Deadline (7 page)

Finney’s thick shoulders seemed so out of place in a sick bed. Those shoulders had been there for a lot of people. For the Cambodian family the Keels had adopted. For the pregnant girls they’d opened their home to. For hungry people overseas who were fed from an established percentage of the profits from Finney’s business. Finney was the kind of guy people instinctively trusted and opened up to. Jake remembered that store clerk who poured out her heart to Finney after he saw something in her eyes and asked if he could help. Finney was at his best with people who were serving, those who were used to being under-appreciated and pushed around and told what to do. They could tell Finney respected and appreciated them. He always said “thank you.” He always left a generous tip but never expected them to trade their dignity or sincerity to get it. He always said the thing that set them at ease, that made them feel equals rather than subordinates.

Like that waitress at Corey’s who spilled coffee on him. Finney assured her everything was fine, as if he’d often been scalded by his waitress. Jake was surprised it hadn’t done more damage, that fresh steaming cup of coffee straight on his lap. Later Janet talked to Sue and learned the skin on his thigh had been badly burned, and he was in pain for days afterward. But he didn’t let the girl see that, didn’t even tell Jake or Doc. Jake watched carefully as they were leaving. Finney put down a five dollar bill. The lunch had come to maybe nineteen dollars and he’d left a five-dollar tip. It was his way of saying, “Everything’s okay, don’t worry about it. Sorry you had to go through the embarrassment.”

Jake realized, as he looked at Finney’s weak body, that he’d spent his life watching him, studying him. And Doc too. Part of Jake’s success as a journalist came from his ability to observe, to capture the essence of a man in details and incidents others didn’t notice or thought inconsequential. He could write a book on these two guys.

Then there was the other side of Finney, the troubling, infuriating side. His self-assured manner about his beliefs. His clearly defined concept of right and wrong that sent such a judgmental message. Some were offended when they learned 10 percent of profits from his software business went back into the four crisis pregnancy centers in the area. Planned Parenthood and National Organization of Women cooperated in boycotting his business. But Finney wouldn’t back down. Some people admired him for it. Doc thought he was a fool. Jake argued he was just being stubborn. “Why not just back down gracefully and cut your losses, so you’ll have more to give to any cause you want?” But Finney wouldn’t listen.

During that flap Ryan Dennard, Jake’s columnist colleague at the
Tribune
, labeled Finney “a right-wing fundamentalist preacher in a business suit.” It was one thing to have your beliefs at church, it was another to bring them into your business and community. That was forcing your religion on others.

Jake once told Finney, “I know you’re sincere, but you’ve got to think of image and perceptions. If you want to sell people on your values, you’ve got to tone it down! Otherwise you’ll be painted with the same brush as David Koresh or any other religious nut. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

Still, Jake knew that while most people covered up and explained away their shortcomings, and blamed them on others, Finney admitted his and worked hard to change them. You could disagree with Finney—and half the time Jake did—but if you knew him, you couldn’t dismiss him.

Finnegan Douglas Keels. No one called him Finnegan but his mom. He was born to be Finney. And he would die Finney.
O God, please don’t let him die.

This man lying there was and yet somehow was not the same Finney Jake grew up with, the Finney he knew in Nam. It had been four years after the war that the new Finney had emerged. After the army Finney went to his grandparents’ home in Indiana, where his mom had moved. Two years later he married Sue. He and Sue and baby daughter Jenny moved back to Oregon to be near his buddies and start a business. Doc was half way through medical school, Jake was getting his master’s degree and working part-time at a newspaper. Finney saved up his money and opened his office products store, a forerunner to the computer software business he’d turned into a gold mine. The three old friends worked hard and played hard. The familiar chemistry hadn’t lost its magic. Their wives became almost as close as the men, their young children played and grew together.

Then came the change—Finney’s conversion. Doc wanted nothing to do with this zealous and dogmatic new Finney, and at times Jake shared the sentiment. But Finney wouldn’t let go of his friendships. Jake discovered the new Finney had all the qualities that made the old Finney so special. He had the same wit, the same humor and something else. A kindness and sensitivity. The big heart that was even bigger. A confidence. A sense of faith and trust. A peace. And a purpose.

When Jake’s dad died, it was Finney who was there for him. Then Finney and Sue had their third child, after Jenny and Angela. They’d been warned something was wrong. The baby had Down’s Syndrome. Their doctor recommended an abortion. Rather than give up on the baby, they gave up on the doctor. And when he was born, the most amazing thing happened, something Jake never got over. They named him Finney, Jr.

Only a few years later Jenny had died. It still made Jake sick to think about it. Little Jenny, taken out by a stupid drunk. Thoughts of death seemed to keep coming at Jake, and he tried in vain to push those thoughts away. He dared not allow death to take hold in this room.

Jake’s inner world was interrupted suddenly by a distinct and familiar voice, spoken with a thick tongue that couldn’t quite pronounce the words.

“Hi dere, Unca Jake!” Jake was so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t notice Sue slip out of the room. Now she’d returned with Little Finn.

“Hi there, Little Finn.” For Little Finn it was never just “hi.” It was “hi there,” with his inimitable accent. Jake was always glad to see him.

“Daddy had uh accident.”

“Yeah, he did, Little Finn.”

“And you were wid him, weren’t you, Unca Jake?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“What was it like?”

“The accident? It’s hard to remember. It happened so fast.”

“Unca Jake…do you dink my daddy is gonna die?”

“No, no, he’ll be okay, Little Finn.”

“Well, da doctors say he could probly die.”

“Well, I think the doctors are wrong.”

“I hope he doesn’t die. But if he does, he’ll be in heaven, ya know.”

Simple Little Finn. The faith of a child. If only it were so simple.

“Don’t talk like that, Little Finn. He’ll make it. I promise he’ll make it.” Finn gave Jake a curious look, as if wondering how he could make such a promise.

“Know what I told Dada dis morning? I told him if he dies to be sure and give my sister Jenny a big hug, and tell her it’s from me.” Little Finn looked very proud for having the foresight to think of this. “Mama says he probly heard me, cause people in hospital beds always hear more dan we dink. Right, Mama?”

“Right, Finn.” For a moment Sue looked weak, like a withering flower. “Finn, I need to read to your Dad now, so you listen, okay?” Sue situated her big Bible just right, so the back touched against Finney’s chest. “This is from the last two chapters of Revelation.”

“Revelation is da last book of da whole Bible,” Finn whispered loudly to Jake, his head bobbing and his eyes big, emphasizing just how important this information was. Jake nodded soberly, and Sue smiled as she often did at the interactions between the two.

Jake faded in and out, catching snatches of what Sue was reading. “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’”

Sue paused to look at Finney’s face, seeing a large tear that had formed in his right eye. As if on cue to the verse she’d just read, Sue reached over with her tissue and wiped away Finney’s tear. Then she kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth, whispering “I love you, Finney.”

She continued reading, while Jake wandered in and out of grade school, Benton Stream, high school, summer jobs, college, Vietnam, and Sunday’s coin flip. Sue’s voice seemed to build, to take on a strength not its own, as if energized by the big book. Jake looked up to see her finger pointing at a verse within a few paragraphs of the Bible’s last words. Little Finn leaned forward, listening breathlessly. Jake decided to listen a bit more closely himself.

Sue read, “Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city. Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.”

Jake cringed. This book seemed so full of hope for some, so condemning of others.

“Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.”

Suddenly a loud gasp filled the air. Startled, Sue and Jake looked at each other, each thinking the gasp came from the other. They turned to Little Finn, on the other side of the bed, leaning over his father. There was Finney, his head lifted six inches off the pillow, eyes wide open, looking intently at something beyond the room, beyond the moment. Finney gasped again, his lips suddenly turned up in that patented grin, and for a moment he was full of life. Just as quickly his head fell back to the pillow.

Jake felt something like a brush of wind. His spine tingled with the eerie sensation someone had just left the room.

Finney was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

H
e stood immersed in the passageway’s twilight, unable to decide which direction to go. At one end, the closest, was a murky shadowy light, at the far end the brightest light he’d ever seen, yet not a light that hurt his eyes, but drew them. He sensed excitement and activity from beings at both ends, one excitement surrounded by uncertainty and longing, the other by certainty and fulfillment. He remembered what lay beyond the passageway’s near end, the murky one from which he’d come. But he wasn’t sure what awaited him at the other. The explorer in him tingled with anticipation as he considered the mystery end—be it exit or entrance—from which a magnetic pull beckoned him to come join the radiance.

Finney felt his energy being siphoned off, his body growing weaker. He sensed efforts being made, whirring machines and tubes of fluids desperately trying to keep him from leaving his old world. Strangely, though, he felt energized, as if the dynamism siphoned off his body was draining back into a vast energy supply somewhere else, from which it had come. He felt less and less connected to his body. He was a fighter, a survivor, a soldier who would never easily let go of life. But that was just the thing—what awaited him at the other end of the passageway was not lack of life, but Life itself. Not an end, but a beginning. He could feel it. Its power and lure were palpable, almost overwhelming. He was a ship on a stormy sea, caught between two ports, unsure which he could reach. But the storm itself seemed to be making the decision for him. That was all right because, strangely, he trusted the storm. His course was now out of his hands.

Though his eyes were closed, Finney could periodically, just for a moment, sense the light through his eyelids. He’d heard voices from time to time, ever since he’d been here. At first they were all unfamiliar voices—concerned, professional, muffled. When he heard that first familiar voice, that beautiful voice, it infused him with strength, so much so that for a moment he thought it enough to bring him back. He couldn’t hear every word, but he caught many phrases, including “I love you, Finney.”

He wanted to say “I love you, Sue,” but his mind couldn’t make his lips move any more than it could lift his eyelids. He was trapped within a mutinous body that no longer took his orders. So he just listened, unable to give to Susan, able only to receive from her. He received, thankfully.

Beautiful Sue. He could see her clearly in his mind’s museum of film clips, exactly as he first saw her when he was a high school sophomore and she an eighth grader, at Brady’s Roller Rink in that little town, hidden from the rest of the world in the Willamette Valley. He relived the sights and sounds and silliness and youthful exuberance of the “All Skate,” the smell of cotton candy blended with buttered popcorn and the inimitable flavor of the “graveyard” mix of cola and orange and 7-Up. Now came the feelings of dread at the “Couples Only” where he finally asked Sue to skate with him, and his excitement when she said “yes.” They didn’t marry till his last year in the army, the year after Vietnam. Sue. He basked in her quiet presence next to him.

Soon there came another voice, like Sue’s but higher, with fewer years and fewer life experiences behind it, but with her mother’s incisive mind and wit. A voice full of wonder, and full of fear.

“Daddy, it’s me, Angela. I hope you can hear me. I love you.” Her voice broke. “I’ve been praying for you. Everybody’s praying for you.”

Angela. In love with life, twenty-one years old, married less than a year, but still and forever Finney’s little girl. They’d always been close, but since Jenny died when Angie was eleven, they’d been inseparable. There was a pause and some sobs, and words of comfort from Sue to Angela that Finney couldn’t quite make out.

“Please get better. You’re the best Daddy in the world. When you get out of the hospital, I’ll make you your favorite beef stew. Just the way you like it. You know how you always say I make it better than anybody? And I’ll make those cornbread muffins, too. And we’ll play tennis, and I’ll let you beat me. Oh, Daddy.”

Finney felt Angela’s head fall gently on his chest. She abruptly lifted it, perhaps thinking it could impair his breathing.
No, honey, keep your head right there. I want to feel you against me.
Finney was disappointed not to hear his own voice, because he knew it meant Angela couldn’t hear him either.

After a few minutes of silence, Sue said, “Finney, I’m taking out Angie and then I’m coming back with Little Finn. They won’t let all three of us in here at once. Angie will come back later.”

“Bye, Daddy. I’ll see you soon.” That voice so precious to Finney carried two loads—one hope, the other anguish.

Good-bye, Angela. I will see you soon…one way or the other.

Silence prevailed, releasing him to drift from that end of the passageway toward the other. Angela’s words renewed his resolve to try to stay in the old world, not for his sake but for hers and his family’s. The other world reached out to him, gripping him with growing strength. If the choice were his, and nothing but his own welfare was at stake, it would be no more difficult than the choice between a bright sunny ocean beach and the dark shadows of a crime-infested slum. But he knew the prerogative over life and death wasn’t his. The choice belonged to Another. He was glad, because this was the only way he could be sure the choice was right.

Soon another voice drew Finney back to the entry point, a voice beautiful in a different way than Sue’s and Angela’s. This voice belonged to a boy, still high pitched but bubbling with youthful masculinity. For a moment Finney hesitated, looking over to the far end of the passageway, thinking he’d been mistaken, that this special voice came from there, from the world beyond. It had an unearthly quality. But no, it couldn’t be. In his mind’s eye, Finney turned again to the entry end, the world he’d come from, and listened attentively to the voice.

“Hi dere, Dada. Mama says maybe you can hear me and maybe you can’t, so I should just talk like I dink you can. Is dat okay wid you?”

Finney smiled, wondering if the smile made its way to his lips.
It’s more than okay with me, bud.
The words stayed at the level of thought. Finney finally resigned himself to the fact that the road between his thought and speech had been washed out.

“I was at Martin’s house when Mama called me from da hospistal right after the football game an said dere was uh accident. Martin’s Mom, Mrs. Janic, she drove me to da hospistal. She didn’t know if she should park in da mergency place or by da big doorway. She said she didn’t want to get in trouble or park in a doctor’s space or get towed or nothin’. Finally she said ‘Shucks, I don’t give a darn, I’m just going to park it here.’ Really, Dada, she didn’t say dat exac’ly. She swore, but Mama told me I shouldn’t repeat da swear words. She’s a nice lady and I never heard her swear before, but Mama said she was just scared or somethin’. I’ve heard Martin swear a few times, but not too bad. Mama says you didn’t get to see da second half cause of da accident. So I’ll just tell ya all about it since ya didn’t see it or nothin’, okay?”

Yes, Little Finn, tell me all about it.
Finney didn’t care about the game. He cared very much about hearing this precious voice, as inviting as a stream of cold water to a hot and thirsty hiker. It didn’t matter where it flowed, only that it did. Little Finn talked on and on, holding Finney as close as he could get to that end of the passageway.

Finally he heard a kind and only vaguely familiar voice. “He needs to rest. You can see him later.”

Let them stay. They’re the only rest I need.
Finney said it, but no one heard.

How much time passed Finney didn’t know, because he was between a world with time and a world without it. This was an odd feeling, but not unpleasant. His sense of anticipation deepened as he heard music, singing, conversations, and laughter at the other end. Remarkable laughter. Not like the response to a joke’s punch line, where there’s a moment of delight before returning to a world of burdens, but the spontaneous laughter of sheer joy that shows no signs of stopping, uninhibited by the dark cloud of stark reality. People always remarked about Finney’s hearty laugh. But this laughter was something more, something enchanting, alluring, enticing. It made him want to run full speed to the other end and leap unreservedly into it, losing himself in the wonder beyond.

Finney was torn between two worlds. He longed for the anchor to the old world to be pulled up, freeing his ship to sail to the new shore, to step forth as Columbus or Magellan on new land, and above all to meet the inhabitants of that land. He longed for the labor pains to end, for the birth to take place, for the umbilical cord to the old world to be cut at last.

Finney lost himself in thought, wondering if the memories of this time would fade if he went back out to live the rest of his life on earth. Would the sensations and distractions of that world cause him to lose touch with the experiences and insights here in the passageway? He earnestly hoped not.

Suddenly Finney embarked on a strange adventure. He was now viewing what seemed to be a motion picture of his entire life on earth. He thought it must have been edited for it to pass so swiftly before him, yet it seemed complete, every life incident intact. Somehow he was able to comprehend it. He saw it with the objectivity of an outsider. He very much liked some things he saw, and disliked terribly other things. The life portrait began in a dark and warm place, a secure enclave, where at first he could see only a subdued opaque sort of light, and could only hear muffled sounds and a steady reassuring pounding noise nearby. His mind raced through the cinema at a torrid pace, like a fallen leaf down powerful rapids. He felt he should be dizzy, yet Finney was able to thoughtfully view it as if it were a course summary at the end of the term.

“I’m Sue Keels, Finney’s wife. I’m also an emergency room nurse. Dr. Milhall’s been letting me stay here with him. I’m not in the way, Doctor.”

“Yes, no doubt,” came the unfamiliar voice. “Mr. Keels has persistent friends and family, I’ll say that for him. We can’t seem to keep them away regardless of the rules.”

“If you knew him, you’d understand why,” Sue said.

That’s Sue
, Finney thought.
So loving and loyal. More than I ever deserved. Thank you, Lord.

“Jake, good to see you. How are you?”

Jake! In here? Then you’re okay, old buddy
!

The unfamiliar voice said, “I caught him sneaking around ICU. He needs to get back to his room. We’re on our way.”

The thought of Jake sneaking up and down corridors like a commando tickled Finney. His clarity of thought surprised him. Weak as his body was, he was hearing everything, as if the dramatic presentation of his life that ended not long ago had sharpened his touch with his former world. If only he could open his eyes and see as clearly as he was hearing. But Sue’s and Jake’s faces were so clearly etched in his mind’s eye he didn’t need to see them.

Silence reigned again. Finney could sense Sue’s presence very close to him, as she held his hand and stroked his cheek. He breathed in her perfume. Its scent was inseparable from her. He could sense her silent prayers, almost hearing the words forming in her mind. At one point Sue let go of his hand and a larger tougher hand awkwardly took its place. It was Jake. Finney knew this must be hard on him. He prayed,
Father, help Jake through this. Show yourself to him. Give him the grace to turn to you.

Finney didn’t know how he could be alert enough to understand all this, yet so weak he couldn’t make Sue and Jake know he was there. The thought occurred to him that he was separating from his body, and every inch his body was losing, his soul was gaining. He felt as if he were an egg timer turned upside down, leaving only a short time until the last grain of sand that was his life would move from one receptacle to another. Suddenly another voice jerked him back to the room.

“Hi dere, Unca Jake.”

Little Finn!

“I hope he doesn’t die. But if he does, he’ll be in heaven, ya know.” Affection and pride warmed Finney.

“Don’t talk like that, Little Finn. I promise he’ll make it.”

The decision isn’t yours, Jake.

“Know what I told Dad dis morning? I told him if he dies to be sure and give my sister Jenny a big hug, and tell her it’s from me. I told him not to forget. Mama says he probly heard me, because people in hospistal beds always hear more than we dink. Right, Mama?”

“Right, Finn.”

Right, Finn. I’m hearing everything, at least for now. I don’t remember hearing you say to hug Jenny, but somehow I knew you’d said it. I won’t forget, Little Finn. I won’t forget.

“Finn, I need to read to your Dad now, so you listen, okay?” Finney felt the gentle comforting weight of Sue’s Bible leaning up against him. He could smell the old worn pages mixed with her perfume, creating the most beautiful hybrid fragrance.

“This is from the last two chapters of Revelation.”

“Revelation is da last book of da whole Bible.” Finney smiled, though his lips didn’t move. He guessed Sue was smiling too. Yes, she was smiling. But how could he see her when his eyes were closed? He listened intently as Sue read of a new heaven and new earth, and the promise that God would forever be with his people. He knew who awaited him on the other side, and the very thought moved him to tears, good tears, right at the moment Sue read, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes.”

Suddenly Sue stopped reading. Finney longed for her to continue. He faintly felt something, perhaps a tissue, on his face, miles away from him. Was he crying? Yes, now he could see his own face, as if above it, looking down. He saw the back of her hand as Sue wiped away his tear.

The words of God penetrated him, electrified him. Finney understood them better in his present state than when his body was functioning normally. Perhaps part of it was there was nothing to distract him. Thoughts of business and travel and yard work were gone. Distractions of television and radio and the morning paper, of telephone and computers had no place here. There was nothing to focus on now but what was worthy of his focus—the very words of God.