on down here. He's not unaware. But why all this? Huh? Why?"
I didn't attempt to answer.
Ten minutes later, my shirt soaked and her tear ducts empty, she sat upright and shook her head. "I have tried to be so strong for so long. First my sister, then Annie. Now the house. I just don't know how much more I can take."
Cindy was starting to show the signs classic of all family members who endure alongside the patient waiting a transplant. I'd seen it before. Only difference was, Cindy was right. She had borne this burden alone and for a long time. She'd worked two jobs, sometimes three, sacrificed anything she'd wanted to provide for Annie and now, at the end of it, she felt as though she'd failed. Or was failing. She was also looking at the possibility of being left alone.
We walked out onto the dock, where Charlie sat soaking wet with Georgia lying just as wet, sprawled across his lap.
"Hey, buddy," I said.
He waved. "Sorry to barge in on you, but I heard some noise that I hadn't heard over here ... at least in a long time ... and I guess I got a little panicky."
I turned to Cindy. "How long's it been since you've been more than a hundred feet from Annie?"
Cindy looked at me, a little unsure, but said, "Long time. Why?"
"Would you be okay if Charlie babysat for an hour or so?"
Cindy looked up at the house, then down at Charlie, then over at me. "No offense, but what if-"
I broke in. "She'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen to her today, and I'd like to show you something. We won't be gone either long or far."
Cindy looked back up at the house and said, "Well ..."
"Wait here," I said. I walked upstairs, pulled Annie off the couch where she was awake and reading, and brought her down to my hammock.
So, while Charlie and Georgia entertained Annie atop the boathouse, I slid the shell into the water and helped Cindy into her seat. We eased out of the creek and into the Tallulah. Cindy's shoulders tensed up as the boathouse fell out of sight. I tapped her on the back and said, "Okay, no free rides."
She grabbed the oars, sank them in rhythm with me, and the two of us rowed upriver against the smooth and slow-rolling current. Ten minutes in, and some of the tension had eased. Another five and Cindy was sweating. Five more and she was smiling and beginning to see the world around her.
We slid under the bridge, steered up the smaller creeks, and after half an hour she turned, looked around, and waved her hand across the landscape. "I had no idea."
"You ought to see it at sunup."
She looked behind the boat, at the perfect circles appearing and then disappearing behind the boat. "I'd like that."
After an hour she said, "Reese, this is great. Really, but ..."
I nodded. "I know." I turned us around and said, "We'll get there a lot faster if you help."
She smiled and dug in her oars, and I watched her row. When we arrived at the boathouse, Charlie was doing his best blind-man routine and Annie was laughing so hard she was holding her stomach.
I fixed some soup and cold tuna salad and spread dinner across the porch for the four of us while Annie showered.
Cindy hollered down from upstairs. "Reese? You mind if I borrow your tub?"
The question stopped me. Charlie, standing next to me and slowly stirring the soup, turned toward me and nodded. And I guessed, as I thought about it, he was right. Emma would have wanted that.
"Sure!" I said. "Towels are in the cabinet behind."
An hour later, after Annie, Charlie, and I had finished supper, Cindy walked down the stairs, jelly-legged and pruny. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, sweat still beaded around her temples, and her cheeks were flushed. "That," she said, pointing upstairs, "is the best tub I've ever sat in."
Charlie smiled, and I brought Cindy a plate.
The four of us watched the sun go down, then Charlie and Georgia swam home. When Annie fell asleep on the couch around ten, I carried her upstairs, and Cindy pulled down the sheets in my guest bedroom. I walked to the door, and she followed.
She stood leaning against the half-closed door and stopped me just before I walked back downstairs. "Reese."
I looked up.
"Thanks for today. For listening. I'll be better tomorrow."
I nodded. "I know. Get some rest."
I sat on the porch, hovering above a cup of cold tea and listening to Cindy shuffle around and turn out the lights.
At midnight I unlocked the office, grabbed the letter from the top drawer of my desk, and walked out into the moonlight. It was getting cooler. A light breeze filtered off the lake and rattled the leaves, which were starting to turn varying shades of red and yellow. The stars were many, and the moon cast my shadow along the steps. I grabbed a candle from the woodshed, climbed into my hammock, and lit the wick.
I held the letter up to the stars, up to the moon, and then over the candle. Unable to make out anything, I slid my finger inside the tab and held it there. Caught once again.
Upstairs, coming from the window of the guest room, I heard Annie cough. She coughed once, then twice, then almost twenty times in a row. I saw a light turn on, heard the bathroom sink running. Annie quit coughing, the light clicked off, and it was quiet once again.
A moment later, Charlie and Georgia appeared on his dock across the way. He stood listening, then looked up to where he knew I was swinging.
He called softly, "You hear that?"
I looked up at the house, then down at Charlie. "Yes."
He waited a long moment, then spoke. "You doing what I think you're doing?"
I looked at the letter. Next to me the candle flickered and wax spilled around me on the wood. "Yeah."
Charlie nodded and waited another long, pregnant moment. Just about the time I thought he was going to turn and walk into his house, he looked up again and said, "Stitch?"
I didn't answer. I knew what he wanted.
Charlie waited, then spoke again. `Donny?"
It'd been a long time since Charlie had called me that. I stood and walked to the railing, the water shining black below me.
"Yeah, Charlie."
"Please . . . please read the letter." Charlie turned, patted Georgia, who ran ahead of him, and then climbed the stairs, holding the rope railing to guide him.
I sat in the hammock, placed my finger beneath the flap, and pushed against the glue that had held fast for so long. Finally I pushed, and the paper tore open. I pulled out the letter and held the candle close. A gentle breeze ushered itself up off the lake and blew out my candle. I didn't bother to relight it. The moon was all I needed.
Dear Reese ...
After Emma's death, I had started going by my middle name because, one-it allowed me to hide, and two-it was the name she used for me when we were alone.
Remember, I am not the only one. There are others. And we all cry, `Be near me when my light is low, when the blood creeps, and the nerves prick and tingle; and the heart is sick, and all the wheels of Being slow. Be near me when the sensuous frame is rack d with pains that conquer trust; and Time, a maniac scattering dust, and Life, a Fury slinging flame. "
Do this, Reese. Do this for me, but more importantly, do this for the others like me who cry like the cardinal on our windowsill. I love you. I will always love you.
Yours, Emma
I stood from the hammock, walked downstairs, and pulled what I needed from the woodshop. I constructed my small boat, slid the sail into place, doused it in lighter fluid, and pushed it off. It floated smoothly, aided by the breeze, and when it caught the outskirts of the Tallulah, it turned south and headed toward the moon. A few hundred yards later, the candle burned down, lit the fuel, and the sail rose in flames. In the distance, the flames climbed, sputtered, then disappeared into the black beneath.