Three Shoeboxes e-book

by Three Shoeboxes (epub)

  The kids laughed.

  “Like I said,” Mac added, “it’s what you make it, buddy.” He looked at his children, each of them giving him their undivided attention. It was rare. “The thing to remember is that we’re each responsible for our own lives, so it’s important to take charge of yours and…”

  “We know Dad,” Jillian interrupted, her reply sounding like it had been practiced a thousand times.

  Mac ignored her. “There are people,” he continued, “very sad people who go through life blaming everyone but themselves. They complain about their troubles and all the things they want and don’t have. The problem with that is, as soon as you consider yourself a victim in this world, you’ve lost control of your own life.” He peered into his children’s eyes. Although they looked confused, they were still with him. “We’re given one life,” he said, lowering his tone, “so take accountability for it and make it a great one.”

  They each nodded.

  As the sun touched the flat horizon, Mac studied his children closely and pondered who they were. These three are the wisest people I’ve ever known, he decided. With messy hair and wrinkled clothes, they didn’t care one bit about success or wealth. Their only job was to laugh all day, which kept them in good health. Their minds are sponges in search of right, he thought, and their hearts are pure, which they have no qualms about sharing. In their eyes, Mac saw peace, feeling so grateful for the rare opportunity to be reminded of what meant most in life. I am blessed.

  ⧝

  Tanned by the sun’s smothering kisses, Mac and the kids took their last lap around the lake for the day. While Jillian, Bella and Brady talked about their lives, Mac listened attentively.

  “So, are you guys happy summer’s almost over?” he asked, teasing them.

  “No!” they sang in unison.

  “I just hope I get Mrs. Parsons this year,” Bella said. “All the kids say that she’s so much better than Mr. Rego.”

  “She is,” Jillian confirmed. “I loved Mrs. Parsons.”

  “I don’t care who I get,” Brady said, “as long as we have recess.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “What about you, Jill?” Mac prodded his teenage daughter. “Are you excited to get back to school?”

  “Hardly,” she fired back. “I hate…”

  Mac’s penetrating gaze stopped her from finishing the sentence. He gestured with a slight nod toward the two younger ones.

  “I hate that we don’t get recess anymore,” she concluded, cleverly covering her tracks.

  “Well, at least they still give you lunch,” Mac teased, winking at her.

  Everyone laughed—except Jillian.

  “For whatever it’s worth, it’s okay to be a little bummed that summer’s over,” Mac said. “Just remember that doing well in school and getting a good education is one of the most important ingredients toward being successful and living a comfortable life. As adults, we…”

  “…do what we have to do before we can do what we want to do,” Jillian interrupted in a tone that usually accompanied rolling eyes.

  “That’s not what I was going to say,” Mac responded, letting her off the hook for her age-appropriate sarcasm, “but that works too.”

  After docking the boat, they raced to the top of the hill. Mac beat them back to the car. Looking back one last time, he realized that he’d just enjoyed one of the best days of his life. Although we did nothing but laugh, somewhere through it all something very important happened. He’d been reminded that he was still alive—alive to play and forget his worries—if only for a few moments. Wearing a proud grin, he shook his head. I still have a lot to learn, he thought. Some days, I honestly think my kids know more than I do.

  On the ride home, Mac returned to the rear-view mirror and made a wish: When they get older, I hope all three of them remember the days when they had all the answers— his eyes filled—and were good enough to share them with their dad, who sometimes forgot the important things in life.

  He set his gaze back upon the road before them.

  “Row, row, row your boat,” they all sang out of tune, “gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”

  ⧝

  Looking fully rested, Jen stood at the foot of the king-sized bed, wearing a see-through nighty. “Thanks for the quiet time today,” she told Mac. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

  “Well deserved, babe,” Mac said, stifling a yawn. Although he desperately needed sleep, his mind—and body—were already laser-focused on other matters at hand.

  “But there is one more thing I need,” she whispered, tugging on the lace ribbon of the lacey negligee, “that is, if you still have the energy to…”

  Mac pounced like a jungle cat, enveloping his playful wife in one swift motion. Within seconds, he had her on her back where he could explore every inch of her quivering body with his mouth. I could be in a coma and still be able to ravage this woman, he thought. After all the years they’d been together, Jen still brought him to heights of pleasure he never imagined he could climb. “Let’s see what I got left in me,” he whispered in her ear before embarking on the love-making session with the commitment and vigor of a man half his age.

  Unashamed by each other’s wants and needs, the happy couple moved as one—until they were glistening in sweat and struggling to take in air.

  Mac lay beside his grinning wife. “Well, that’s everything I got,” he teased, shrugging.

  Kissing his lips one last time, Jen got up to shower. “And I couldn’t ask for more,” she said, still breathing heavily.

  After taking his turn in the shower, Mac’s head wasn’t on his pillow for more than thirty seconds before he was out cold.

  ⧝

  There was a loud bang, followed by the horrible sounds of broken glass and mangled steel. “Oh God, no!” Mac screamed, the strong smell of gas filling his sinuses.

  ⧝

  Mac jumped up, panting like an obese dog suffering in a heat wave. His heart drummed out of his chest. Startled from a sound sleep, he didn’t know what was wrong. He leapt out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. There’s something wrong, he finally thought, I…I need help. He searched frantically for an enemy. There was none. As he stared at the frightened man in the mirror, he considered calling out to his sleeping wife. She has enough to worry about with the kids, he thought, but was already hurrying toward her. “Jen,” he said in a strained whisper.

  She stirred but didn’t open her eyes.

  The constricted chest, sweaty face and shaking hands made Mac wonder whether he was standing at death’s door, cardiac arrest being his ticket in. I have to do something now, he thought, or I’m a goner. “Jen,” he said louder, shaking her shoulder.

  One eye opened. She looked up at him.

  “It’s happening again,” he said in a voice that could have belonged to a frightened little boy.

  Jen shot up in bed. “What is it?”

  “I…I can’t breathe. My heart keeps fluttering and I feel…”

  “I’m calling an ambulance,” she said, fumbling for her cell phone.

  “No,” he said instinctively, “it’ll scare the kids.”

  She looked up at him like he was crazy.

  “I’ll go to the emergency room right now!” Grabbing for a pair of pants, he started to slide into them.

  Jen sprang out of the bed. “I’ll call my mom and have her come over to watch the kids. In the meantime, Jillian can…”

  Mac shook his foggy head, halting her. “No, I’m okay to drive,” he said, trying to breathe normally.

  “But babe,” she began to protest, fear glassing over her eyes.

  “I’ll text you as soon as I get there,” he promised, “and then call you just as soon as they tell me what the
hell’s going on.”

  Jen’s eyes filled. “Oh Mac…”

  He shot her a smile, at least he tried to, before rushing out of the house and hyperventilating all the way to the hospital.

  ⧝

  I’m here, Mac texted Jen before shutting off the ringer on his phone.

  The scowling intake nurse brought him right in at the mention of “chest pains.” Within minutes, the E.R. staff went to work like a well-choreographed NASCAR pit crew, simultaneously drawing blood while wiring his torso to a portable EKG machine.

  As quickly as the team had responded, they filed out of the curtained room. A young nurse, yanking the sticky discs from Mac’s chest, feigned a smile. “Try to relax, Mr. Anderson. It may take a little bit before the doctor receives all of your test results.”

  For what seemed like forever, Mac sat motionless on the hospital gurney, a white curtain drawn around him. I hope it isn’t my heart, he thought, the kids are still so young and they need…

  “Who do we have in number four?” a female voice asked just outside of Mac’s alcove.

  Mac froze to listen in.

  “Some guy who came in complaining of chest pains,” another voice answered at a strained whisper. “Test results show nothing. Just another anxiety attack.”

  No way, Mac thought, not knowing whether he should feel insulted or relieved.

  “Like we have time to deal with that crap,” the first voice said. “Can you imagine if men had to give birth?”

  Both ladies laughed.

  No friggin’ way, Mac thought before picturing his wife’s frightened face. She must be worried sick. But I can’t call her without talking to the doctor. She’d…

  The curtain snapped open, revealing a young man in a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

  This kid can’t be a doctor, Mac thought, the world suddenly feeling like it had been turned upside down.

  “Your heart is fine, Mr. Anderson,” the doctor quickly reported, his eyes on his clipboard. “I’m fairly certain you suffered a panic attack.” He looked up and grinned, but even his smile was rushed. “Sometimes the symptoms can mirror serious physical ailments.”

  Mac was confused, almost disappointed. So, what I experienced wasn’t serious? he asked in his head.

  The young man scribbled something onto a small square pad, tore off the top sheet and handed it to Mac. “This’ll make you feel better,” he said, prescribing a sedative that promised to render Mac more useless than the alleged attack.

  “Ummm…okay,” Mac said, his face burning red.

  The doctor nodded. “Stress is the number one cause of these symptoms,” he concluded. “Do you have someone you can talk to?”

  Mac returned the nod, thinking, I need to get the hell out of here. Although he appreciated the concern, he was mired in a state of disbelief. I’m a master of the corporate rat race, he thought, unable to accept the medicine man’s spiel. If anyone knows how to survive stress, it’s me.

  “That’s great,” the doctor said, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

  My problem is physical, Mac confirmed in his head, it has to be. He finished tying his shoes.

  Pulling back the curtain, he was met by the stare of several female nurses. He quickly applied his false mask of strength and smiled. A panic attack, he repeated to himself. When put into words, the possibility was chilling.

  The nurses smiled back, each one of them wearing the same judgmental smirk.

  With his jacket tucked under his arm, Mac started down the hallway. Sure, he thought, I have plenty of people I can talk to. He pulled open the door that led back into the crowded waiting room. That is, if I actually thought it was anxiety.

  ⧝

  Mac sat in the parking lot for a few long minutes, attempting to process the strange events of the last several days. Although he felt physically tired, there weren’t any symptoms or residual effects of the awful episodes he’d experienced—not a trace of the paralyzing terror I felt. And they just came out of the blue. He shook his head. How can it not be physical? He thought about the current state of his life. Work is work, it’s always going to come with a level of stress, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. He shook his head again. I just don’t get it. He grabbed his cell phone and called Jen. “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked, the worry in her voice making him feel worse.

  “I’m fine, babe.”

  “Fine?” she said, confused. “What did the doctor say?”

  “He said it’s not my heart.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Her reaction—although completely understandable—struck him funny, making him feel like the boy who cried wolf.

  “So what is it then?” she asked.

  He hesitated, feeling oddly embarrassed to share the unbelievable diagnosis.

  “Mac?”

  “The doctor thinks it was a...a panic attack.”

  This time, she paused. “A panic attack?” she repeated, clearly searching for more words. Then, as a born problem solver, she initiated her usual barrage of questions. “Did they give you something for it? Is there any follow up?”

  “Yes, and maybe.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He gave me pills that I’d rather not take if I don’t need to. And he suggested I go talk to someone.”

  “Talk to someone? You mean like a therapist?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant.”

  “Oh,” she said, obviously taken aback. “Then that’s exactly what you should do.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Is there something bothering you I don’t know about, Mac,” she asked, “because you can talk to me, too, you know.”

  “I know, babe. But there’s nothing bothering me, honest.” He took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I don’t buy the anxiety attack diagnosis.”

  “Well, whatever you were feeling this morning was real enough, right? I could see it in your face. It wouldn’t hurt anything for you to go talk to someone.” She still sounded scared and he hated it.

  “Maybe not,” he replied, appeasing her. In the back of his head, though, he was already contemplating how much he should continue to share with her—or protect her from. “I need to get to work,” he said.

  “Why don’t you just take the day off and relax?” she suggested.

  Here we go, he thought. “I wish I could, babe,” he said, “but we have way too much going on at the office right now.”

  “And maybe that’s part of your problem,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine, Jen,” he promised. “We’ll talk when I get home, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you,” he said.

  “And I love you,” she said in a tone intended for him to remember it.

  ⧝

  Mac arrived at New Dimensions Advertising. As an executive at the pinnacle of his impressive career, he was energetic, in control and one step away from the next big promotion. An early meeting had been scheduled with his creative team. He walked in late, a tray of hot coffees in one hand and a box of donuts in the other.

  “I know. I know,” he began in his even-tempered demeanor, “I expect everyone to be here on time, except for me, right?” He smiled at his handpicked crew. “Okay, now that we have that cleared up…” Except for several laughs over the donut box, there was no response. He went on. “Oh yeah, and Brady wanted me to thank everyone again for their generous gifts.” He smirked. “Well, everyone but Scott.”

  Scott, an entry-level consultant, peered up from the box. White powder covered his half-open mouth. He was clearly confused by the comment.

  “No, I’m sorry Scott,” Mac said, his smirk growing into a full smile, “I have that wrong. Brady loves the monster truck you gave him. It’s me w
ho has the problem with it.”

  Scott still couldn’t respond, his mouth stuffed with sugary dough.

  Mac leaned in close to his young prodigy. “My friend, never ever buy a child a toy that can scream louder than the child’s father.” There was a comical pause, followed by Mac’s wink. “Trust me, when you have kids you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Scott’s smile displayed his relief. The three women and two men seated at the conference table all laughed. From the look in their eyes, they held a deep respect and admiration for their affable boss.

  As everyone dove back into the donut box, concepts at different levels of development began flying around the room. Mac controlled the flow, occasionally jotting down some of the ideas into his leather notebook.

  Receiving a nod from Mac, Scott took the floor. “I’ve done the legwork on this one, boss. The way I see it, Woodpine Furniture is competing with three major retailers, each one located within a ten-mile radius of the other. With such a concentration, they can’t…”

  “Competing?” Mac asked, jumping in. “I disagree. In fact, it’s been my experience that a rising tide carries all ships.”

  Scott—along with the rest of the team—awaited an explanation.

  Mac chuckled. “It means that when people are looking for furniture, they’ll shop around—especially if it’s only within a ten-mile radius. And we can use this knowledge to give our client the edge.” Mac’s eyes drifted off into a creative world that few people ever got the chance to witness. “That’s our ace, Scott. We’ll monitor the other stores’ advertising and find a way to capitalize by enhancing our own.”

  “Love it,” Brandt blurted, while the rest of Mac’s team sat in awe.

  Scott cleared his throat. “Ingenious,” he said, “then we can…”

  Mac’s eyes glassed over and he suddenly realized his mind was floating away—and it wasn’t promising to be a pleasurable experience. His knee bounced from nervous energy. Although he tried to stop it, he couldn’t. Aware of the fact that he couldn’t stop fidgeting, a clammy sweat began to form on the back of his neck.

  “Blah…blah…blah…” Scott said, his voice no more than an annoying hum now.