Дэвид Балдаччи - One Summer

Love,

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.

One day later, Jack found it, a house owned by an elderly couple who had moved to an assisted-living facility. They couldn’t sell their home because it needed a lot of repairs. And with dozens of homes in default on their street, it was difficult to sell anyway. Jack called the Realtor and offered his labor for free to fix up the place in exchange for staying there at no cost. Since the couple wasn’t making any money off the house anyway, they quickly agreed. It wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t need perfect. He just needed his kids under the same roof as him. Jack moved his few possessions in the next day, after signing a one-page agreement. He made some quick cosmetic changes and bought some secondhand furniture.

Now it was time.

Using his credit card, he booked his plane tickets, packed his bag, and left for the airport. He went to collect Mikki first, because he knew if he went to the sisters’ homes first, they would be on the phone to their mother before he’d even left their driveways.

He landed in Phoenix, rented a car, and drove to Tempe. He reached Fred and Bonnie’s house but then drove past it. He parked a little down from the house and waited. An hour later a car pulled into the driveway, and Fred and Mikki got out. She was carrying her schoolbag. His heart ached when he saw her. She’d grown even taller, Jack noted, and her face had changed too. She was wearing a school uniform, white polo shirt and checked skirt. Her hair was in a ponytail and had nary a strand of pink or purple in it. She looked utterly miserable.

They went into the house. Jack parked in their driveway, took a deep breath, climbed out of the car, and walked up to the door.

“Dad?”

Mikki stared at him openmouthed. When he held out his arms for a hug, she tentatively reached out to him. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

“Dad, is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetie. It’s really me.”

Bonnie and Fred came around the corner, saw him, and stopped.

“Jack?” said Fred. “My God.”

Bonnie just stood there, disbelief on her features.

Jack moved into the house with Mikki. He held out his hand, and Fred shook it. He looked at Bonnie. She still seemed in a daze.

“My God,” she said, echoing her husband’s words. “It’s true. It’s really true. Even with all the phone calls and seeing you on that computer. It’s not the same.”

“What is all the commotion?” Cecilia came into the room, skimming along on her walker, her oxygen line trailing behind her. When she saw Jack, she didn’t freeze like Fred and Bonnie had done.

She cackled. “I knew it.” She came forward as fast as she could and gave him a prolonged squeeze. “I knew it, Jack, honey,” she said again, staring up at him and blinking back tears of joy.

They all sat at the kitchen table sipping glasses of iced tea. Jack eyed Bonnie. “Docs gave me a clean bill of health.”

Bonnie just kept shaking her head, but Fred clapped him on the shoulder. “Jack, we’re so happy for you, son.”

Later, when they were alone, Bonnie asked, “How long will you be staying?”

“From here I’m heading to LA and then on to Portland.”

“To see the kids?”