“Was that before or after she knew Charles?” Caitlin asked, and she heard Rita inhale sharply.
“After. John Robles was Charles's best friend.”
“Mom, what's going on? Is something going on with Ella, or with you, or with both of you?”
“Not really, Cate,” Rita lied. “It's just frightening to grow old. Your friends die and suddenly you're all alone.”
“I'd hardly consider you alone now,” Caitlin said, with a smile Rita didn't return.
“I wasn't aware you knew about Charles,” Rita said, sounding far more casual than she felt.
“I didn't, well not really. I asked Ella about her ring a long time ago, and she told me she'd been in love once. Nathan told me the rest yesterday.”
“How did that come up?”
“I don't know. We were just talking about Ella, I think.”
“He was a nice boy,” Rita said wistfully. “It was a shame what happened.”
“I can imagine. I feel sorry for Ella,” Caitlin offered, and Rita sighed. “No wonder she asks about Colin and me all the time. She must think we're idiots for throwing away something so special.”
“I'm sure that's why,” Rita replied, without looking at her daughter. She was afraid to, for fear that Caitlin might see dishonesty in her eyes, and in Caitlin's eyes, she might see doubt.
Twenty-two
Colin woke up on Tuesday morning in Spokane, Washington, surrounded by memories of his youth. He had spent many hours in Aunt Sadie's house, and the room in which he'd spent the night, was much like he remembered. He stretched and yawned, and walked to the window. The day was beautiful, the sun bright, the neighborhood familiar. He could hear his aunt downstairs, speaking to the dogs, and he smiled as he listened to her. He had been afraid to come, but that fear had dissipated, and in its place was a feeling of peace. He was right to come. He felt foolish about all of the years he'd blamed a tiny dog for an accident, a cruel act of fate.
There was someplace else he wanted to go, and he thought of it as he showered quickly, and dressed in the same shorts he'd worn to the beach. He reached into the left pocket and the little horse was where he had left it. He pulled it free and held it up to the light. He couldn't remember where it had come from, but it didn't matter. What mattered was where it had been, and he marveled over finding it. It was nothing short of a miracle.
He bounded down the stairs, feeling like a young boy, with an older man's knees.
“Morning,” his aunt sang from where she stood at the kitchen sink.
“Morning,” he said, sneaking up behind her, and kissing her cheek. “I'm glad I came,” he admitted, and she turned to him and smiled.
“I'm glad too, Colin. It was long overdue. Are you staying the day?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
“I am. I'm on the Red Eye tonight.”
“Oh, the Red Eye. I don't know how you young people do that.”
“We do, just not as often as we used to,” he said and his aunt smiled.
“What's on your agenda today?” she asked.
“I'd like to go to the cemetery,” he said, helping himself to coffee. “How about you?”
“I actually took the day off. My nephew is here. It's practically a holiday.”
“You still at the store?”
“Yes, although we call it a boutique now. I spend my days selling overpriced bobbles to snotty old ladies.”
Colin laughed. “I've missed you.”
“I've missed you too, Colin. If you'd like, I could go to the cemetery with you,” Aunt Sadie said softly, turning to look at him, “for moral support,” she added.
“I'd like to go by myself, if that's all right. Actually, I'd like to take Tiger,” he said, looking around for the dog he had befriended again the previous night.
“He'd like that. When were you thinking of going?” Aunt Sadie asked, and Colin felt something deep inside him tighten in response.
“I'm thinking when I finish this coffee,” he said. “Before I chicken out,” he added, in little more than a whisper.
“I understand,” Aunt Sadie said.
Colin stood leaning against the sink, and before he knew it, he was looking into an empty cup. “Okay,” he said, sounding braver than he felt. “You got a leash for this little shit?” he asked, as Tiger appeared in the doorway.
“It's in the can by the door. There are bags there, too,” she said.
“You put him in a bag?” Colin asked, laughing loudly.
“It's for the pooh,” his aunt said shyly.
“We do that in New York, too,” he said with a smile. What a difference a day made. Yesterday he was speaking in front of some of the most esteemed doctors in the country, and a day later, he'd be crouching to pick up dog shit with a crumpled WalMart bag.
“Okay, I'm off,” he said from the front door. Tiger sat by his feet, kicking up dust particles with his wagging tail. The dust caught the light, and Colin smiled at he watched. For a moment it looked as though the dog was the center of a snow globe, as the dust danced in the rays of morning sun.
“Ready, chief?” he asked, stuffing two bags into the left hand pocket of his shorts. He checked to make sure the horse was still there. It was.
He opened the front door, and the dog took off like a shot. Despite the dog's size, it took a moment for Colin to match its rhythm, but a moment later, they were walking along at a brisk pace, each keeping perfect time with the other.
“You like a walk, huh, buddy?” he asked the dog, who'd begun to sniff excitedly at the edge of the neighbor's lawn. “That didn't take long,” Colin said, averting his eyes to offer the dog privacy.
Colin took a bag from his pocket and scooped up the pungent mess. He tied it as his aunt had demonstrated, and it swung from his left hand, as the two continued their walk. He wished they were going any place else, but he knew he had to say goodbye to the parents he'd adored.
In less than ten minutes Colin stood outside St. Anne's cemetery. He lingered for a moment, staring at the gate. He remembered the day clearly, nearly six years before, when he'd sat stone-faced in the back of the limousine, a weeping Aunt Sadie pressed against his side. Tiger took two steps back and whined, returning Colin to the present with a start.
“It's okay, buddy,” he said to the dog. He reached down, picked up the animal, and tucked the dog under his arm. He couldn't remember how old the dog had been when his parents had died, and he wondered if the long walk had tired him.
“I'll carry ya for a bit,” he whispered to the dog, who responded by licking Colin's chin.
Colin stepped into the cemetery, and followed a path he remembered. He'd only been there once, but still he recalled exactly where his parents were laid to rest, as if he'd been there every day. The plots that had been merely dirt covered years before, were now shrouded with grass, and a stone had been erected where there had once been nothing but a tiny marker. He knelt down, sat the dog beside him, and traced the words on the stone with the second finger on his right hand.
The granite was cool beneath his touch, and he was surprised by the powerful emotions the stone evoked. He stood and stepped back, reading the words out loud.
“Maynard Thomas, beloved husband and father, July 18th 1940 – March 13th 2003. Sarah Louise Williams Thomas, beloved wife and mother, June 12th 1941 – March 13th 2003.”
Colin spoke the words clearly, and his voice never wavered. But once he fell silent again, his tears came in great sobs, and he fell to his knees in the cool grass.
“Mommy,” he whimpered, sounding like a small boy. “Dad,” he whispered. He shed the tears he couldn't cry that day six years ago. Today they seemed to fall forever, until finally he was spent. He glanced at the WalMart bag by his side, and chuckled.
“I brought Tiger,” Colin said. The dog lay quietly with his head on his paws, but he sat up at the sound of his name. “We're good now, huh, buddy?” Colin asked the dog, who had taken several steps toward the stone. The dog sniffed the granite with trepidation, and then laid i
n front of it.
“You know,” Colin said to the dog, and although it seemed crazy, and it wasn't a question, he would have sworn the dog nodded his head in response. “I'd take you home with me if I could, but your girlfriend would probably miss you.” The dog lifted his head and stared at Colin. Colin patted his leg, and almost immediately, Tiger was at his side.
“I'm going to get a dog,” Colin said, for whose benefit he wasn't sure. “For Mia,” he added, and although his heart felt heavy, his words sounded light. “I want you to be proud of me,” he whispered to the stone in front of him. “That's all I ever wanted,” he added, and he was surprised when his tears came again.
He sat for several minutes with the sun against his back, and he thought of the words his aunt had said. His father had been a great man, and Colin was proud of him. He had lived with dignity and integrity, and he had died the same way. He had died for the woman he loved, and Colin closed his eyes and wondered again if he was as good a man as his father. He would be proud to be half as good a man.
“Mom,” Colin whispered.
He suppressed the urge to whimper again as he thought of her. He supposed it was common to put those who were gone on a pedestal, to make them more or bigger than they were. But Colin didn't think he was doing that. He remembered his parents as they were. They didn't need to be more. He kept his eyes closed and suddenly memories of their day at the beach came again. His mother was running, chasing his father, and her long brown hair was blowing in the wind. “Manny,” she had called through her laughter, and the wind had carried her words, and Colin remembered the delight in her voice. His father had turned and smiled at the wife and son he'd adored, and Colin smiled through his tears at the memory. Although he missed them, more than mere words could ever express, he felt peaceful knowing wherever they were, they were together, running in the wind, someplace far beyond what the human eye could see.
“Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad,” he whispered, saying the words he couldn't say the last time he'd stood in the cemetery.
He stood and wiped his eyes. He turned to go, then remembered the bag.
“Better not forget this,” he said, leaning down to pick up the bag. The dog still sat looking at the stone, and Colin watched him without speaking. Animals were incredibly intuitive, and Colin wondered if the dog was saying his own goodbye.
“Come on, buddy,” Colin said to the dog, who followed him obediently. Colin fingered the small horse in his pocket, and for a moment he considered leaving it in the cemetery, but he couldn't part with it, this treasure from his past, and the memories attached to it, and he knew his parents would understand.
As he followed the path out of the cemetery, he promised himself he would return in June. He would stand proudly as his aunt wed the man she loved, the man Colin prayed was worthy of her. He would come, alone if he had to, but hopefully with Caitlin at his side. He'd had a love worth dying for, he simply hadn't known it at the time. But he knew now, and this knowing brought a sense of urgency to reclaim his lost love. He had to fight to get her back; he had to try. He owed that much to Maynard and Sarah Thomas. If he didn't fight, if he didn't try, he wasn't the man his parents had raised, the boy they had loved with all their hearts.
Twenty-three
Liz Parker stood in the foyer of her sister's home. It was eerily quiet, and for a moment Liz felt like an intruder. The home had fallen silent, and seemed to be mourning the woman who had left it behind.
“She'll be back,” Liz whispered.
She couldn't imagine losing her sister, and she prayed that Ella's recovery would be brief, and that one day, she would be well enough to come home.
Liz climbed the stairs, feeling the smooth banister beneath her left hand. She stood in the hallway outside her sister's bedroom, the room they had once shared as children. Timidly Liz stepped inside, and her eyes were drawn to the pictures on Ella's dresser. They were lined up with precision and Liz crossed the room and stood before the impressive display. It was obvious Ella loved her family, and Liz smiled as she looked at the photos, the treasured memories of her sister's life. There was an aged photo of two young girls, whose arms were linked, and Liz drew a sharp breath as she recognized a much younger version of herself. It was she and Ella on a warm summer day more than fifty years ago. They had looked like twins, born just a year apart, Liz the older of the two. Liz remembered the day, the moment the picture was taken, a precious memory captured in black and white. She wondered if Ella knew how much she loved her, if anyone knew. Liz Parker knew she had a hard exterior, and she raised her eyes to glance at it in the mirror over the dresser. Ella had been the gentler one, and Liz had become the stronger. Inside she was soft, nearly as soft as Ella, but it had always felt like a weakness, and so, Liz had hidden it from the world.
She returned her gaze to the photos, and one of her own wedding day stood out among the group. Her husband had been barely twenty-five, and Liz, only twenty. Their faces emulated youth, and the love they felt radiated from their eyes. Her husband was the love of her life, but when was the last time Liz had told him she loved him? She couldn't remember.
Howie Parker was a long distance trucker. Most of his life was spent on the road, but those days were becoming numbered. He planned to retire in the coming year, and Liz looked forward to the days they would spend together. Later when he called, as he did each night, she would tell him she loved him. He knew she did, but tonight, Liz Parker would say the words. First she needed to finish packing her sister's treasures, and take them to the ICU, where Ella was recovering. Although it had always been hard for Liz to find the right words, she would also remind Ella of how much she loved her.
Liz Parker's heart ached as she thought of the last time she'd stood in a hospital ICU. Her daughter-in-law had laid unresponsive for nearly a week. As shameful as it felt at the time, Liz had felt guilt-laced relief when the doctor had finally told her heartbroken son and granddaughter there was nothing more they could do. Nathan Parker had demurely accepted the news, cried quietly in the corner by the window, and then asked for the appropriate paperwork to sign. An hour later the nurse had disconnected the machines keeping Patricia Parker alive. Nathan held his wife's hand as her spirit left her body. It had been a moment that had nearly killed them all. Patti had been beautiful, energetic and gracious, and her hope had been contagious. She would have never wanted to live in a vegetative state. If she couldn't participate in life, she would have wanted them to let her go. And so, they had.
The day before, as Liz had waited in the same waiting room, she'd wondered if she would be asked to make the same decision about her sister. But as the doctor had approached her, she knew this time was different. There was an energy in his step, and a success that seemed to settle itself around his shoulders. Before he spoke, Liz knew her sister had survived.
Ella Simons had regained consciousness the evening before, just after sunset. Liz had been at her side.
“I'm going to be okay,” Ella had whispered, and Liz had responded with nothing more than a soft sob. “It's okay,” Ella said, momentarily taking her sister's role as the strong one. Ella was in ICU, her body broken, but her spirit intact, and despite her injuries, she was the one doing the comforting. She was Ella.
She had asked Liz to get a pen and paper, and then asked if she would bring her things from her home, things that would allow her to stay connected with her life. Liz, of course, accepted without complaint.
She had stayed the night with her sister, dozing only occasionally in the chair in the corner of the waiting room. Hours before, Liz had left the hospital for the first time in two days, and standing in Ella's bedroom, she felt the impact of the last forty-eight hours. She sat on her sister's bed beside the suitcase she'd found in the hallway closet. It contained all but two items Ella had requested. Liz raked her right hand through her dirty blond hair. In her left hand she held the remaining two items. They were both photographs, yellowed with age, worn by time, and Ella's loving touch. Liz knew her si
ster had held the photos often, had gazed at them with a wistfulness she rarely gave voice to. The photographs were of a young man with blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. The second one was of a tiny baby, new to the world, her eyes unfocused, yet as brilliant as the man's.
Liz felt her eyes fill with tears as she looked at the old pictures. She had never entirely agreed with her sister's decision, but it had been Ella's to make, and Liz had to respect her even if she disagreed.
She slipped the photos into the suitcase, and zipped it closed. The noise echoed in the otherwise empty house. Liz picked up the suitcase with her left hand, and turned off the light with her right. Slowly she descended the staircase in the home that had once belonged to her parents. She left a tiny lamp burning inside the front door, and feeling her age for the first time in a long time, she stepped out into the cool afternoon with a deep sigh.
Twenty-four
Caitlin was becoming reacquainted with New Hope, the beautiful place where she had lived as a child. She was delighted by the quaintness of it, this little village nestled away along the Delaware canal, and it seemed to have changed little over the years. Some businesses had changed hands, and the restaurants and pubs catered to modern-day tourists of discerning taste. Caitlin wasn't a tourist. She was part of this place; she had left part of her heart here.
The landmarks were the same, and the beautiful historic buildings still stood proud, the secrets of hundreds of years encased in their walls. She passed the bookstore, and groaned. She couldn't imagine her first book proudly displayed in the window. She couldn't imagine her first book proudly displayed anywhere, and she began thinking of it more as kindling, and less as any literary masterpiece.
She pushed the double baby carriage Rita had purchased the month before and smiled as she stopped to stare at her twins. It was a beautiful afternoon, if not a bit cool, but her new babies were snuggled in nicely, and bundled against the fall chill. Caitlin moved more slowly than she would have liked, but it was wonderful to be outside, and despite her aches and pains, she moved along the sidewalk at a steady pace. She had ridden the short distance into the village with Rita, but she had begged off to take a short walk. Her body was still sore, and she was reminded that only a few days before she had delivered the human equivalent of two English Bulldogs from parts unknown. Still, she felt her body healing and her energy beginning to return, and it was glorious to be outside on the clear, fall day.
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