James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

Jack took the opportunity to have a brief conversation with Scott Tremaine.

“That was a great cross-examination of Wofford,” Jack said, trying to soothe the sting of the judge’s ruling.

“Thanks, Jack. I want you to know I agreed to take the case before I reviewed the entire file,” Scott said. “After I reviewed it, I told the state’s attorney that I would argue the legal points but if the judge ruled against us, I wanted to be able to tell her that there would be no appeal and no retrial. Otherwise, I was off the case.”

“That answers a bunch of questions, Scott, thanks. I wish there were more prosecutors around like you.”

Wofford had done a good job picking out Henry’s new wardrobe, at least in one respect: everything fit. Henry felt a little awkward, but he looked good. Wofford had bought him a blue oxford shirt, a pair of gray slacks, black socks, and black loafers-size fourteen.

“You look like an Ivy Leaguer,” Jack told him when he emerged from the courthouse bathroom in his new ensemble. Henry gave him an embarrassed smile. He was a little nervous about everything.

The three of them went across the street to have a cup of coffee. “Where are you going to go?” Wofford asked when they were seated.

“He’s coming home with me,” Jack jumped in.

“No, Jack,” Henry objected. “You’ve got too much going on with Pat being sick and all.”

“Exactly, Henry. I’m going to be needing some help. We’ve got plenty of room, and Pat’s been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, Henry,” Wofford suggested. “Just go with it.”

Pat was doing even better when Jack arrived at the hospital that afternoon.

“Hi, honey,” she said as he walked in the door. “You’re here early. How’d it go in court today?”

“It went very well,” Jack told her and Charlie.

A smile cut across Pat’s face. Charlie’s too. “Really? You got Henry a new trial?”

“Better than that,” Jack offered teasingly.

“Better?”

“Yup.” He turned to look at the doorway where he had just entered. “Come on in.” He gestured to someone in the hallway as he spoke. “I want you to meet some people.”

Henry walked into Pat’s private room, which immediately got a lot smaller.

“Wow!” Pat exclaimed when she saw Henry. “This is unbelievable. You have to be Henry. I’m Pat, and this is my best friend, Charlie. You’re actually free! I’m sorry, Henry, I feel like I know you already.” Her words came rapid-fire, a combination of the medication and her true happiness for Henry. She extended her hand, and Henry took it in his.

“I feel like I know you too,” he said. “And I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, the doctor is coming in soon. I feel great. Jack, come over here and give me a kiss, and then the two of you can tell us all about this absolutely remarkable day. Henry, I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t either,” Henry said, his smile widening.

Jack sat on the edge of Pat’s bed and, holding her hand, proceeded to fill her and Charlie in on the events in the courtroom. “I wasn’t surprised when the judge granted Henry a new trial. I can’t say I expected it, but I wasn’t surprised by it. I was absolutely floored, though, when the state dropped the case.”

“So it’s completely over?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “It’s completely over.”

“Where do you go from here, Henry?” Pat asked. “Do you have any family or anything?”

Jack answered before Henry could say anything. “I’ve invited Henry to come home and stay with us for a while until we figure things out.”

“Absolutely!” Pat replied. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Henry told her. “With your illness and all.”

“Nonsense, Henry,” she scolded. “The world isn’t going to stop because I’m sick. Besides, Jack and I could use the company. We’ve worn poor Charlie out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to go home soon,” said Charlie. “And somebody has to look after these two.”

While they were talking, Dr. Wright came into the room.

“It looks like there’s a party going on in here,” she said.

“Of sorts,” Jack replied. “Do you have anything to tell us?”

“I do. Do you and Pat want to talk to me in private?”

“No,” Pat said firmly. “Charlie here is my best friend, and Jack and Henry have just been through a life-and-death struggle together. They can hear whatever you’ve got to say.”

Dr. Wright looked at Jack, who nodded his head in agreement. “Okay,” she said. “The news isn’t good. The tumors have not shrunk. In fact, they’ve grown a little. That explains why your pain has increased. We can try a different chemotherapy regimen. At this point, that is all I can offer.”

“Will a different regimen shrink the tumors?” Jack asked. He was trying to concentrate on the facts rather than his emotions. Once his heart processed what his brain had heard, he wouldn’t be able to talk. He tightened his fingers around Pat’s hand.

“It’s possible.”

“What’s the percentage?” Pat asked.

“Less than ten percent, I’m afraid,” Dr. Wright replied.

“What are the other options?” Pat wanted to know.

“There aren’t any.”

“When can we start this new regimen?” Jack asked, clinging to that last bit of hope.

“Today, if you’d like. It would only take an hour, and Pat has rebounded very well from her last treatment.”

“No,” Pat said. She said it in a low tone but it was a firm no . The firmest no Jack had ever heard. He could feel her words as well as hear them.

Dr. Wright didn’t quite grasp Pat’s statement so clearly. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“It’s very simple, Doctor,” Pat told her. “I want to stop treatment. I want to go home. And I want to enjoy every minute that I have left. I don’t want to spend my last days being poked and prodded and ravaged by chemotherapy.”

Nobody said a word. Jack could hear himself breathing. And he could feel his heart breaking.

Pat lived for another three months. Most days, after she took her pain medication, she was alert and pain free. She took short walks with Jack in the morning after breakfast and spent her afternoons on the front porch watching the traffic on the Okalatchee.

Jack’s Uncle Bill started showing up every morning around breakfast time. Pat got a kick out of him. Even though he was eighty-seven, Uncle Bill had a strong, thick, rich voice and perfect diction.

“Good morning, young man,” he’d say to Henry, as though he had stepped to center stage. “And how is the young lady of the house?” he’d ask Pat. The way he said it forced her to smile whether she felt like it or not. It was like having Shakespeare come to the house for coffee.

Jack was always the afterthought. He would simply get a “Hello, nephew.” Jack didn’t mind one bit. He enjoyed Bill’s presence as much as everybody else. It made them feel like a family.

Pat and Jack didn’t say much on their morning walks. They just held hands. Pat brought peanuts for the squirrels. They’d stop on the way and sit and drink some water and smile at each other and enjoy each moment, squeezing it for everything it was worth.

In the afternoon, Henry would join Pat on the porch for a while. Her eyes were going bad, and Henry had taken to reading books to her. They were halfway through Cross Creek , by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, but it was going slowly. Pat kept having him go back and read her the final paragraph at the end of the first chapter before he could pick up where they had left off the day before.