One Summer

14

After being discharged, Jack rode with Sammy to his house. Along the way, he asked his friend to pass by his old home. Jack was surprised to see his pickup truck in the carport.

Sammy explained, “Went with the house sale, so I heard.”

“Bonnie and the Realtor handled all that. Is that my tool bin in the back?”

“Yep. Guess that went too. All happened pretty fast.” He eyed Jack. “Knew you’d beat that damn thing. Still got the tickets to Disney World?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, staring glumly out the window.

Five of them.

Later, Jack drove to his bank. They had kept the account open to pay for expenses. It had a few thousand dollars left in it. That was a starting point. He had his wallet, and his credit cards were still valid. Driver’s license was still good. Contractor’s license intact. He drove to his old house and offered the owner eight hundred bucks on the spot for the truck and tools. After some negotiation back and forth, he got them for eight-fifty, the owner apparently glad to get the heap out of his driveway. Jack raced to the bank and got a cashier’s check; the title was signed over, and he drove off in his old ride the same day.

He called the kids and told them he was out of rehab and getting a place for them all to live in. He next talked to Bonnie and explained things to her.

“That’s wonderful, Jack,” she’d said. But her words rang hollow. She asked him what his next step would be.

“Like I said, getting my family back. I’ll be coming out there really soon.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Bonnie, I’m their father. They belong with me.”

That night he treated Sammy to dinner. While Sammy had a medium-rare burger, fries, and black coffee, Jack made three trips to the salad bar before settling down to devour his heaping plate of surf and turf.

“So what’s the plan, chief?”

“Get my kids back pronto. But I need a place for us to stay.”

“You’re welcome to stay at my place, long as you want.”

Sammy’s place had one bedroom and a bathroom attached to the back with only an outside entrance; Sammy’s massive Harley was parked in what he referred to as “the parlor.” Besides that, his “puppy,” Sam Jr., had the bulk of a Honda.

“That’s fine for me, but with three kids, I’ll need something a little bigger.”

Late that night he slowly pulled his truck down the narrow roads of the cemetery. He’d been here only once, on a bitterly cold day, the ground flash-wrapped in ice and snow. And yet even though he’d been sick, he’d memorized every detail of the place. He could never forget where his wife was buried any more than he could ever fail to recall his own name.

He walked between the plots until he reached hers, represented by a simple bronze plate in the grass. He knelt down, brushed a couple of dead leaves off it. There was a skinny metal vase bolted to the plate where one could put flowers. There were roses in there, but they were brown. Jack cleaned them all out and placed in the vase a bunch of fresh flowers he’d brought with him. He sat down on his haunches and read the writing on the plate.

“Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Armstrong, loving wife, mother, and daughter. You will always be missed. You will always be loved.”

He traced the letters with his fingers, even as his eyes filled with tears.

“I’m going to get the kids, Lizzie. I’m going to bring them home, and we’re going to be a family again.” He choked back a sob and tried to ignore the dull pain in his chest. “I wish you could be here with me, Lizzie. More than anything I wish that. But you were there for me in the hospital when I needed you. And I promise I will take good care of the children. I will make them proud. And I will raise them right. Just like you did.”

The words finally failed him, and he lay down in the soft grass and wept. He finally became so exhausted, he fell asleep. When he woke he didn’t know where he was for a few seconds, before he looked over and saw the grave. The dawn was breaking, the air chilly. As he looked overhead, he could see flocks of birds arriving for the start of spring.

Jack’s clothes were damp from the dew. He coughed to clear his throat. His eyes and face were raw. In the distance he could hear the sounds of early morning traffic on the roads that fronted the cemetery. He walked silently back to his truck and drove off without the one person he needed more than anyone else.