Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

“Jack,” Mia whispered. Moonlight reflected off the stones in the blue necklace that he had clasped around her neck just fifteen minutes earlier, its explosion of color filling his eyes.

“Jack, are you all right?”

Jack looked into her eyes. She was alive; somehow he knew she would live.

Jack’s memory was clear, unhindered. And he saw the last moments.

The SUV hit the bridge pavement… the rear wheels lost their traction… the Tahoe went into a sudden fishtail, he held tight to the wheel as it skirted left to right and back again. He pulled hard to bring the vehicle under control. Mia’s left hand shot up and gripped the passenger strap above the door. Their collective breath caught in their throats as the car spun headfirst toward the guardrail… crashing through, diving toward the raging river. They knifed into the rushing current, water exploded upward, and despite the airbag deployment, Jack’s head smashed into the steering wheel, and all faded to black…

Jack looked at the car door washed up on the riverbank beside them, at the objects that littered the muddy ground around him, the raging river having washed it all up onshore. There were soccer balls and tennis rackets; the girls’ blue and brown bears, their hair matted, covered in mud; there was the half-open birthday present for Joy, the expensive black purse he got for her birthday next week; Mia’s shopping bag from the department store, the rose-red lipstick sitting in sharp contrast to the muddy ground; three bottles of Mia’s favorite perfume shattered, shards of glass twinkling in the moonlight as the fragrance permeated everything around them.

And all of the pain flooded in, as if a pause button had just been released on his nervous system. His head was throbbing, the cuts on his face feeling as if they had been doused with acid, his chest on fire with a pain he never knew could be so severe.

Jack finally looked at his chest. A shard of metal protruded from the left side, running clear through. His left arm was mangled and bloody. There was no sign of a tattoo, no sign that anyone had written on him… no sign of being shot.

The contusion on his head was severe; he didn’t need an X-ray to tell him that his skull was cracked, to tell him that his wounds were fatal.

As the pain grew, overwhelming him with agony, he began to falter, his eyes struggling to remain open, his breathing heavy, focused as if he could fight off the inevitable. Despite his strength of will, he finally collapsed onto his back.

It wasn’t until 4:30 a.m. that the broken guard rail was noticed by a passing vehicle.

It was just after 5:30, the glow of dawn on the horizon, when Mia and Jack were rushed to the hospital.

Ryan McCourt raced from his home to find his friends in the emergency room. He looked at Mia’s X-rays, the CAT scans and MRIs side-by-side, two versions, the ones from ten days ago when he had told them of her diagnosis and the ones moments old. He compared them, up close, side-by-side. Dumbstruck, he quickly pulled them down. No one would believe it, for there could be no explanation.

Hope Keeler’s six-year-old eyes drifted open; she could hear the sound of the crashing waves on the sandy beach as she lay in the oversized bed at her grandmother’s house. And as the first light of morning washed through the slatted window shades, she saw her father standing there in the early-morning light.

“Hey, baby,” Jack whispered, the sound of his voice painting a broad smile on Hope’s face.

And with the sound of his voice, Sara stirred and rolled over. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Daddy’s going away for a bit.” Jack smiled.

“Where?” Hope asked.

“Not far, but always remember I’m with you,” he said as he reached out and touched their hearts.

“Where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy’s fine. She’s sleeping. You do me a favor and tell her I love her.”

Hope and Sara nodded in unison.

“Give me your hands,” Jack said as he took their small hands in his. Unfurling their fingers, he gently kissed their palms.

“A kissing hand, Daddy?” Hope giggled.

“A kissing hand, baby. When you miss me or need me, you just place that against your cheek, and you’ll feel me right beside you.”

Hope placed her palm against her cheek and smiled. “It’s warm.”

Sara mimicked her sister.

Jack smiled. “It always will be.”

Jack sat on the edge of Mia’s hospital bed and ran his fingers through her hair.

Her eyes slowly drifted open. “Hi.”

“Hi back,” Jack said.

“You’re alive.”

Jack smiled.

“Ryan said…” Mia choked back her tears. “How’s it possible? What did you do?”

Jack touched the blue stone necklace around her neck. The words from Marijha Toulouse’s note echoed in his head, peace and love, healing and long life…

Jack stared at her a moment, memorizing her face. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the lips, all of his emotions pouring forth. He kissed her cheek, ran his hand through her hair.

“You know I can’t stay,” Jack whispered as the early rays of sunlight washed over his warm face.

“No, please, don’t leave me…” Mia could barely breathe through her quiet sobs.

“Mia,” Jack said softly as he took her face in his hands. “It’s OK.”

“Don’t you do it,” Mia pleaded with tear-filled eyes. “Don’t you leave me, Jack. I can’t survive without-Please.”

“Mia,” Jack said, his abbreviated smile creasing his cheeks, “you’re going to live. You’re going to be fine for a very long time. You need to love our girls, teach them the lessons that I would have. Teach them of me and my heart. But most of all, tell them of how I loved you so they may understand and find that most precious of things someday.” Jack looked into her eyes. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Give me your hand.”

She laid her hand in his, her palm open, facing up, and he kissed it with love, gently, forever, as if he was pouring his soul into her. And as forever came to an end, he grasped her fingers, curling them around the warmth he left within her palm. He enclosed her hand in his, holding tightly, and smiled.

Mia watched, crushed with grief, as he began slowly to slip away. Their eyes locked, his warm smile fading… and he was gone.

Reality is all a matter of perspective,” Jack’s father said as they stood on the beach in front of their house, staring out at Trudeau Island. Jack was all of ten, holding his father’s hand.

Jack nodded.

A warm breeze flowed off the ocean as the sun crept up from the horizon, morning’s first light painting the sky.

“Are you ready to go?” Jack’s father said.

“No,” Jack said. He was an adult now, walking beside his father. “Why did you come back?”

“You know. Somebody’s got to watch out for you and because…” David looked at Jack and smiled. “because you’re my son.”

The funeral was on Wednesday. Mia sat in the front right pew, her girls at her side. Frank’s widow, Lisa, was there, Jack’s mother, Mia’s parents, and Joy Todd.

Ryan McCourt gave the eulogy, speaking of faith, hope, love, and, as he looked at Mia, miracles.

Jack was buried in the Banksville Cemetery near his father. Only immediate family and friends were there as his casket was lowered into the earth under the warm rays of the summer sun.

Jack’s final act, his gift of love, had somehow saved Mia. She didn’t know how, whether it was a miracle, magic, or faith, but somehow Jack had saved her. Mia reached up, wrapped her hands around the blue necklace, and smiled.

As the crowd began to disperse, leaving Mia and the girls to say their final good-byes, Joy walked over to Mia’s father. She took a moment, drying her eyes, allowing her presence to call his attention.