They were driven home, the absence of Lizzie in their midst a festering wound that had no possible healing ointment. Jackie was brought home, and people stopped by with plates of food. An impromptu wake was held; devastated folks chatted in low tones. More than once Jack caught people gazing at him, no doubt thinking, My God, what now?
Jack was thinking the same thing. What now?
Two hours later the house was empty except for Jack, the kids, and his in-laws. The children instantly disappeared. Minutes later Jack could hear guitar strumming coming from Mikki’s bedroom, the tunes melancholy and abbreviated. Cory and Jackie shared a bedroom, but no sound was coming from them. Jack could imagine Cory quietly sobbing, while a confused Jackie attempted to comfort him.
Bonnie and Fred O’Toole looked as disoriented as Jack felt. They had signed on to help their healthy daughter transition with her kids to being a widow and then getting on with her life. Without the buffer that Lizzie had been, Jack could focus now on the fact that his relationship with his in-laws had been largely superficial.
Fred was a big man with a waistline large enough to portend a host of health problems down the road. He tended to defer to his wife in all things other than sports and selling cars, which was the line of work that had brought him to Cleveland. He was a man who would prefer to look at the floor rather than in your eye, unless he was trying to sell you the latest Ford F-150. Then he could be animated enough, at least until you signed on the dotted line and the financing cleared.
Bonnie was shorter than her daughter. The mother of four grown children, she was now well into her sixties, and her figure had lost its shape. Her waist and hips had turned into a solid wall of flesh. Her hair was white, cut short and rather brutally, and her eyeglasses filled most of her square face. Fred kept sighing, rubbing his big hands over his pressed suit pants, as though attempting to rub some dirt off his fingers. Bonnie, who had kept on her black outfit, was sitting very still on the couch, her gaze aimed at a corner of the ceiling but apparently not actually registering on it.
Fred sighed again, and this seemed to rouse Bonnie.
“Well,” she said. “Well,” she said again. Fred eyed her, as did Jack.
She looked over and gave Jack a quick glance that was undecipherable.
Then came more silence.
Finally, a few minutes later Fred helped Jack get into bed, and then he and Bonnie went up to Jack and Lizzie’s room. They would be staying here full-time until other arrangements were made.
Jack lay in the dark staring at the ceiling. The days after Lizzie had died had been far worse than when he’d received his own death sentence. His life ending he’d accepted. Hers he had not. Could not. Mikki and Cory had barely spoken since the police officer had come with the awful news. Jackie had wandered the house looking for his mother and crying when he couldn’t find her.
Jack slid open the drawer of the nightstand and took out the six letters. He obviously had not written one on Christmas Eve. In these pages he had poured out his heart to the person he cherished above all others. As he looked down at the pages, wasted pages now, his spirits sank even lower.
Jack rarely cried. He’d seen fellow soldiers die horribly in the Middle East, watched his father perish from lung cancer, and attended the funeral of his wife. He had shed a few tears at each of these events, but not for long and always in a controlled way. Now, staring at the ceiling, thinking a thousand anguished thoughts, he did weep quietly as it finally struck him that Lizzie was really gone.
7
The next morning Bonnie took charge. She came to see Jack with Fred in tow. “This won’t be easy, Jack,” she cautioned, “but we really don’t have much time.” She squared her shoulders and seemed to attempt a sympathetic look. “The children of course come first. I’ve talked to Becky and also to Frances several times.”
Frances and Becky were Lizzie’s older sisters, who lived on the West Coast. The only brother, Fred Jr., was on active military duty, stationed in Korea. He had not been able to make it to the funeral.
“Becky can take Jack Jr., and Frances has agreed to take Cory. That just leaves Michelle.” Bonnie had never called her Mikki.
“Just Michelle?” said Jack.
Bonnie looked momentarily taken aback. When she spoke, her tone was less authoritative and more conciliatory. “This is hard on all of us. You know Fred and I had planned to move to Tempe next year after things were more settled with Lizzie and the kids. We were going this year, but then you got sick. And we stayed on, because that’s what families do in those situations. We tried to do our best, for all of you.”
“We couldn’t have gotten on without you.”
This remark seemed to please her, and she smiled and gripped his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
She continued, “We’ll take Michelle with us. And because Jack Jr. will be in Portland with Becky and Cory in LA with Frances, they will all at least be on or near the West Coast. I’m sure they’ll see each other fairly often. It’s really the only workable solution that I can see.”
“When?” Jack asked.
“The Christmas break is almost over, and we think we can get all the kids transitioned in the next month. We decided it was no good waiting until the fall, for a number of reasons. It’ll be better all around for them.”
“For you too,” said Jack. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
Bonnie’s conciliatory look faded. “Yes, us too. Jack, we’re taking care of all the children. They’ll all have homes with people they love and who love them. You can’t have an issue with that.”
Jack touched his chest. “And me?”
“Yes, well... I was getting to that, of course.” She stood but didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at a spot right over his head. “Hospice. I’ll arrange all the details.” Now she looked at him, and Jack had to admit, she didn’t look happy about this. “If we could take care of you, Jack, in the time that you have left, we would. But we’re not young anymore, and taking in Michelle and all...”
Fred added, “And Lizzie dying.”
Jack and Bonnie stared at him for an instant. Each seemed surprised the man was still there, much less that he had spoken. Bonnie said, “Yes, and Lizzie not... well, yes.”
Jack drew a long breath and mustered his strength. He said, “My kids, my decision.”
Fred looked at Jack and then over at his wife. Bonnie, though, had eyes only for Jack.
She said, “You can’t care for the kids. You can’t even take care of yourself. Lizzie did everything. And now she’s gone.” Her eyes glittered; her tone was harsh once more.
“Still my decision,” he said defiantly. He had no idea where he was going with this, but the words had tumbled from his mouth.
“Who else will take three kids? If we do nothing, the matter is out of our hands and they’ll go into foster care. They’ll probably never see each other again. Is that what you want?” She sat down next to him, her face inches from his. “Is that really what you want?”
He sucked in some more air, his resolve weakening along with his energy. “Why can’t I stay here?” he said. Another long inhalation. “Until the kids leave?”
“Hospice is much cheaper. I’m sorry if that sounds callous, but money is tight. Tough decisions have to be made.”
“So I die alone?”
Bonnie looked at her husband. Clearly, from his expression, Fred sided with Jack on this point.
Fred said, “Doesn’t seem right, Bonnie. Taking the family away like that. After all that’s happened.”