A Man of Honor

by Loree Lough

  “It’s too soon to know for sure,” she said.

  “Then guess. I give you my word, I won’t repeat it.”

  “He’s been fighting an infection for the past day or so. . . .”

  Grace knew that. She’d been right there when the lab results came back.

  “. . . and unless I’m mistaken. . . . See the way his stomach is all distended?”

  Grace nodded while the team continued to prep Dusty for surgery. Another surgery!

  “It means there’s probably blood in the abdominal cavity. Only way to know what’s leaking is to go in and patch it.”

  She could barely see through her tears, and Grace wondered if the nurse was making sense of anything she’d said in between the sobs. “But he’s already so weak. How can he survive another operation?”

  “We’ve got the best here. You know we’ll do everything we can for him.” She hugged Grace. “We like Dusty, too, y’know.”

  Pull yourself together, Grace. If Dusty was aware of his surroundings, she certainly didn’t want him further stressed by seeing her go bonkers.

  “You can walk with us as far as the surgical suite. Then maybe. . . .” Mariani shrugged.

  “Then you can find me in the chapel.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  Grace walked alongside the bed, holding Dusty’s hand. When they paused outside to wait for the big double doors to open, she leaned in close and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’d better come through this,” she said. “I mean it. Because if you don’t—”

  Mariani’s gentle voice reached her. “It’s time, Mrs. Parker.”

  “—because I love you, Dusty Parker. You got that?”

  The chapel all but bulged with people who, like Grace, loved Dusty Parker. Someone had alerted Pastor Nolt, who stood up front, clutching a worn Bible to his chest. “Would you like me to pray, Grace?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “would you please?”

  There in the front pew, with Ethan clinging to her right side and Montel holding up the left, Grace bowed her head as the preacher’s deep baritone reached every corner of the tiny church:

  “Dear heavenly Father, it is with heavy hearts that we come to You. You are the Almighty Creator God, holy and full of grace and love. Yes, our hearts are heavy because of a dear one who is trying to leave us, Lord, and fear is just waiting to take us down. We thank You, Father, that because of Your Son, Jesus, You know our pain and sorrow, intimately. We thank You, too, for showing us that Jesus is the way through this dark shadow. When the time is right, Lord, take the hand of our beloved brother Dusty and make Yourself known to him. Keep that which is Your own, and take it to eternity to be with You; in Jesus, death is but a shadow, but keep that shadow far from Dusty, Lord, unless it is Your will to take him home. Take our hands, too, Father, as we lay our fears at Your feet. Send Your peace on the wings of the Holy Spirit and fill us with faith that will not let us waiver and doubt. In the name of Christ Jesus we pray.”

  Whispered “Amens” encircled Grace.

  Flynn drew her into a hug. “He wanted me to give this to you.”

  She looked at the small recorder, balanced on his big, broad palm.

  “Said there are things on the tape that you need to know. That we all need to hear.”

  Now she met his red-eyed gaze. “You haven’t listened to it yet?”

  “He asked me to wait. So I did.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, then. I guess we’d better hear it.”

  The family pressed near, and when Flynn hit the play button, quiet sighs whispered all around them at the sound of Dusty’s exhausted, raspy voice:

  “First, I gotta say I never thought I’d see the bunch of you in a church, together. Guess miracles happen after all, don’t they.”

  Grace heard the smile in his voice; she smiled, too.

  He recited a list of the documents Grace would need in the days and weeks ahead. “Don’t know what possessed me to do it,” he said, “but a couple of days after the wedding, I figured I’d better get my act together.” She was now sole beneficiary of everything that was his, and with nothing more than a notarized signature, she’d become Ethan’s mother, too. The boy clung tight to her side, hearing that, and Grace pulled him tighter still.

  Next, he named everyone in the room, one at a time. Montel, who’d been as much a friend as a foster son; Nestor, whose quirky sense of humor could turn even the most dour mood bright. Axel and Tony and Trevor were given explicit instructions to keep up with their schoolwork and graduate on time. On down the list he went, telling each boy why he’d been proud to know them . . . and what he expected them to accomplish with their lives. He had a little something for each of them to remember him by . . . a guitar, a CD collection, favorite books . . . things he’d shared with the boys to ensure a bond that was strong and lifelong.

  “On the day you accept your high school diplomas,” he continued, “Mitch will give you the check I’ve written out in your name. It’ll be more than enough to buy a fast car and snappy clothes . . . but don’t be idiots. Invest in your future, instead, by enrolling in college.

  “And when you’re holding your university degree in your hand, you’ll get another check. That one,” he said, laughing, “you can use to buy a car; you’re gonna need it to get back and forth to work.”

  Dusty thanked Matt and Austin for their steadfast friendship, thanked their wives for turning them into better men. His aunt received effusive praise—for loving him as if he’d been her own, for teaching him to wipe his feet and brush his teeth, and the importance of opening doors for the ladies, for pulling out their chairs and helping them into their coats . . . “but it would have been helpful to know how to tell a lady from an imbecilic fog-for-brains feminist, ’cause it sure would have spared me a lot of ‘I can do it myself’ snarls and dirty looks.”

  When it came time to say something to Flynn and Connor, to Blake and Gavin, Dusty choked up. “If I have to tell you guys how I feel about you,” he said, “then, well, I guess you’re even dumber than I am.”

  There was a considerable pause, making them wonder if the tape had run out . . . or he’d run out of things to say. But he cleared his throat and picked up again with “Ethan. Son. God knows how much I love you, kiddo. If I’d known. . . . Well, we’ve been over all that before, haven’t we?”

  Grace felt the boy nod, saw him smile—if only a little—at the memory.

  “I was blessed, truly blessed, to have known you.”

  A long, shuddering sigh, and then he said, “Gracie. . . .”

  She clamped her teeth together so hard that her jaw ached. But she couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t cry. Not yet. Not now.

  “You’re the one God chose for me. There’s a country song out there that explains it. Almost. Something about how all the other stuff on life’s broken road led me straight to you.

  “I love you more than anything, but I can be selfish—as anyone in that room can tell you—so you’ve got to know that if I could beat this. . . .”

  A long ragged sigh issued from the recorder’s tiny speaker, followed by, “You’re strong and tough, with a heart as big as your head and a soul to match. I’m proud of you. Proud to have known and—

  “You do know, don’t you, that you turned an ordinary guy into a man of honor? Don’t know many women who could have accomplished that. I love you, Grace, more than—”

  The tape began to fizz and hiss.

  It had come to the end.

  Or so they thought.

  “Just one more thing,” Dusty said. “If I pull through, and even one of you so much as mentions this meandering bunch of mush and goo, I’ll personally kick your bee-hinds clear around the block . . . just as soon as this bum leg of mine heals enough to get it up that far.”

  The audible click told them that this time, Dusty was finished.

  A long, palpable silence followed. It was Gavin who broke it with, “I don’t care what he says. Wh
en he pulls through this, I’ll never let him live it down!”

  And the chapel pulsed with laughter, and tears, and love.

  The doctor left nothing to the imagination. Left nothing to hope for, either.

  “I’ve run every test at least three times,” he said, slow and soft, “but the results are always the same. Dusty’s brain dead, Grace. There’s nothing more we can do for him.”

  “Short of a miracle, you mean.”

  He only sighed. “The ventilator and feeding tubes are keeping his organs from shutting down. But. . . .” He shrugged. “You want my advice?”

  Grace wasn’t at all sure that she did. Yet she felt herself nod.

  “Pull that big loving family of yours together and let them help you with this. It’s the toughest decision, by far, anyone ever has to make. You’re blessed that you don’t have to do it alone.”

  She nodded again, unable to speak.

  “Something else?”

  What could be left to say, now that he’d dashed every hope she had of Dusty pulling through this.

  “If God wants him, Dusty’s as good as in heaven, already.” He pointed. “Those machines, all the tubes and wires and whatnot? Smoke and mirrors. A pretty ‘aren’t we doing a great job’ show for potential donors to the hospital. And if God doesn’t want to take him home yet? We can disconnect all that stuff, and. . . .” He shrugged again. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Grace had taken the good doctor’s advice, and pulled the family together. In the chapel. One last time.

  In the end, it was wisecracking Gavin who turned the tide.

  “Dusty has always been the type of guy who got deep into your soul. He knew every last one of us better than we know ourselves. If that was me in that bed? He’d know exactly what I’d want him to do.”

  “Which is?” Flynn asked.

  In place of a straight answer, Gavin said, “What Dusty is doing up there in the ICU? That ain’t living. It’s existing. And, much as it pains me to say it, he’s brain dead. After you’ve said that, what more is there to say?”

  Grace shared with them what the doctor had said, about how the machines couldn’t keep him alive against God’s will . . . and disconnecting them wouldn’t kill Dusty, either, if it wasn’t what the Lord wanted.

  She got to her feet and headed for the door. “You don’t have to be there if you don’t want to. I know it won’t be easy. . . .”

  But they followed her to Dusty’s room and lined up against the glass wall, nodding their approval as she walked up to his bed. “I love you,” she whispered, looking at the face that had brought her so much joy. “Otherwise, I would never do this. I’d keep you with me, forever.”

  Sniffing, she wiped her eyes.

  “You sure you wouldn’t rather let me do this?” Mariani asked.

  Grace shook her head no. “He’d do it for me,” she said, because she knew that he would.

  The nurse helped Grace disconnect the feeding tubes from the clear-plastic bags that had delivered life-sustaining liquids into Dusty’s veins, one drop at a time. That done, she pointed at the ventilator, and the big, square light that outlined the off button.

  Hand trembling as she reached for it, Grace hesitated.

  He’d do it for me, Gavin had said.

  The click echoed in the quiet space. The only sound in the room now was the tinny beep of the heart monitor. Mariani made quick work of removing the tube, and while she rolled the machine to the other side of the room, Grace climbed onto the bed and stretched out beside Dusty, snuggled close and buried her face into the crook of his neck.

  No need to hold back the tears now. Could he feel them, puddling into the hollow of his collarbone? Did every bone-jarring sob shake him, too?

  Grace held her breath, and, with every beat of her heart she prayed, Save him, Lord. Save him, Lord. Save him, Lord.

  Nothing, save the last gurgling, rattling breaths that squeaked from his exhausted lungs.

  She saw one, lone tear slide down his haggard cheek. Hers? Or one of his own?

  And then the heartbreaking, steady, one long note of the monitor.

  And Mariani, crying hard herself, calling time of death.

  Grace slogged into the hall. Into the waiting arms of his family—now her family, too—remembering the last thing Dusty had said to her, before she’d drifted off to sleep.

  “You can do it. God built you strong. You’ll do it for me.”

  And she had.

  Epilogue

  Five Years Later

  The sunny, yellow kitchen was jam packed with family and friends, and Grace smiled as they chattered and laughed.

  Angel Acres was a thoroughly happy place again. Self-supporting, too, thanks to the boys’ ingenuity and hard work. They’d redesigned the chicken coop and vegetable stand, and after studying up on hens and roosters and produce, built a thriving business that supplied area restaurants, grocery stores, and the local farmer’s market.

  And it had all taken place under the watchful eye of Mitch Carlisle, who’d finally got his way when he hung a shiny new sign from the porch:

  ISAIAH HOUSE

  Eye has not seen, ear has not heard

  What God had prepared for those who love Him.

  Isaiah 64:4

  All of the Last Chance boys had come home for the weekend . . . though it was hardly fair to call them boys after all they’d accomplished and become. . . .

  Inspired by the newsmaking murder trials of Hector Gonzalez and his gang, Montel was now a full-time student at the University of Maryland’s School of Law, and Nestor would soon begin training to become an EMT.

  Trevor, Tony, and Cody had just graduated high school; in a few months, Trevor would enroll in the police academy, while Tony had his eye on med school. Cody, frustrated that Melissa’s killer had never been caught and brought to justice, set his sights on becoming an FBI agent. Jesse planned to enlist with the Marines just as soon as he was old enough, like his beloved mentor, and the youngest boys were doing their best to follow in the older boys’ footsteps.

  Mrs. Logan had changed her name to Molly Spencer, and after formally adopting Kylie, she and her FBI agent husband helped the girl get into Johns Hopkins School of Nursing, where Kylie hoped to specialize in pediatrics.

  Austin and Mercy had two kids now—both girls, every bit as pretty as their dark-haired mother; and Gavin . . . was still Gavin, almost as dedicated to maintaining his bachelorhood as Matt and Honor were to adding to their family.

  “Is it time yet, Mommy?”

  Grace scooped up the dark-haired girl and gave her a fierce hug. “Sweetheart,” she said, “I think it is.” And after gently depositing her in the chair at the head of the table, she clapped her hands. “Everybody,” she called. “Everybody. . . .”

  Anita cut loose with a shrill, ear-piercing whistle that inspired Flynn, Connor, and Blake to wince while their wives and kids covered their ears. When it was quiet at last, she laughed and said, “It’s time!”

  While the family joined in an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Grace thought of the day so many years ago, when she spoon-fed broth to Randi—too weak to feed herself, but not so weak that she couldn’t laugh at a fond memory. “I asked Dusty once what he’d name his son,” she’d told Grace, “if ever he had one, and he said Ethan, because it means enduring. And if he was blessed with a daughter,” Randi continued, “he’d call her Brigid, because it means strong.”

  Today, at 5:04 p.m., little Brigid Randi Parker would turn four years old.

  Ethan stepped up beside her and whispered, “Can I light the candles, Mom?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Oh, how she loved the boy who was a smaller, younger version of her precious Dusty! He never reminded Grace more of her husband than when he smiled, and his black-lashed eyes glimmered with mischievous joy. He’d inherited his father’s sense of humor—dry and droll—and wasn’t the least bit shy about dispensing compliments to anyone and everyone, every c
hance he got.

  He stood six inches taller than Grace and outweighed her by fifty pounds, and yet, he was every bit a thirteen-year-old boy. When he finished lighting the candles, he proved it by singing out “Ta-da!” Then he stood behind Brigid’s chair and planted a hand on each of her shoulders. “So what’re you gonna wish for, little sister? Think hard, now, and don’t waste it, ’cause you only get one. . . .”

  Brigid, small for her age, favored Grace in every way . . . except for her extraordinary ever-changing blue eyes. Squinting, she doubled up her fists and held her breath, putting her all into a really good wish. “I wish . . . I wish that I could see Daddy, looking at us from heaven.”

  Then she puckered up, and blew for all she was worth. “Can I have the big, purple frosting flower?”

  “I think that’s only fair,” Grace said, “seeing as you’re the birthday girl.”

  “And purple is my favorite color?”

  Laughing, Grace sliced cake while Anita dropped a scoop of ice cream onto each plate. Soon, the people who had known and loved Dusty Parker were happily devouring sweet ice cream and chocolate cake . . . his favorite, passed on to his little girl.

  Grace took a big breath, and blinking back joyful tears, looked up at the ceiling. Somewhere up there, beyond the ceiling and the roof tiles, above the clouds of God’s heaven, he was watching. Her Dusty. The father of her children. Who’d given his life to save others. Whose lungs and heart would save still more.

  Dusty, her man of honor.

  You can do it, he’d said. God built you strong; you’ll do it for me.

  And she had.

  Discussion Questions

  1. Think back to what you were doing on 9/11; can you imagine yourself going through what Dusty and Grace went through?

  2. What, in your opinion, is Dusty’s most commendable character trait? If you feel he had a least admirable trait, what would it be—and why?

  3. Now let’s consider Grace. What would you say is the best element of her character? And what’s her biggest weakness?