His mouth worked some more, and this time his eyes rolled back in his head three times, as though he was trying to focus on her, trying to see her one last time.
“Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry . . .” Her voice broke and she laid her head on his chest, allowing the sobs that had built in her heart. “I love you, Dad.”
“John . . .”
The word startled Abby, and she lifted her head, searching her father’s face for signs of life. His eyes opened slowly and he caught Abby’s gaze. Again his mouth worked and he repeated the same word he’d said a moment earlier. “John . . .”
“You want John, Daddy?” Abby didn’t understand. John hadn’t been to see him in weeks. Why now, when he couldn’t move, could barely speak, would he want to talk to John? Especially when he knew the truth about their troubled marriage.
There was a pleading in her father’s eyes that was unmistakable, as though whatever he had to tell John was, in that moment, the most important, most pressing thing in his life. Abby remembered how strong her father had looked that day at the Michigan football game when her family had greeted John outside the team locker room. The year she was just seventeen. Later that week her father had winked at her and confessed something. “John’s always been like a son to me, Abby. The only son I ever had. I kinda hoped he’d wait for you to grow up.”
Abby looked at her father now and squeezed his hand. “All right, Dad. I’ll get him.” She started backing away. “You hang on now, okay. I’ll be right back.”
Tears still spilling down her cheeks, Abby rushed down the hall, relieved to see John and Kade with Nicole and Sean in the waiting room. John hurried to meet her with the others close behind.
“How is he?” John’s face was a mask of concern, and Abby wanted to spit at him. Sure, care about him now . . . now that he’s dying. She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Abby, how is he?” John’s voice was more urgent.
“He’s . . . he’s . . .” The sobs overcame her, and her body shook with the force of her emotion. Don’t take my dad, Lord. He’s all I have. My only friend. Please . . .
Her family circled in closer, and John put his arms around her, holding her in a loose hug that probably looked more comfortable than it felt. “Honey, I’m sorry. We’re here for you.”
Abby reeled at the feel of his arms around her. How long had it been since she’d stood in his embrace? And how come it still felt like the most right place in the world? She thought about his words and she wasn’t sure if she should hold onto him tighter or kick him in the leg. How dare he lie and call her honey at a time like this? Was it that important to look good in front of the kids? He hadn’t been protective of her for years. Why would now be any different?
And why did it feel so good to have his arms around her? She cried softly, keeping her warring emotions to herself.
“He’s . . . still alive right, Mom?” Nicole’s expression was racked with fear.
Abby nodded, realizing that she hadn’t explained the situation. “He can’t move; he can barely talk. He . . . he looks like a different man.”
Nicole started crying, and John circled her and Sean and Kade into their hug. The five of them hung on to each other, and Abby realized that she wasn’t only losing her father. She was losing this— her family’s ability to grieve together, to suffer life’s dark and desperate times under the strength of her husband. In a few months she would be on her own, forced to shoulder every major setback and milestone by herself.
From where he stood near the back of the huddle, Kade began to pray. “God, we come before You as a family asking that You be with our grandpa, Mom’s dad. He loves You very much, Lord, and, well . . . You already know that. But he’s real sick, God. Please be with him now and help him not be afraid.”
Abby tightened the hold she had on Kade’s shoulder. He was such a good boy, so much like the man his father had once been. The thought of his leaving for college in the fall was enough to send another wave of sobs tearing through her gut. Then she realized that Kade had not prayed for healing.
Almost as if God were preparing them already for the inevitable.
The sobs subsided after a few minutes, and Abby remembered her father’s request. She lifted her head and found John’s eyes. “He asked for you.”
Was it her imagination or did John’s eyes cloud with fear the moment Abby told him? “Me?” The word was barely more than a whisper.
Abby nodded. “It seemed urgent.”
John drew a steadying breath and nodded toward the waiting room. “You guys wait for me. I’ll be back.”
Without hesitating, he led the way down the hall while Abby stayed close behind him. They entered the room together, and Abby took up watch on the far side of the bed. Her father’s head was moving about restlessly on the pillow, and when he heard them his eyes opened, searching until they found John.
His mouth started working again and finally the sound followed. “Come . . .”
John moved close to the bed and took her father’s lifeless hand in his stronger ones. “Hi, Joe.”
It broke Abby’s heart to see her dad struggle so hard to speak. Clearly he couldn’t move, and she realized the nurse had been right. The stroke had left him paralyzed—at least for now.
Once more he began opening and closing his mouth, but this time his eyes were more alert, more focused. Never once did they leave John’s face. “Lubber . . .”
What was her father saying? Abby couldn’t make it out and the expression on John’s face told her he couldn’t either.
“It’s okay, Joe,” John’s voice was low and soothing. “Don’t struggle. The Lord’s here.”
Oh, please . . . you of all—
Abby stopped herself. This wasn’t the time to harbor resentment toward John. “Dad . . .” She spoke loudly so he could hear her from across the room. “Say it again, Dad.”
Her father kept his gaze glued to John’s face. “Lub-ber . . .” His words were slurred, running together so that it was impossible to understand. Abby closed her eyes and tried to hear beyond his broken speech. “Lub-her . . . lub-her . . .”
“Lu . . .” John tried to repeat the beginning of whatever it was her father was trying to say. “Can you say it once more, Joe. I’m sorry.”
Abby willed her father the ability to speak clearly. Just this once when whatever it was he wanted to say was of such importance to him. Please, God . . . give him the words.
Her dad blinked twice, and his eyes filled with desperation as his voice grew louder. “Love her . . . love her.”
“Love her.” The words hit Abby like a tidal wave, washing away her determination to be strong. “Love her.” In his most pained moment, when death itself might be only minutes away, his single message to his son-in-law was this: Love her. Love his daughter Abby for now, forever. Love her.
Abby looked across the room at John and saw that he, too, understood. Tears trickled down his rugged cheeks, and he seemed to struggle for the right words. When none came, he nodded, his chin quivering under the intensity of the moment.
Her father didn’t let it rest. He blinked again—the only action he seemed to have left—and this time said it even more clearly. “Love her . . . John.”
Guilt and remorse worked their way into John’s features and he cocked his head, gazing across the bed at Abby. Then without speaking, he held up a single, shaky hand in her direction, beckoning her, begging her to come to him. Silently he mouthed the word, “please.”
Two quick breaths lodged in Abby’s chest, and she moved toward him. No matter that he’d fallen out of love with her, regardless of the ways in which he’d betrayed his wedding vows, despite Charlene and everything she represented, Abby came. John held his arm out to her until she was nestled underneath it, snug against him, side by side. A couple, facing her father as one.
Even if only to appease him in his dying hour.
“She’s here, Joe. See . . . she’s here.” John’s tears fell on her fa
ther’s hand and bedsheets as Abby remained at his side, one arm clinging to her husband, the other stroking her father’s kneecap.
Her dad’s eyes moved from John to Abby and his head began to bob ever so slightly, up and down, as if approving what he was seeing between them. He nodded this way for a while then let his eyes settle on John once more. “Love her.”
“I will, Dad.” John had never called him that before. But since his own father had died, he hadn’t had a man to fill that role. Over the years John had grown too consumed with his increasingly separate life to spend much time with her father. And now . . . by calling him Dad, John was conveying his regrets.
“Love her . . . always.” Her father’s words were getting weaker, but his message was exceptionally clear and repetitive. Love Abby. Again and again. Love her now. Love her forever.
Two short sobs escaped from deep in John’s heart, and he blinked hard so he could see clearly. Tightening his grip on Abby he nodded again. “I’ll always love her, Dad.”
A peace came over Abby’s father, and his entire body seemed to relax. His eyes moved slowly until they found Abby again. “Kids . . .”
John was quick to pull away, nodding to Abby. “I’ll get them.” He returned with all three in tow in less than a minute. They filed in, Nicole taking up her position opposite the place where Abby stood, and Kade and Sean falling in beside her.
Her father shot a questioning look at John, and in response he immediately resumed his place at Abby’s side.
“Hi, Grandpa.” Nicole cried unabashedly, indifferent to the way her makeup ran down her cheeks. “We’re praying for you.”
As if every bit of motion required the effort of a marathon, Dad turned his head so that he could find his grandchildren. “Good . . . good kids.”
Sean started to cry and Kade—his own eyes wet—put an arm around his brother, pulling him close, letting him know that tears were okay in times like this. Sean leaned forward and threw his arms around his grandpa, holding on as though he could keep Abby’s father from leaving them. “I love you, Grandpa.”
The sounds of gentle sobs filled the room, and Abby noticed tears in her father’s eyes as well. “Jesus . . .”
Sean stood up slowly and crowded close between Nicole and Kade.
Abby thought she understood, but it grieved her all the same. “Jesus . . . Dad . . . you want to go to Jesus?”
In response, another wave of peace washed over his features and the corners of his lips lifted just a fraction. “I . . . love you . . . all.”
A flicker of concern flashed once more in her father’s eyes, and he turned with excruciating slowness back to John and Abby. Before he could say anything, John tightened the grip he had on Abby, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “I will, Dad.”
His shoulders sank deeper into the bed and his smile grew until it filled his face. “God . . . is happy.”
Abby’s body convulsed with sobs, hating how they were tricking him into believing everything was okay, and yet wishing with all her heart that John meant what he said. That he actually might still love her, that he always would love her . . . that they would love each other. And that somehow by doing so they might actually make God happy again.
With the five of them holding on to him, each hoping that somehow it wasn’t his time to go, he closed his eyes and breathed three more times.
Then he was gone.
It took five hours to say their good-byes, finish the paperwork, and watch while a mortuary attendant took her father’s body to prepare it for burial. The funeral was set for three days later, and throughout the evening Abby felt as if she were wading through syrup, as if death had happened to somebody else’s dad and not hers. As if the entire process of planning her dad’s funeral was little more than a poorly acted scene from a bad movie.
John stayed by her side until they got home, then as all three kids headed for bed he went to sit in the silent living room, dropping his head in his hands. Abby stared at him. Are you wishing for more time with him, John?
She kept her question to herself and headed upstairs to make sure the kids were okay. One at a time she hugged each of them again and assured them that Grandpa was at home now, in heaven with Grandma where he’d longed to be for years. Each of the kids wept in her arms as she made the rounds, but Abby stayed strong.
It wasn’t until she headed downstairs that she felt the finality of the situation. Her father was gone. Never again would she sit by his side, holding his hand and listening while he talked about the glory days on the gridiron. Her mentor, her protector . . . her daddy.
Gone.
Abby reached the last stair, rounded the corner, and suddenly she couldn’t take another step. Her back against the wall, she collapsed, burying her face in her hands, giving way to the sobs that had been building since her father’s final breath. “Why?” she cried out softly in a voice meant for no one to hear. “Daaaad. No! I can’t do this!”
“Abby . . .”
John’s hands were on hers before she heard him coming. Gentle, strong, protective hands that carefully removed her fingers from her face, then eased her arms around his waist as he drew her to himself. “Abby, I’m so sorry.”
She knew she should pull away, should refuse his comfort in light of the lies he’d told her father earlier that evening. But she could no more do so than she could force her heart to stop beating. She laid her head on his chest and savored the feeling, allowing him to absorb the shaking of her body, the stream of tears that worked its way into his sweaty coaching shirt . . . a shirt that smelled of day-old cologne and musty grass and something sweet and innate that belonged to this man and him alone. Abby savored the scent, knowing there was no place she’d rather be.
John tightened his embrace and let his head rest on hers. Only then did Abby feel the way his body trembled. Not with desire as it had so often in their early days, but with a sadness, with a wave of sobs deeper than Abby had ever known him to cry. She thought how her husband had missed his chance, how he’d chosen to be too busy to visit with her father in his dying days.
How great his guilt had to be.
She raised her head and swallowed back her own sobs, searching John’s face, so close to hers. His eyes were closed and grief filled his features. Abby allowed his forehead to rest against hers and felt his weeping ease some. His arms still locked around her waist, he opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. “I loved him . . . you know that, right, Abby?”
Fresh tears forged a trail down her cheeks as she nodded. “I know.”
“He was . . . he was like my own dad.” John’s words were little more than a whisper, and Abby savored the moment even as her heart shouted at her: What are you doing, Abby? If things are over between you two, why does it feel so right to be here? Why did he come to you if he doesn’t love you anymore?
John let the side of his face graze up against hers, nuzzling her in a way that was achingly familiar. A roller-coaster feeling made its way across Abby’s insides as her body instinctively reacted to John’s nearness.
“My dad told me you were like a son to him . . .” Abby clung tightly to John, speaking the words inches from his ear. “He said he was glad you waited for me to grow up because you were . . . the only son he ever had.”
A faint sense of hope filled John’s watery eyes and he pulled back a few inches, searching Abby’s face. “He said that?”
She nodded, her hands still linked at the back of his waist. “When I was seventeen. A few weeks after that first game, remember? The first time I watched you play at Michigan?”
Instantly the mood changed, and John went still as his eyes locked on hers. Without saying a word their embrace grew closer, their bodies melding together. Wasn’t this how he’d looked at her all those years ago, back when he had wanted nothing more than to be by her side?
John ran his thumb over her cheek. “I remember . . .” He framed her face with both hands and wove his fingers into her hair. “I remember . . .”
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She realized what was about to happen seconds before it actually did. He brought his lips closer to hers, and she saw his eyes cloud with sudden, intense desire. Abby’s heart pounded against his chest.
What are these feelings, and why now? When everything is over between us?
She had no answers for herself, only one defining truth: she desperately wanted John’s kiss, wanted to know that he could still feel moved in her arms, even if it made no sense whatsoever.
He kissed her, slowly, gently at first . . . but as she took his face in her hands, the act became more urgent, filled with the passion of a hundred lost moments. His mouth opened over hers and she could taste the salt from both their tears. Fresh tears, tears of passion . . . tears of regret.
The urgency within Abby built and she could feel John’s body trembling again—but this time in a way that was familiar, a way that made her want to—
His hands left her face and he ran them slowly up and down her sides as he moved his lips toward her ear. “Abby . . .”
What did he mean by all this? Was this really happening? Was he comforting her the only way he knew how? Or could he be trying to tell her he was sorry, that no matter what had happened in the past, it was behind them now? She wasn’t sure about anything except how good it felt to be in his arms, as though whatever mistakes their hearts and minds had made might somehow be erased by the physical feelings they apparently still had for each other.
Abby kissed him again and then slid her face along his, aware of the way his body pressed against hers. “I . . . I don’t understand . . .”
John nudged her chin with his face and tenderly moved his lips along her neck as his thumbs worked in small circles against her upper ribs. He found her mouth once more and kissed her again . . . and again. He moved his mouth closer to her ear. “I promised your father, Abby . . . I said I would love you . . .”
What? Abby felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Her body went stiff. That’s what this was about? His coming to her now, his kisses and desire . . . it was all part of some kind of guilt trip her father had placed on him minutes before dying? Her desire dissipated like water on an oil-slicked freeway. She braced her hands against him and pushed him.
A Time to Dance Page 22