“I should have put my foot down,” Jack said as he brought her a couple of aspirin and a glass of water. She was lying in bed moaning.
“It’s not your fault, Jack. It’s not anybody’s fault. I made my own decision. I knew there would be repercussions. I’ll have to remember this feeling the next time I’m tempted to stray from the straight and narrow.”
The next time was the following Monday. Pat had her third chemotherapy treatment earlier in the day, and that night she and Jack had visitors. Jack was against having anybody over, but Pat once again convinced him it was okay.
“I usually don’t feel the effects of the chemo until the next day, and we’ll have them over after dinner. It’ll be fine.”
Jack finally relented. He could never say no to her when she wanted to do something. Besides, the visitors were old friends, and seeing them would probably be good for the both of them.
During the time that Jack represented Rudy Kelly, he had two retired homicide detectives, Dick Radek and Joaquin Sanchez, working with him on the case. An important witness in part of the litigation was a woman named Maria Lopez. For security reasons, they had all lived together for several months, initially in Jack and Pat’s house in Bass Creek and later in a ranch house owned by a friend of Jack’s, Steve Preston. They became very close as a result of the experience. Joaquin and Maria fell in love and were married in a joint wedding ceremony with Jack and Pat. Dick eventually bought the ranch house they had all stayed in, and he married Steve Preston’s sister, Peggy. The six of them got together from time to time.
This evening, however, was different. Jack could tell from Dick’s tone of voice when he called to make plans that they knew of Pat’s illness. It was just another example of bad news traveling through unknown channels very quickly.
It turned out to be a wonderful evening. Although Jack could tell that Joaquin, Maria, and Dick were initially shocked that Pat had lost so much weight and appeared so pale, he could also see how happy the visit made her. They sat on the patio out by the pool and reminisced about their “commune” days. Poor Peggy, the newest member of the group, had to listen to the stories every time they got together.
“I don’t know if I ever told you this one before, Peggy,” Pat began. “Maria and I had to do some extra planning to make the testosterone members of the household feel comfortable. Do you remember, Maria?”
“I sure do,” Maria replied. “We got each man his own newspaper. Every morning at breakfast, the three of them would have their noses in their own individual paper.”
“And do you know,” Pat continued, “they never even thanked us.”
“It wasn’t every morning,” Dick countered. “As I recall, most mornings Maria and Joaquin and you and Jack were making goo-goo eyes at each other across the table.”
“Oh yeah, I remember,” Joaquin said. “That’s when Dick uttered his famous line, ‘I feel like a fifth wheel around here.’” They all cracked up just as they had the morning that Dick first said it-including Peggy, who had heard the story several times before.
Even though it was a great evening, Jack, the protector, made sure it ended early. As they said their good-byes, each one expressed in his or her own way how special Pat was to them. Only Maria acknowledged her illness, and then only implicitly.
“I’m an hour away,” she said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. Please.”
“I will, Maria,” Pat replied, reaching out to touch her hand. “I promise.”
On Tuesday morning, Jack and Pat loaded the big boat, the thirty-six-foot Sea Ray they had purchased the year before, and headed out for Lake Okeechobee. They brought the dinghy along as well. The plan was to stay out on the lake for a week, weather permitting, away from everyone and everything but not too far from town, and use the dinghy on daily excursions to explore the little tributaries off the Oka-latchee River and the big lake itself. Mostly, though, they just wanted to be alone.
Almost immediately, Pat’s condition started to deteriorate. Even though Jack did the vast majority of the work getting ready, Pat was exhausted by the first afternoon and took to her bed belowdeck before they’d even picked a spot to spend the night.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Jack said to her after he’d stopped and set the anchor.
“No, honey, I’ll be fine. I like the water. It soothes me even when I’m in bed. If I’m going to be tired for a couple of days, I’d rather be tired out here.”
It was a good choice. She had a restful night’s sleep, and in the morning Jack made breakfast and served her in bed. In the afternoon, he brought her on deck and let her relax in the shade under the canopy. She could breathe the fresh air without the harmful effects of the sun. The doctor had warned both of them about overexposure to the sun during chemotherapy.
By Thursday she was feeling better, although for the first time since she started chemo, clumps of hair were coming out in her hairbrush. She’d awakened before sunrise and gone on deck. It was peaceful and serene on the lake as the sun broke through-nothing like the stark transition in their little cove where they were surrounded by the trees and the animals, but just as stirring in its own way. Jack joined her a little later, having caught a whiff of the breakfast she was cooking for him.
“One good turn deserves another,” she said jauntily. Jack didn’t say anything. He was just happy to see her up and about and so full of life.
After breakfast, she undressed and jumped in the water. Jack followed right behind.
“Pat, you’ve got to be careful,” he chastised her when they both surfaced. “You need to save your strength.”
“For what? Next Monday, when it gets sapped all over again? Seize the day, Jack. Live in the moment.” She proceeded to swim away from the boat. Jack could do nothing but follow.
After lunch, they took the dinghy out and explored a little. In one of the offshoots between the river and the lake-“mangrove corridors,” Jack called them, because they were bordered on both sides by mangroves with an occasional tall pine here and there-they came upon a partially sunken houseboat lying on its side. The boat was two stories high and very large. Pat spied two gators resting nearby and an osprey high atop one of the pines. A cormorant was swimming close to the gators, seemingly oblivious to their presence, and Pat worried about its safety.
“I hope that cormorant doesn’t get too close to the gators.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jack said. “What’s meant to be in nature is meant to be.”
“I never thought about it quite that way,” she replied. “I guess you’re right.”
“Rudy told me about this houseboat,” Jack remembered. “I never thought I’d actually find it. It looks exactly as he described it.”
“Don’t you wonder sometimes about the stories behind wrecks like this?” Pat asked. “Just imagine, a murky swamp in the dead of night. Gator-infested waters. Maybe it was a gambling boat. Or even better, a brothel.”
“Maybe so,” Jack replied, leaning back in the dinghy with his feet hanging over the side, letting the boat drift aimlessly. It didn’t get any better than this. “I’ll bet the osprey knows the whole story. He can see everything from up there.”
“I think you’re right,” Pat replied, looking up at the majestic bird, its proud white chest protruding, framed by dark brown wings.
They made love that night-carefully, rocking along to the rhythm of the great Okeechobee. Afterward, they both slept soundly.
On Sunday morning before dawn they took the dinghy to the cove they had adopted as their own, for their own special sunrise service. They spent the rest of the morning there as well, swimming au naturel, arriving home in the early afternoon just in time for Jack to jump in the car and drive to Fort Lauderdale to pick up Charlie.