James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

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.

“Thank you, God,” Jack said as he drove down the two-lane road that led to the airport. “I know this week was a gift from heaven.”

Luis Melendez called Sal Paglia the day after his visit to Benny. He’d first had to digest everything over a few scotch and sodas before he could revisit it with anyone. Luis rarely drank. He was very disciplined after the drug years of his youth. Benny’s diatribe, however, had taken a toll on his psyche.

“My son has agreed to your representation,” Luis told Sal after Hazel got him on the line.

“Good. Good,” Sal said. “How’d the meeting go?”

“It went.”

“Not good, huh?”

“No. He’s got good reason to be angry.”

“Well, maybe we can do something for the both of you by getting him out of jail. By the way, I’ve got a mortgage broker coming in here to meet with us tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock to get the paperwork done on your refinancing. Be sure to bring your tax returns and everything else on that sheet I gave you so he can get started right away.”

Luis sensed a tone of desperation in Sal’s voice and he was right. Sal was scared. He had already given three thousand bucks to his loan shark, Beano Moffit, who had visited him rather unexpectedly a few days before.

“Give me one reason why I don’t break your legs,” Beano had asked at the time. Sal loved that about shylocks-they always made it sound like it hurt them more than you when they broke your body parts into pieces. Just to be sure he remained intact, he’d given Beano three thousand reasons not to break his legs. But he knew the reprieve wouldn’t last for long. He needed Luis’s money. He also needed to tell somebody about the heat he was getting from Beano, so he called his good friend, Sergeant Al Borders of the NYPD.