One Summer

16

“Mr. Armstrong?”

Jack stared down from the ladder he was standing on while repairing some siding on a job site. The sun was high overhead, the air warm, and the sweat on his skin thick. He had on a white tank top, dirty dark blue cargo shorts, white crew socks, and worn steel-toed work boots. The woman down below was pretty, with light brown curly hair cut short, and she wore a pair of black slacks and a white blouse; her heels were sunk in the wet grass.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I’m Janice Kaplan. I’m a newspaper reporter. I’d like to talk to you.”

Jack clambered down the ladder and rubbed his hands off on the back of his shorts. “Talk to me about what?”

“Being the miracle man.”

Jack squinted at her. “Come again?”

“You are the Jack Armstrong who was diagnosed with a terminal illness?”

“Well, yeah, I was.”

“You don’t look terminal anymore.”

“I’m not. I got better.”

“So a miracle. At least that’s what the doctor I talked to said.”

Jack looked annoyed. “You talked to my doctor? I thought that was private.”

“Actually, he’s a friend of mine. He mentioned your case in passing. It was all very positive. I became interested, did a little digging, and here I am.”

“Here for what?” Jack said, puzzled.

“To do a story on you. People with death sentences rarely get a second chance. I’d like to talk to you about the experience. And I know my readers would want to know.”

Jack and the kids had been back for nearly four weeks now. With parenting and financial support resting solely on his shoulders, Jack barely had time to eat or sleep. Bonnie had been right in her prediction. He didn’t have any idea what was in store for him. Mikki had really stepped up and had taken the laboring oar with the cooking and cleaning, the shopping, and looking after the boys. He had never had greater appreciation for Lizzie. She’d done it all, from school to meals to laundry to shopping to keeping the house clean. Jack had worked hard, but he realized now that he hadn’t come close to working as hard as his wife had, because she did all that and worked full-time too. At midnight he lay in his bed, numb and exhausted — and humbled by the knowledge that Lizzie would have still been going strong.

“A story?” Jack shook his head as he dug a hole in the mulch bed with the toe of his boot. “Look, it’s really not that special.”

“Don’t be modest. And I also understand that you turned your life around, built your business back, got a house, and went to retrieve your children, who’d been placed with family after your wife tragically died.” She added, “I was very sorry to hear about that. On Christmas Eve too, of all days.”

Jack’s annoyance turned to anger. “You didn’t learn all that from my doctor. That really is an invasion of privacy.”

“Please don’t be upset, Mr. Armstrong. I’m a reporter; it’s my job to find out these things. And I’m probably not explaining myself very well.” She drew a deep breath while Jack stared at her, his hands clenching into fists with his anxiety. “It’s strictly a feel-good piece. One man’s triumph against the odds, a family reunited. These are hard times for folks, especially around here. All we hear is bad news. War, crime, people losing their jobs and their homes. I write about that stuff all the time, and while it is news, it’s also very, very depressing. But this is different. This is a great story that will make people smile. That’s all I’m shooting for. To make people feel good, for once.”

His anger quickly disappearing, Jack looked around while he considered her request. He saw Sammy up on another ladder watching him intently. He waved to show him things were okay. Jack turned back to the woman.

“So what exactly do I have to do?”

“Just sit down with me and tell your story. I’ll take notes, do a draft, get back to you, polish it, and then it’ll be published in the paper and on our Web site.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s all. I really believe it will be positive for lots of people. There are many folks out there with what seem like insurmountable obstacles in front of them. Reading about how you overcame yours could do a lot of good. It really could.”

“I think I just got lucky.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. From the research I’ve done on your condition, the odds were zero that you would recover. No one else ever has.”

“Well, I’m just happy I was the first. How about tomorrow after dinner?”

“Great. About eight?”

Jack gave her his address. She glanced at his exposed upper right arm and then his scarred calves. “I understand you were in the military. Is that where you got those?” She indicated the ragged bullet wound on his arm and the network of scars on his legs.

“Arm in Afghanistan and legs in Iraq.”

“Two Purples then?”

“Yeah. Were you in the military?”

“My son just got back from the Middle East in one piece, thank God.”

“I guess we both have a lot to be thankful for.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The story ran, and a few days later Janice Kaplan called.

“The AP picked up my article, Jack.”

Jack had just finished cleaning up after dinner.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“AP. Associated Press. That means my story about you and your family is running in newspapers across the country. My editor still can’t believe it.”

“Congratulations, Janice.”

“No, thank you. It wasn’t the writing; it was the story. And it was a great picture of you and the kids. And I think lots of families will be inspired by your struggle and triumph. I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. You’re famous now. So be prepared.”