Дэвид Балдаччи - One Summer

Love,

Jack slowly folded the letter and put it away. These letters, when he was writing them, were the only things he had left, really. They represented the outpouring from his heart, the sort of things you think about when the trivial issues of life are no longer important because you have precious little time left. If everyone could live as though they were in jeopardy of shortly dying, Jack thought, the world would be a much better place. But in the end they were only letters. Lizzie would have read them, and perhaps they would have made her feel better, but they were still just words. Now was the time for action. He knew what he had to do.

Be a father for my children. Repair that part of my life.

Jack rose and went from room to room, checking on his kids. He sat next to Jackie as the little boy slept peacefully, his hand curled around his monster truck. Cory slept on his stomach, his arms coiled under him. A tiny snore escaped his lips. Next, Jack stood in the doorway of Mikki’s room, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle sound of her breathing.

He closed her door and went downstairs and onto the rear screened porch. From here he could see the lighthouse soaring into the sky. He had built it into some mythical symbol, but it was only a pile of bricks and cinder blocks and metal guts. It wasn’t Lizzie. It had no heart. Not like the trio beating in the bedrooms above. Three people who needed him to be their father.

In this last letter he had been lamenting that there were no second chances left to him. Yet that insane, unfair world that he had sometimes railed against had done something remarkable. It had given him another shot at life.

I’m done running.

Jack went back to bed and slept through the night for the first time in a long time.

Beginning the next day, Jack literally hung up his tool belt for the rest of the summer. Instead of going to work, he drove Jackie and Cory to Anne Bethune’s camp. And he didn’t just drop them off and leave. He stayed. He sat and drew pictures and built intricate Lego structures with Jackie, and then, laughing, helped his son knock them down. He instructed Jackie on how to tie his shoes and cut up his food. He helped construct the sets for a play that Cory was going to be in. He also helped his oldest son with his lines.

After camp they would go to the beach, swim, build sand castles, and throw the ball or the Frisbee. Jack got some kites and taught the boys how to make them do loops and twisters. They found some fishing tackle under the deck at the Palace and did some surf fishing. They never caught anything but had great fun in their abject failure to hook a single fish.

Jenna and Liam came by regularly. Sometimes Liam would bring his drums, and he and Mikki would practice for the talent competition. Since the Palace wasn’t soundproofed, the pair would go up to the top of the lighthouse. That high up, their powerful sound was dissipated, although the seagulls were probably entertained.

At least the lighthouse was good for something, thought Jack.

He and Mikki took long walks on the beach, talking about things they had never talked about before. About Lizzie — and high school and boys and music and what she wanted to do with her life.

Mikki continued to waitress at the Little Bit. Jack and Sammy dropped in to eat frequently. And they also did some repairs for Jenna, but only because she refused to charge them for their meals. Charles Pinckney visited them at the Palace. He would tell them stories of the past, of when Lizzie was a little girl about Jackie’s age. And all of them would sit and listen in rapt attention, especially Jack.

Jack took Jenna for rides on the Harley, and they were over at each other’s homes for meals. They would take walks on the beach and talk. They laughed a lot and occasionally drew close, and arms and fingers touched and grazed, but that was all.

They were friends.

The summer was finally going as Jack had hoped it would. He would lie awake at night, listening to the sounds in the darkness, trying to differentiate among his children’s breathing. He got pretty good at it. Sometimes Jackie would have a nightmare and would bump open his dad’s door and climb into bed with him. The little boy would lay tight against his dad, and Jack would gently stroke his son’s hair until he fell asleep again.

One evening he and Sammy were drinking beers out on the screen porch. Mikki and Liam were at the top of the lighthouse having one last practice before the competition. The two boys were down on the beach building the last sand castle of the day. The sun had just begun its descent, flaming the sky red and burning parts of it orange.

Sammy looked over at his friend. “Life good?”

Jack nodded. “Life is definitely good.”

“Summer’s almost over.”

“I know.”

“Plans?”

“Still thinking about it.” Jack gazed at him. “You?”

“Still thinking about it.”

They both turned when someone knocked on the door to the porch. It was Jenna.

“I came to pick up Liam and all his drum stuff,” she said, joining them. “Big day tomorrow. They need to get their rest.”

Sammy said, “I’ll go help him.”

Before either of them could say anything, he headed on down, leaving Jack and Jenna alone.

“So what happened?” she asked.

Jack looked over at her. “What?”

“You’re a changed man, Jack Armstrong. I was just wondering why.”

He finished his beer. “This will sound really corny, but sometimes when a person opens their eyes, they can actually see,” he said.

“I’m happy for you; I really am.”

“You were a big part of it, Jenna.”

She waved this off. “You would’ve figured it out on your own.”

“I don’t know about that. I hadn’t figured it out for a long time.” They both looked out to the ocean and then to the lighthouse.

“Never got it to work,” he said.

“Sometimes things don’t seem to work unless you really need them to.”

He nodded slowly. “Going to the competition tomorrow?”

“Are you kidding? Of course.”

“Why don’t you drive over with us? Sammy’s taking their stuff over in the truck, and we can all ride in the VW.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jenna left with Liam, and the Palace settled down for the night.

Jack knocked on Mikki’s door and went in.

She was sitting on her bed going over the program she and Liam were going to perform. Jack perched on the edge of her bed.

“You know that stuff by heart,” he said.

“Can never be too prepared.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like your old man.”

“And is that a bad thing?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I hope not. Look, you’re going to do great tomorrow. Win or not.”

She stared at him over the top of her musical sheets. “Oh, Dad, we’re, like, so going to win.”

“Nothing wrong with confidence. But don’t get cocky.”

“It’s not that. I’ve checked out all the other acts. I even saw a video of Tiffany’s little baton twirl from last year. She’s mediocre at best. I have no idea how she won three years in a row. Well, I do have an idea. Her mother runs the show. But nobody has worked as hard as Liam and I have.”

“Well, whatever happens, I’ll be out there in the audience cheering for you.” He rose to go. “But you do need a good night’s sleep. So not up too late, okay?”

He turned to the door.

“Dad?”

He turned back to her. “Yeah, Mik?”

She got off the bed, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Jack wrapped his arms around her. “For what, baby?”

She looked up at him. “For coming back to us.”