The Sooner the Better

by Debbie Macomber

  “Oh, sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Are you ready to talk about what happened in Mexico yet?” The question came from Marjorie, asked with kindness and compassion. Without Lorraine’s ever having spoken about it, Marjorie knew she’d endured some horrible trauma.

  “No,” she said brokenly, “not yet.” And perhaps not ever. Lorraine hadn’t shared her memories of Jack. Not with Gary and Marjorie or her friends at work.

  Gary was right. She was different, and always would be for having loved and lost Jack. Really, what could she tell them? How could she explain that she’d died that day in the jungle outside Mexico City? How could she explain that she only went through the motions of living now? That she struggled to make sense out of life and death, struggled to gain acceptance and peace in a world that seemed devoid of both?

  Jack endured six hideous months. The pain was physical, the suffering emotional. Twice now he’d fallen in love, and both times it had been a disaster. Each day he lay in his hospital bed, the pain so bad it was impossible to sleep. But he welcomed the physical agony. It diverted his attention from thoughts of Lorraine.

  His back, he learned, had been broken. That came as no surprise. Nor did the five other broken bones, plus internal injuries. The doctors hadn’t made any promises about walking again. Most seemed surprised he’d survived, but no one more so than Jack. He would have shaken hands with death any number of times. Been glad to give up the fight. Even now he cursed God for playing such a cruel trick. If he’d wanted a reward for the noble gesture of sending Lorraine back to her husband, this wasn’t it.

  The second week of November, Jack stood on his own for the first time since he’d entered the hospital. Stood, not walked. Sweat broke out across his brow at the amount of energy required to maintain an upright position.

  Someone clapped loudly behind him.

  Jack dared not glance over his shoulder for fear of losing his balance, precarious at best.

  “Good going.”

  “Murphy?” Jack couldn’t believe his ears. His knees gave out on him, and he fell back into his wheelchair. His strength deserted him; otherwise he would have whirled the chair around and cursed out his friend. He wasn’t in the mood for company, and he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy.

  Murphy’s long strides devoured the distance between them. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  Jack turned purposefully away. “What are you doing here?”

  “What else? I came to see you.”

  Jack didn’t meet Murphy’s eyes. “Then you made a wasted trip.”

  His friend walked a circle around him, shaking his head. “A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

  Jack ignored the comment. He knew Letty and Murphy had been phoning weekly for updates on his condition, talking to Dr. Berilo and the hospital staff. Jack hadn’t wanted to talk to them himself and hoped they’d get the message. Apparently they hadn’t.

  “Doc says you can leave the hospital soon,” Murphy said, facing Jack.

  “So I understand.”

  “Have you decided where you’re going?”

  “No.” Jack preferred not to think about the future. His one and only decision had been to sell Scotch on Water. He couldn’t go back to the cabin cruiser. Every night he’d be haunted by the memory of Lorraine and their time together.

  “Are you returning to the boat?”

  “Sold it,” Jack muttered. “You sold Scotch on Water?” Murphy didn’t seem to believe it. “But you loved that boat.”

  “That time of my life has passed.” It was all he intended to say on the subject. Murphy would never know the real reason.

  “Don’t you think it would’ve been better to wait and make such a drastic decision later?”

  “Drop it!” he barked.

  Murphy sat down in a nearby chair.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Jack asked sarcastically. “To check up on the boat?”

  “No. Letty sent me. Said I was to bring you home.”

  Jack snorted. “Not on your life.”

  “Hey, good buddy, you don’t know my wife the way I do. That woman is stubborn. When she told me to bring you back, I knew I’d better do it.”

  Arguing was a waste of energy, but he wasn’t going to involve Murphy and Letty in his troubles. “I’ll take care of myself,” he insisted.

  Murphy gave no indication he’d heard. “Letty had me working on the old foreman’s house. She’s cleaned and repainted the place and ordered a hospital bed and whatever else Dr. Berilo suggested. She also had me widen the doorways to accommodate your wheelchair.”

  “I plan to walk again.”

  “You will,” Murphy said swiftly. “This is just until you’re able to get around on your own. I’m telling you, Jack, you don’t know my wife. That woman’s unstoppable once she sets her mind on something. I don’t dare come back without you.”

  Well, Letty would just have to be disappointed, Jack thought.

  “Another thing. Letty and Francine have been talking up a storm. Last I heard, Francine’s hired a physical therapist who’s flying out to work with you.”

  “Is that a fact?” Jack asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He appreciated all the trouble Letty and Francine, the wife of another ex-mercenary friend, had gone to, but he’d rather stay in Mexico.

  “I tried to explain to Letty that you’d prefer your own company. I tried, Jack, I really did, but she said you need family now and we’re the only family you’ve got.”

  “I’m not a charity case.”

  “I should say not!” Murphy snapped. “You’re paying for that physical therapist.”

  “Letty doesn’t have time for this.”

  “I know that, too. With three children under the age of four, she’s got plenty to do without worrying about you, but she’s convinced you’ll recuperate faster at the ranch with us than anywhere else.”

  Again Jack reserved his strength rather than argue. Murphy could say what he wanted, but Jack had no intention of allowing his longtime friends to play nursemaid to him.

  Three days later, however, Jack was loaded onto a medically equipped private plane and made the long trip from Mexico City to Boothill, Texas. He wasn’t pleased to have Murphy step in and take charge of his life. But at this point Jack’s options were few.

  He needed physical rehabilitation, plus people to assist him. And time. Lots of that. But it’d take more than time for him to heal. He’d never be the same again, emotionally or physically, and he knew it.

  The flight to the ranch exhausted him, and staying awake long enough to get himself settled in the foreman’s house was about all he could manage.

  Just as Murphy had said, the structure, which was some distance from the main house, had been set up as a miniature hospital, complete with a bed, wheelchair, walker and more. He fell into a deep sleep the minute he pulled the covers over himself.

  His dreams were full of Lorraine. Of her lying in his arms, talking about movies while he tried not to kiss her. Of the two of them sleeping, arms and legs entwined, on the deck, gazing up at the moon. He could hear the sound of her laughter. It rang in his ears like a forgotten melody. He felt the softness of her skin against his. It seemed so real.

  His eyes fluttered open and he saw a figure sitting in the dark, rocking back and forth in a high-backed wooden chair.

  “Lorraine?” he whispered. It had to be her. Must be her. Heaven help him, he didn’t have the will to send her away a second time. How had she found him? Who’d told her?

  “It’s Letty,” Murphy’s wife said.

  The disappointment was almost too painful to bear.

  “Sleep,” she murmured.

  He yearned to tell her he’d done enough of that in the past six months. If there was any justice in the world, he’d—

  Jack’s musings were interrupted by the sound of someone else coming into the room.

  “How’s he doing?” Murphy asked.


  “He woke up briefly. He seemed to think I was someone named Lorraine, but he’s asleep now.”

  Jack would’ve loved to shock them both by bolting upright, but he hadn’t the strength. It demanded more than he could muster even to open his eyes.

  “Did he tell you about her?” Letty asked.

  “Not a word. He’ll say something when he’s ready.”

  Letty seemed to consider her husband’s statement. “He’ll recover.”

  “Dr. Berilo said as much.”

  “I mean emotionally,” Letty explained. “He loved Marcie and regrouped after they split up. He’ll do it again.”

  Little did she know, Jack thought. Technically Letty was right; he had loved Marcie. But what he felt for Lorraine was far stronger. He’d willingly surrendered a large part of himself, his heart, his very being—his life—when he’d asked Dr. Berilo to tell Lorraine he was dead.

  It had been a noble thing to do, or so Jack had believed. What he hadn’t realized at the time was how close to the truth that lie actually was. Without Lorraine, he found little purpose in life. Without her he was empty. He’d been willing to die so she could live. Now he had a more difficult task to accomplish.

  He had to learn to live without her.

  “He must love her the way I love you,” Murphy said.

  In that moment Jack understood why he considered Murphy his family. Murphy knew him like no one else.

  “Yes,” Letty whispered.

  They were right, both of them. Jack loved Lorraine with that same intensity. Enough to send her away. Enough to make his own life hell because she was no longer part of it and never would be again.

  Thomas Dancy dismissed his last class, but remained in the classroom as he often did these days. He sat at his desk and studied his schedule, although his thoughts weren’t on his work.

  His American friend was dead, and Lorraine seemed to blame him. It was the only reason Thomas could conceive of for the fact that she completely ignored his letters.

  Almost six months earlier he’d received a hysterical phone call from her about Jack. He’d immediately left the school and joined her at the hospital in Mexico City. Along with Raine, he’d kept vigil at Jack’s bedside while his friend hovered near death. For countless hours, he’d talked to the hospital staff in an effort to glean what information he could. It was from the nurses that he came to understand the gravity of the situation. In his own way he’d attempted to prepare Raine for the worst.

  When the inevitable happened, his daughter had wept as he’d never heard a woman weep. In her grief she’d collapsed against him. Her agony clawed at his heart, and Thomas recognized anew how much he loved his daughter. Her pain was even worse for him than the loss of his friend.

  He was the one who led her out of the hospital, who spoke to the doctor and, with his help, made the burial arrangements. He’d had only a glimpse of the body through the door of Jack’s room; it was all he could stand. Later that day, he’d tried to bring Lorraine home with him. She’d politely declined, which had confused him. Now, like her mother, she wouldn’t answer his letters, and as each day passed without word, she broke his heart.

  This was crueler than Ginny’s abandonment. He’d accepted his wife’s decision, but had pleaded with her when Raine turned twenty-one to tell their daughter the truth, allow her to make her own judgments.

  Raine had done that, it seemed, and rejected him. Rejected his love.

  This grief was the most painful yet.

  “Thomas?”

  Azucena stood at his classroom door. She was by herself, which was rare, and his fears were immediate.

  “Is everything all right? The children?”

  “They’re fine,” she assured him as she walked into the room. “They’re with Consuela.” Her cousin.

  Azucena’s beauty was unassuming, and at first glance few would find her pretty. He’d been guilty of that himself. For years he’d used her body as an escape from a hell of his own making. He’d loved Ginny, pretended in the dark of night that it was his wife’s body he sank into, his wife who cried out in joy as she received him. But it had been Azucena who slept next to him, Azucena who comforted him when the dream came, who woke up with him in the morning. Azucena who gave him a second chance at life and bore him three wonderful sons.

  Azucena who was his wife now.

  She was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, and his heart swelled with love at the sight of her. He started to get up, but she stopped him.

  “Stay,” she instructed.

  “Stay?”

  “I need you to write a letter for me.”

  “You don’t need me to write your letters.”

  “In English.”

  His curiosity was keen now. “To whom?”

  Azucena’s gentle smile reached out to him. “Your daughter.”

  Nothing could have surprised him more. He wanted to tell her it would do no good. He’d poured out his heart to Raine, pleaded with her to respond—and she’d refused, with no explanation and apparently no regret. Her silence baffled him. Hurt him.

  He took out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen while Azucena removed a folded paper from her pocket. “Please translate this into English for me,” she said, and handed him the letter.

  Thomas read it over and frowned. He read it a second time, then slowly set it aside. He loved Azucena, but she was a simple woman with little education or knowledge of the world. “I don’t think—”

  “If you love me, you will do this.”

  It was unusual for her to ask anything of him. Thomas felt he had no choice. Besides, what did he have to lose? Lorraine hadn’t responded to his letters, and he sincerely doubted she’d respond to Azucena’s heartfelt message, either.

  November 21

  Dear Lorraine Dancy,

  If I could put my arms around you and comfort you, I would. Your grief must be very great. You’ve lost your mother and Jack, and now choose not to answer your father’s letters. I can only assume that you are disappointed in the man your father has become. As his wife, I feel I must come to his defense.

  Your father is a good man. He loves you and he deeply loved your mother. Many times it was her name he whispered in our bed. I pretended not to notice. Only when he learned that I carried his child did he tell me about his daughter. He spoke of you with such tenderness that my fears vanished. You see, until then I didn’t know how your father would react to my pregnancy. At that moment I realized he would love our child, too, even though he didn’t love the mother. At least not then. He does now, very much, and we have three sons. Your brothers.

  Thomas is afraid that you blame him for Jack’s death, and that is the reason you haven’t answered his letters. I think there is another reason. I think you have ignored his pleas because of me. In many ways I understand. My skin is darker than yours, and I don’t speak your language. Nor am I beautiful like your mother was. Perhaps my greatest fault is that I love your father.

  But, Lorraine Dancy, you love him, too. I know this. You would not have traveled to another country to see him if not for love. At the death of your mother, you sought out your father. You needed him then, but I wonder if you realize how much you need him now. When Jack was in the hospital, it was your father you asked to see. Your father who rushed to your side, who held you as you wept, who cried with you. You need your father, and he needs you.

  You love Thomas. I love Thomas, and in return he loves us both.

  We are your family and you are ours. Please. I beg you not to shut him out of your life. For your sake and for his.

  Azucena Dancy

  Thomas read the letter twice to make the translation as accurate as possible. When he finished, he took Azucena’s hand and kissed her palm.

  “I thank God for you,” he whispered.

  She slipped her arm around his shoulders and pressed his face against her soft belly.

  “You’ll come home now?” she asked.

  Thomas nodded. Many afterno
ons he lingered at the school, not wishing to darken the home with his bleak mood or trouble his family with his sense of failure and loss.

  “Good,” she said.

  Together they walked past the tiny post office and mailed the letter. But after all these months of silence from Raine, Thomas didn’t hold out much hope she’d answer.

  He turned to Azucena that night and made love to her for the first time in weeks. Afterward he held her close, grateful for her presence in his life. Mentally he released his daughter, set her free. He couldn’t use her rejection as an excuse to punish himself any longer. He had a new family now, and Raine was welcome to join him and Azucena or make her own life without them. The choice was hers.

  To his surprise, a letter arrived from Raine a week before Christmas.

  Eighteen

  It was Azucena’s letter that persuaded Lorraine to confront her feelings about her father. She suspected Christmas had something to do with it, too. All around her, people were celebrating the festive season with their families. Lorraine had no family. And the only man she’d ever truly loved was dead.

  She hadn’t stayed in Mexico for the funeral and deeply regretted that now. But at the time it had been more than she could bear. Perhaps she’d feel a greater sense of closure—as everyone called it these days—if she’d stayed in Mexico City. She hadn’t even wanted to see the body; that wasn’t Jack, that lifeless shell, bandaged and hooked up to monitors and IVs.

  And she hadn’t been able to tolerate the thought of being with her father, knowing how he’d misled her. She’d only wanted to leave Mexico.

  Never had she felt more like an orphan. She missed her mother dreadfully, and the small traditions they’d observed over the years didn’t feel right when she performed them by herself.