Дэвид Балдаччи - One Summer

“No, to take them back with me, Bonnie. I’ve already told Mikki to start packing her things.”

“But the school year will be done in less than two months.”

“She can go to school in Cleveland as easily as she can here.”

“But the house was sold.”

“I’m renting another one.”

“How will you support them?”

“I’ve started my business back up.”

“Okay, but who will watch them when you’re working?”

“Mikki and Cory are in school the whole day. And they’re old enough now to come home and be okay by themselves for a few hours. Jackie will be in extended day care. And if unexpected things come up, we’ll deal with them. Just like every other family does.”

Bonnie pursed her lips. “Michelle has settled into her new life here.”

Jack said nothing about how miserable the girl had been here. He simply said, “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“You could have called before you came.”

“Yeah, I could have. And maybe I should have. But I don’t see what harm it did.”

“What harm? You just expect us to give her back to you, with no notice, no preparation? After all we’ve done.”

“I’ve been in constant contact over the last few months. I kept you updated on my progress. Hell, you’ve seen me on the computer getting better. And I told you I would be coming to take the kids back. Soon. So this shouldn’t come as a shock to you. And it’s not like you’re never going to see them again.” He paused, and his tone changed. “Even though you did leave me by myself.”

“You said it was all right. You told us to do it. And we thought you were dying.”

“Come on, Bonnie, what else could I tell you under the circumstances? But for the record, dying alone is a real bitch.”

As soon as Jack finished speaking, he regretted it. Bonnie stood, her face red with anger. “Don’t you dare talk to me about dying alone. My Lizzie is lying dead and buried. There was no one with her at the end. No one! Certainly not you.”

Jack eyed her. “Why don’t you just say it, Bonnie, because I know you want to.”

“ You should be dead, not her.” Bonnie seemed stunned by her own words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” Her face flushed. “I’m very sorry.”

“I would give my life to have Lizzie back. But I can’t. I’ve got three kids who need me. Nothing takes priority over that. I hope you can understand.”

“What I understand is that you’re taking your children from a safe, healthy environment into something totally unknown.”

“I’m their father,” said Jack heatedly.

“You’re a single parent. Lizzie isn’t here to take care of the kids.”

“I can take care of them.”

“Can you? Because I don’t think you have any idea what’s in store for you.”

Jack started to say something but stopped.

Could she be right?

“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.