The Legacy: Making Wishes Come True (19 page)

J
ENNY WAS SITTING
in her bed and writing in a spiral notebook when her grandmother came into her room one December afternoon. “Richard said you wanted to see me.”

Jenny lowered the notebook and smiled. The effort hurt, but she’d purposely told Mrs. Kelly to delay her routine dose of pain medication. She wanted a clear head when she talked to her grandmother. She had much to say and didn’t want drugs to muddy her thought processes. “Come sit with me.” Jenny patted the side of her bed.

Her grandmother complied. “I was coming later for my needlepoint session.”

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you now.”

“Is something the matter?”

“You mean besides never getting out of this bed?”

“Foolish question.”

A pain seized Jenny, and she held her breath and wadded the sheets in her fists until it passed. She
wiped a film of perspiration off her face and forced her thoughts back on course. “First of all, thank you for allowing Richard to hang around so much. It means so much to me to have him nearby.”

“You mean a great deal to one another. It would be terrible of me to try and keep you apart.”

“I don’t know what the next few weeks will bring,” Jenny began haltingly. “I know I’m fighting hard.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Don’t look so sad. I’m going to be all right.” She longed to give her grandmother some sense of peace about what was happening, but didn’t know how. Jenny cleared her throat. “Actually, I need your help.”

“My help? For what? Name it.”

“I want you to help me make out my will.” Her grandmother looked stricken, as if Jenny had suddenly let loose with an obscenity. Jenny hurriedly continued. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but I can’t do it without you. You see, I learned some things when I spent so much time in the hospital. I learned that suffering does not respect people and who they are.”

“That’s very true.”

“I know you understand because you lost Grandfather and then my dad.” Marian nodded. “When I learned I had cancer, I was pretty scared. And no matter how many people were around me, I still felt alone. Things improved when I met others who were sick like me.”

“You did seem happier once you made friends.”

“They made a big difference, even though the worst part has been watching them die. Kimbra and I are the only ones left, and I’m not sure about myself.”
Jenny smiled at her own black humor. “I used to think about what I would do, what I’d be when I grew up. Mostly, I’d pick stupid things, like being a famous actress or a brilliant surgeon.”

“You could be anything you wanted.”

“Except healthy,” Jenny said. “I can’t be healthy.”

“Please, dear, don’t think negatively.”

Jenny ignored her grandmother’s well-intentioned comment and added, “So, I got to thinking about why God even bothered to put me on earth in the first place.”

“For my sake, for Richard’s … Your parents loved you very much.”

“But is that enough? Why be put in people’s life when you’ll eventually bring them unhappiness when you go out of it?”

“You’ve enriched my life, Jenny. You’ve changed it forever.”

“I couldn’t go with my parents when they died. You can’t come with me when I die.”

“We’ll all die someday, but then we’ll be together again.”

“I know that. But just because we can’t take anything or anyone with us when we die, it doesn’t mean we can’t leave something meaningful behind.”

“So that’s why you want to write your will?”

“I’m very rich, aren’t I?” Jenny answered her grandmother’s question with a question of her own.

“You know you have a significant trust fund set up in your name.”

Jenny nodded purposefully. “I want you to read something I’ve been working on for the past few days.” She opened the spiral notebook, extracted a single sheet of paper, and watched her grandmother’s
face as she read silently. Naturally, she knew the contents by heart.

Her grandmother looked puzzled when she finished reading the letter Jenny had so carefully composed. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“I want to leave something meaningful behind. A special trust fund for other sick teenagers.”

“For kids you’ve met at the hospital?”

“No. For complete strangers. And not just kids
who have cancer, but any kids who are terminally ill, with only a short time to live.”

“But why strangers?”

“Why not strangers? Once I’m gone, everybody will be a stranger.”

“Well, what’s this about a wish that someone gave to you. What wish was that?”

“This one, of course. That you help set up this fund for me. I want to call it One Last Wish, and I want you to handle all the details.

Her grandmother’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

“I haven’t got time not to be serious.” Jenny covered her grandmother’s hands with hers. “You’ve always said you would do anything for me.”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, this is what I want you to do. This is what I want to leave behind. I know Richard’s father will help you if you ask. And I know you can make it work.”

“But you haven’t even signed your name to this letter. How will a recipient know where the money has come from?”

“I don’t want anyone to know. Not ever. That’s the other part of my wish—absolute secrecy. What good is a good deed if it isn’t done in secret? No one can ever know. You and Mr. Holloway can figure out how to keep it a secret.”

Marian sat speechless while Jenny watched a dozen emotions cross her face. “I’m not crazy, Grandmother. I know what I’m asking. I know it won’t be easy, but I trust you to make it all happen. To make my last wish come true.”

“And this certified check you speak of—did you have an amount in mind?”

Jenny took a deep breath. “I want to give each person one hundred thousand dollars. This money will be my legacy, as it was my father’s and his father’s before him. I mean, what good is money if you can’t spend it? Or hope, if you can’t pass it on?”

K
NOWING THAT THE
people she loved most in the world were close by gave Jenny a sense of well-being as the line between reality and unreality began to blur.

One afternoon, she woke from a deep sleep to see Kimbra sitting beside her bed, reading a magazine. “Is that you?” she asked. “Didn’t you come at Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, but now I’m back.” Kimbra smiled, dropped the magazine, and leaned toward Jenny. “It’s almost time for Christmas. Your grandmother called the other night and said you were asking for me, so she arranged for me to fly down for the weekend.”

“That’s nice. I was wishing I could see you one more time.”

“What’s this ‘one more time’? Don’t you know you can’t get rid of me?”

Jenny tried to smile, but she felt tired, so tired. “You look good. What is that you’re wearing?”

“It’s my letter jacket for basketball. Do you like it?” Kimbra stood and twirled so that Jenny could see the navy-and-gold jacket.

“I like it.”

Kimbra sat back down. “I miss your letters to me.”

“I want to write, but it’s hard for me to hold a pen. And my handwriting’s scribbly-looking.”

“I know what you mean. I had to learn to write left-handed after I lost my arm. It took me ages to make my writing look legible.”

Jenny reached out and touched Kimbra’s empty sleeve. “I can’t imagine you any other way. And someday, someone’s going to like you exactly the way you are.”

“Not any high school guys. They like the girls with no defects.”

“Then you’ll find someone in college. I know there’s someone special waiting just for you.”

Kimbra clasped Jenny’s hand. “Well, I hope some guy likes me even half as much as Richard likes you. You’re lucky. The two of you are a perfect match.”

“I’ve loved him for years, and now that I know he really loves me back …” She let the sentence trail, and in the silence of the room, the ticking of the bedside clock could be heard. To Jenny, it sounded impatient, as if time wanted her to follow it to some distant universe where both could rest forever. “You’re my best friend, Kimbra.” She clung to her friend’s hand, unwilling to let go of time and place.

“And you’re my best friend, Jenny.” Kimbra’s voice began to quiver. “You’re not going to do anything dumb, are you?”

“Like what?”

“Like … like what Elaine and Noreen did. I don’t want to be the Lone Musketeer.”

“I can’t promise.” Jenny watched a tear slide down Kimbra’s cheek. “Don’t cry. You’re the tough one, remember?”

“Not tough enough. I’ll never be tough enough.”

Jenny hugged her with all the strength she had. “Why don’t you read to me before you go? You know, like old times.”

“I don’t know if I can.…” Kimbra’s voice was choked.

“Then just sit and hold my hand. And would you move that silly clock? It sounds like thunder, and it’s giving me a headache.”

When the weekend was over, and Kimbra had gone, Jenny told her grandmother, “Please take care of my friend. If she doesn’t get a sports scholarship to college, make sure she has the money to go anyway. Will you do that for me?”

“If it’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

Richard watched helplessly as Jenny went steadily downhill. Mrs. Kelly started her on oxygen round the clock two days after Christmas. Fluid kept building in Jenny’s lungs, and Mrs. Kelly removed it with a syringe. The process was arduous and painful, but at least Jenny could breathe easier afterward.

Jenny grew obsessed with seeing the new year arrive, so her grandmother allowed her to keep the TV on at all times. It comforted Jenny to glance at it, to hear of the world’s hopes and plans for the brand-new year.

Richard or her grandmother stayed with Jenny constantly. Richard found himself torn between wanting her alive and wanting her suffering to end.
Still, the thought of facing a lifetime without her was more than he could stand.

There were a thousand things he’d longed to tell her. Why had he waited so long? What had he been afraid of?

On New Year’s Eve, Jenny slipped into a coma. Mrs. Kelly listened to her fluttering heartbeat and shook her head. “Hours, at the most,” she told Richard and Marian.

“My poor baby.” Her grandmother sat on the opposite side of Jenny’s bed weeping, holding Jenny’s hand and pressing it to her wet cheek.

“You can make it, Jenny,” Richard whispered in her ear, for Mrs. Kelly had told him that hearing was the last sense a person kept. “Hang on, honey. I know you can make it.”

In response, Jenny’s chest heaved, and he was certain her hand moved in his.

On the TV, Richard, Marian, and Mrs. Kelly saw crowds gathering in Times Square. Jenny’s room was cast in an eerie bluish light from the screen. Flakes of snow were falling outside her window. “Here it goes!” the TV announcer shouted, pointing to the ball that would drop down a pole to bring in the New Year.

A camera aimed at the ball of glowing light and showed it slowly descending as the crowd began to count down in unison. Richard watched Jenny’s chest heave. “Almost,” he whispered.

The crowd chanted, “Ten, nine, eight, seven …”

Richard squeezed Jenny’s hand hard, hoping that the pressure would keep her linked to the real world. He felt desperate and determined to grant her her last wish—living to see 1980.

“…  six, five, four, three …”

He willed her chest to rise once more and fill with life-giving oxygen.

“ … two, one! Happy New Year!”

The crowd in Times Square erupted into one jubilant shout. Noisemakers and car horns sounded, firecrackers went off, and music began to play. “You made it, Jenny,” Richard whispered in her ear. Time seemed slow but only seconds had passed. Jenny’s chest stopped heaving. Suddenly her grip on Richard’s hand went limp and motionless. Richard felt numbness steal over him. He watched as Mrs. Kelly placed a stethoscope over Jenny’s heart. “She’s left us,” Mrs. Kelly whispered.

In the background, from the TV, Richard heard revelers singing, “ ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind …’ ”

Richard climbed slowly along the rugged granite surface of the towering rocks, feeling for the crevice that would lead him to the entrance of the cave.
How many years has it been?
The last time he’d come to this spot, Jenny had been with him.
Beloved Jenny
.