For the Rest of My Life

by Harry Kraus

  Della reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” Elizabeth responded. “I learned a long time ago that parents can rarely take full credit for their children’s successes.”

  Claire winked at Della and whispered, “Sorry, Mom.”

  Elizabeth continued, “Likewise, parents can’t take full blame for their children’s failures.”

  “Has anyone made any funeral arrangements?”

  “Gracie is doing that. There is a memorial at Community Chapel on Saturday afternoon. The graveside service for the family will be at two. The memorial is at four.”

  Claire’s cell phone began an electronic song, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

  She stood and retrieved it from her purse, and walked into the front room. “Hello.”

  It was John. “Hey, babe. I called your office. I didn’t know you were off.”

  “Yeah. Um. Mom and I had some stuff to do. We needed some time together.”

  John was quiet for a moment. “Will you be coming over to Brighton? We could grab dinner out, maybe catch a movie. The old downtown theatre is showing a French film.”

  “I don’t know, John. I just found out my uncle Leon died. Maybe I should stay around here for the family.”

  Elizabeth called out from the kitchen. “Don’t stay here for my sake. Go see that man of yours.”

  Claire focused her attention back to the phone to hear John. “Your uncle Leon? What happened?”

  “No one knows. Maybe he just had a sudden MI or a stroke or something. His wife found him slumped at his desk.”

  “I’m sorry, Claire.”

  She lowered her voice. “It’s not like we were close.”

  “What will happen to McCall Shoes?”

  “I’m not sure.” She paused. “Listen, John, I was planning to come up to Brighton this weekend, but, with everything that’s going on here, I think I’d better stick around.”

  “I’ll come over for the funeral. When is it?”

  “Saturday, but stay in Brighton, John. You hardly knew my uncle.”

  “But I want to be there for you. To be with your family.”

  “You’re not up to driving. People will understand if you don’t show.”

  “But I—”

  “I’ll be tied up with everyone asking about Uncle Leon. I’ll come up to see you on Monday evening.”

  John pouted. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

  Oh, you’re wanted. I just need to make a break from you. You need to get used to being without me.

  She didn’t know how to respond. “Funny. I’ll see you Monday.” She made a noisy kiss into the phone and pressed a red button to terminate the call.

  She looked back into the kitchen to see her grandma with her head in her hands. Claire moaned. Her life seemed to flow from crisis to crisis. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of the verse she’d started her day with. “Nothing can separate me from the love of God,” she whispered. She had to believe it. Our pain has to have a purpose. A loving God wouldn’t have it otherwise.

  Wally McCall hadn’t been seen in public for months. He hadn’t even been in a chair for six weeks, but when he heard that his brother Leon was going to be memorialized, he insisted on attending. Della claimed it was revenge on the brother who’d always despised him. Margo refused to go if her father was going, so Della invited her not to attend. He was Wally’s only brother. If he wanted to go to the funeral, she was going to get him there. Period.

  It took an ambulance crew to get him to the service and a generous supply of six-inch velcro straps to secure Wally to the chair. Della pushed him up the aisle herself, parking him in the center aisle next to Claire.

  Claire watched him from the corner of her eye as Pastor Phil Carlson pulled out all the stops in an attempt to say something nice about the uncle Claire always called Moneybags.

  “Leon worked hard to bring jobs and recovery to this valley. His dedication to the people of Stoney Creek will certainly be missed.”

  Wally twitched and heaved his body forward against the velcro strap.

  Claire winced and glanced over her shoulder to the standing-room-only crowd. Benches were filled with employees from the McCall Shoe factory. Obligation rather than love filled the sanctuary.

  Wally pitched his head right and left and slipped an inch lower in the wheelchair.

  “I first met Leon the first week I came to town. He introduced himself and measured my foot himself, right back there in the pastor’s study. A week later, and about every year since then, I’ve gotten a brand new pair of McCall dress shoes.” He paused. “Sized nine, double E, brown leather wingtips, if anyone is interested,” he added with a wink. A murmur of polite laughter rippled across the solemn crowd.

  Wally slipped another inch. Claire wondered what to do. If he kept going, he could be choked against the top velcro chest strap. Fortunately, it seemed he had lodged against a second strap which was snug against his lower abdomen. Claire winced and hoped the velcro would hold. Pulling her father up in front of all these people would be a giant flail.

  “Leon has left a legacy which has helped . . .”

  Wally let out a garbled scream as his abdominal strap popped free, sending him into a free-slide toward the floor. His chin lodged in the chest strap as he let out a garbled, “Ahhh!”

  Claire and Della scrambled to their feet. Wally’s eyes were bulging as his weight pulled the strap tight against his neck. He sputtered as Claire grabbed her father beneath the armpits. “Grab behind his knees,” Claire whispered. The sanctuary, including Pastor Phil, fell silent. Wally’s foot lurched forward striking Della in the knee and sending a gasp from the audience. With a quick coordinated effort, the duo managed to get a strap around Wally’s waist. Then, without pausing, Claire unlocked the wheels and began slowly wheeling her father up the center aisle, occasionally making eye contact with someone she recognized, nodding her head seriously as if nothing had happened at all.

  As they entered the foyer, Claire heard a small snicker escape from Della. They exchanged smiles and covered their mouths. Claire sped to the exit, pushing Wally faster so she could get outside before she exploded. Della knew what was coming, and dashed ahead to hold the door. Once the door was shut, Claire dared to look at her mother’s reddening face. Della doubled over, holding her stomach, laughter spilling out in an irreverent eruption shared by mother and daughter.

  Claire blotted her eyes of the tears of laughter that threatened her mascara. It could have been a sober embarrassment. But for some reason, the event just struck them in a funny way, and provided the needed release from a stressful service.

  When Della finally gained a semblance of control, she looked at Wally, who sat with a blank stare on his face. “You did it, Wally. You made quite a scene at Leon’s funeral, didn’t you? You got the old son of a gun back for the way he treated you.”

  Wally grinned.

  Claire watched. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Daddy?”

  The thought made Claire laugh harder. Della cried. “Oooh-wee!”

  Just then, someone with a black dress slipped through the door. The woman glanced with disdain, then cupped her hand around a cigarette she held to her lips. After a few moments, the woman was joined by a man in a black suit which appeared a size too large, the shoulders extending too far from his upper arms like pads for a football game, making his head look small and out of place. He called to the woman, “Couldn’t you wait?”

  “He’s your client, not mine.” She pulled hard on the cigarette and blew smoke toward the little man’s face.

  He frowned before looking over to see Claire and her parents and lifted his head in recognition. He placed his hand over his upper lip and squinted, before clearing his throat and stepping toward them. He addressed only Claire and held out his hand. “Doctor McCall,” he said, smiling broadly. “I’m Alfred Pittington. I worked with your Uncle Leon.”

  “I know you,” Clair
e responded. She took his hand for a second before replacing it on Wally’s shoulder. “These are my parents. Wally is Leon’s brother. Della is my mother.”

  Alfred nodded briefly at Wally, then took Della’s hand, holding it for a moment as he spoke. “You have my deepest sympathy in what must be a difficult time in your family.”

  Claire wondered if he spoke of Leon’s passing or about Wally’s condition. She watched as Alfred turned his attention back to Claire. “May we speak privately for a moment?”

  She shrugged and took a few steps to the side, following Alfred into the parking lot to stand behind a large silver Mercedes.

  Alfred cleared his throat. Sweat beaded the top of his balding head, reflecting the light of the afternoon sun. “Your uncle thought an awful lot of you. He spoke of you often. Your accomplishments are an example to so many in this town.”

  Claire felt her defenses rise. Butter should be used for pancakes or Della’s biscuits, not for greasing the wheels of business. She nodded without speaking.

  The attorney continued. “I’m sure you know of your uncle’s recent business proposal for McCall Shoes.” He cleared his throat again. “Mr. Sugimoto indicated as much.”

  “I know only that he was planning to sell the family business. And recently I heard that the deal fell through. That’s all.” She shrugged.

  “You’ve treated Mr. Sugimoto.”

  “Is that a question? You understand doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  His lips tightened. “Is that a question?”

  “A statement.”

  “I see.” He shuffled his feet, moving a cigarette butt to the side with his glossy black shoes. “The plant will close, Claire.” He paused.

  “What is that to me?”

  “I think you care about this town.”

  Claire didn’t see a connection. She waited for Alfred to make it for her.

  “I need you to talk to Mr. Sugimoto. Come to the negotiation table with us, for the benefit of the town. Mr. Sugimoto seems to respect you.” He looked down. “Something, I’m afraid, that he did not have for your uncle.”

  “You are concerned about this town? Or your own wallet?”

  Mr. Pittington kept his face to the ground, allowing Claire a chance to inspect a hairy brown mole on the top of his scalp. He lifted his eyes. “A little of both.”

  “You were helping negotiate the deal with Mr. Sugimoto?”

  He nodded.

  “And what about my uncle’s buyout of Grandma Elizabeth? I suppose you spearheaded that as well?”

  His jaw clenched. “I was obligated to give advice on all of his business deals.”

  “What can I do?” She shook her head. “I’m a physician. Not a businessperson.”

  “Convince Mr. Sugimoto to give our company another look.”

  Claire took a step back. Alfred Pittington was an oily fish. Everyone in Stoney Creek knew that.

  “It will save hundreds of jobs for this town. You know if the shoe plant closes, our town will dry up.”

  “The poultry industry is hiring.”

  “McCall Shoes helped define Stoney Creek. It set us apart.”

  She knew that much to be true. She didn’t want the company to go under. “What makes you so sure Mr. Sugimoto will listen to me?”

  “He mentioned you several times. He expressed regret to what his decision might mean to you. I think he had plans for supporting a local program to help those affected by . . .” He strained to look across the parking lot to where Wally was sitting in his wheelchair. “You know . . . Huntington’s.”

  “Mr. Sugimoto seems to carry an air of decency and respect with him.” She wanted to add, “which this business desperately needs,” but held her tongue.

  “Would you talk to him?” He hesitated. “Do you care about Stoney Creek or not?”

  She followed his gaze to her father. Wally’s head was in motion, a plane in a constant holding-circle pattern above an airport that never closed.

  Claire looked back at the lawyer and felt her grit rise. “I’ll agree to help only under very special circumstances. And you’d have to agree to my stipulations.”

  His eyes met hers, held, then broke away. “Such as?”

  “My grandmother must be reinstated to the board, at least until after any transition. All of the stock which Leon bought from her must be sold back to her at its present value.”

  “The company is on the verge of chapter eleven.”

  “So her buy-in will be cheap.” Claire smiled. “And you will remove yourself from the case. I will select an attorney to represent my grandmother and McCall Shoes to walk the company through a buyout.”

  “But I’ve given the best part of my career to—”

  “I’ve heard all about your career, Mr. Pittington. But anyone who would sit by and help my uncle cheat his own mother is not going to work this deal.”

  He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous!”

  She looked away at her father again before poising Alfred’s question back to him. “Do you care about Stoney Creek or not?”

  “Of course, I—”

  “Then do the right thing. Bring my grandmother back in. And I’ll talk to Mr. Sugimoto.”

  She pivoted to leave. She wasn’t going to negotiate. She had to walk away. As a McCall, for the sake of the company bearing her name, she couldn’t see another way.

  “Come on, Mom,” she called. “Let’s get Daddy back inside.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Early Sunday morning, Claire opened her eyes to the first rays of the sun painting the sky a palate of red and orange over North Mountain.Dday plus two. She took a deep breath, sampling the summer air through her open window. She was the same Claire she’d always been. D day hadn’t changed anything. Or had it?

  She stretched her arms over her head as the realization dawned. The cloud was gone. The anxiety over an uncertain future had been replaced by a promise. Nothing can separate me from the love of God.

  But an issue remained. John Cerelli. He had been the gift of grace Claire needed to see her through tough years at Brighton University. He had not faltered in spite of Claire’s unfaithfulness to their relationship in Boston. She knew, beyond all doubts, that she loved him. Nearly losing him, facing the possibility of a life caring for John in a physically disabled state, had cemented her understanding that what they had together ran much deeper than casual commitment. She loved him. Loved him. And because of that, she knew the next step would be the most difficult. She could not take John into a forever-relationship, knowing the pathway would be marked by eventual suffering, dotted with the potholes of agony dealt by a cruel, unrelenting enemy, the enemy she called HD.

  But something else had changed in Claire, even before D day. While assisting John through rehab, she’d had a true paradigm shift in her thinking. Before, when she went with John to get her gene test results, her heart’s desire had been focused on whether John’s love would be unconditional through the fire of HD. The rise and fall of her happiness swelled up or down with the tide of what she thought John was bringing to their relationship. Could John be trusted to love for better or for worse, in sickness and in health?

  She stood and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back was wiser than the one who’d left Boston. This woman, this physician, was beginning to see that a long-term love commitment begins with a focus on the other. True love meant being concerned for John first. She smiled. It was not the smile of giddy happiness, but a smile born of maturity, a wisdom birthed from the understanding that God’s love would carry her through even the most difficult life decisions. Her love for John Cerelli had blossomed to the point where she wanted to protect the one she loved from pain.

  The cloud was gone. But a promise of God’s love remained. Nothing that came her way could change that. She loved John. And because of that, she needed to set him free.

  She dressed and made small talk with her mom over a cup of coffee with French vanilla creamer. They had j
umped from crisis to crisis so quickly that they’d never debriefed together after learning Claire’s HD status. But she didn’t feel like talking it out with her mother. In many ways, she felt the news was a bigger blow to Della than to her. After all, many spouses who buried mates stricken with HD also buried their children after watching them suffer a similar fate.

  Claire set down her mug. “I’m staying home this morning.”

  “Tired?”

  She shook her head. “I just want to be alone.”

  Della nodded. “I’m going. I’m making up for lost time. I missed so many Sundays watchin’ Wally that half the congregation thinks I’m a visitor.” She paused. “Pastor Phil is teaching through Galatians. I’m in need of another dose of grace.”

  “I’m sure it will be great.” She sighed. “But I need time to process some things on my own before I just answer ‘fine’ to a hundred inquiries of ‘How are you?’”

  “Shall we meet for lunch?”

  “I need to go to Brighton.”

  Della’s brow wrinkled. “What will you tell John?”

  Claire looked down and swirled the creamy liquid in the bottom of her mug. She spoke in a monotone. “What I have to tell him.”

  “You love him.”

  Claire tried to keep her lip from quivering. “I love—” Her voice halted. “That’s not the issue. Of course I love him.”

  “Nothing has changed, Claire. The man loves you, too. Knowing your gene status won’t change anything.”

  Claire stayed quiet and shook her head. She didn’t really believe what her mother said. As much as she wanted to believe that John would still want her, a nagging doubt remained. If John wanted to marry her regardless of her HD status, he would have given her the ring before she went to get her HD test.

  “It doesn’t really matter what he wants. If I really love him . . .” She paused. “I can’t put him through a life like you had.”

  “You are nothing like your father, Claire. Life with you would be different.”

  “I’m destined to a life of progressive mental decline, personality changes, and a loss of control of my voluntary muscles.”