CHAPTER 11
After Jessie left, everyone stuffed themselves full of Annie’s special spaghetti sauce. Then Clayton settled on the couch for a show before bedtime, while May took a much needed bath after getting more sauce on her face and clothes than in her stomach.
Still in his dress shirt, somehow spotless even after the messy dinner, Luke rolled up his sleeves to do the few dishes in the sink. He ran the water until steam rolled off the faucet, wanting the water as hot as the heater in the basement could get it. He wanted to focus on the sting of the water, the way his skin screamed and begged him to stop. Pain was better than remembering everything else that happened that day. As he was about to plunge his hands into the bubbly water, Will called to him from the front room.
“Dad! Where did you put the brochure you said you got? Is it in your workbag?” He’d given Will a brief rundown of his Maranatha visit as they cleared the table together. It was a highly edited version of the story, of course, but Luke hoped it’d keep Will’s curiosity at bay for a little while at least. As he heard Will messing with the zipper on his bag, he remembered the new Natalie letter behind the brochure. That would only bring up more questions for the already confused teenager.
“Wait! I’ll get it for you,” Luke shouted, pushing away from the sink. He reached Will barely in time, as the boy was peering into the black laptop bag.
“I’ll find it.”
Luke stuck out his hand.
“Ooooo-kay.” Will held out the bag and Luke grabbed it. Sitting down on the second step, it only took him a few seconds to find the brochure he’d tucked behind the unsorted mail, and right behind that, an unread Natalie letter that had come in the mail the day before.
Luke took the unopened letter out of the bag and nearly bumped into Will when he stood up. Before he could think better of it, he held out the sepia-toned brochure to his son.
“This is all I’ve got. Sorry.”
Will didn’t seem to mind. He grabbed it eagerly and stared at the words on the front page as if they held the secret to eternal life.
“No, this is perfect. Thanks for going, Dad.”
For a second Luke thought Will was going to hug him again. Two hugs in a month would be a record. Instead, he gave Luke a crooked smile and settled into a chair in the front room.
Luke returned to his spot on the stairs with Natalie’s letter. After everything that had happened, he didn’t want to read it. It’d feel better to put it away unopened, or even better, shove it through the shredder at work, where it would end up chopped into tiny, unreadable confetti squares. But the blue envelope was already in his hands, his expert fingers estimating two pages folded inside.
He ripped open the letter and two pages of notebook paper slid out—right again. But seeing her handwriting never got easier. The first line caught his eye: “Dear Luke, I’m going to make you so mad at me today.” Luke quickly folded the paper in half, afraid of what he might read next. His hands shook so badly; it all felt like too much in one day—the long trip to Kalamazoo, the picture of Andy and Natalie smiling back at him like they shared a secret he wasn’t supposed to know, Will’s anxious questions. Now, this letter. Luke traced the lines of Natalie’s handwriting through the back of the thin notebook paper.
What could make any of this worse? Luke wondered. Even if she confirmed one of the million scenarios rolling around in his head, answers, any answers, would be better than not knowing. He needed answers.
DAY 103
Dear Luke,
I’m going to make you so mad at me today. First, let me remind you I’ve been a nice girl lately and haven’t been bossing you around nearly enough in the past few weeks. If you think about it, you really, really miss my nagging. I know you do.
So here it is. We had one of our deep conversations last night, the ones you hate where we talk about what happens if I don’t make it through this thing. I only have two rounds of chemo left, and then we get to find out how I did, how my body did fighting off those cancer cells that could right now be burrowing into my body like seeds in the dirt, ready to burst to life after a dormant season.
As usual, you didn’t want to talk about the very real possibility that those post-chemo and radiation scans at the end of June might not bring good news. I guess I don’t totally blame you. I’d probably be the same way if things were the other way around. That’s why I’m writing these letters, right? So I can say things to you I couldn’t in real life . . . even if I know it will make you mad. It may be a cowardly way to handle things, but I think it’s better than leaving those things unsaid, don’t you?
I’ve been watching you sleep. It’s not as creepy as it sounds; I do it when the worry keeps me awake. Usually I run through scenes in my head, potential endings to this nightmare. Last night was a little different though. The insomnia was brought on by something you said before you dozed off.
I was curled up against you, careful to keep the side of my chest with the chemo port tilted away. You kissed my forehead and said, “You can’t leave me; I love you too much.”
“I know; me too,” I said. I nuzzled in closer, pressing my lips against your stubbly neck, enjoying the familiar smell of Zest soap on your skin. “Unfortunately, cancer isn’t scared off by love.”
“Mmmm, I guess not.” Your eyes were closed, and I wasn’t sure if you even remembered what we were talking about. “But our love is different. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. I could never love someone else like I love you.”
I raised my head up. Tried to look into your eyes. You didn’t notice, half-asleep. “No, you’re wrong. You could and you will. You have to.” I waited for you to argue back, tell me why you could never remarry, why I was wrong, but you didn’t. You slept, and I cried because I don’t want you to be alone.
You’re a good man but a quiet man, and I’m afraid of how you’ll cope being alone. Except for those few years in high school and college, we’ve been together for most of our adult lives. You have no living family besides the kids and me; your social group is made up of Brian, a few engineers who, combined, have all the personality of a protractor, and we all know my mom isn’t so happy to spend time with you (sorry about that).
It’s probably only been a few months since you buried me, and I understand if that’s a little fast for you to feel open to a new relationship. You don’t have to start right now. I’m asking you to keep your mind open to the idea of someone new.
You deserve to be happy. I know a relationship wouldn’t mean instant happiness—I’m not that naive—but I’d feel better knowing you’ll at least give it a try. Here is a heads-up: you have two months to arrange a date on your own, and then I have a few plans on how to help you, even if I’m not there in person.
I hope you’re not too mad at me. At least I’m not there to see your face; you know I could never resist your grouchy look. Kiss the kids and tell them I love them. Keep your eyes open. You never know when you could meet someone new.
Love,
Natalie
Luke barely got to the end of the letter before crumpling it in his palm. Four months into treatment—what did Natalie know back then? She was almost done with chemo. She still had surgery on her shoulder blade and five weeks of radiation before those damn scans that said she was cancer-free. She had no idea back then that the letters she was writing really did predict the future, that she was going to die and leave them behind. Reading letters where she blithely blathered on about dating and remarriage made Luke want to throw the ball of paper across the room.
He crunched the papers as hard as he could until the crumpled edges pressed into his palm. Then he had an unsettling thought—perhaps she could talk about “finding someone new” because she had someone new. Maybe she knew from experience that it’s possible to love your family but love another person too—another person like Andy.
Luke put the compressed ball of paper into his pants pocket so he could dispose of it later when the kids were sleeping. He knew it should make him feel strange to throw away one of Natalie’s letters, but this time it felt good. There was too much to think about with his visit to Maranatha House and the picture he’d discovered there. He shook his head, finally remembering the sink full of dishes and steaming water waiting for him in the kitchen. With a yank at his rolled-up sleeves, he headed for the kitchen. Will intercepted him as he was about to put his hands in the sudsy water.
“Dad! Wait!” Will shook the glossy brochure in Luke’s face. “I found something.”
Luke glanced at the water and back at his son. He took the trifold brochure out of Will’s hands.
“What did you find?” Flipping it open, Luke wished he had looked through the booklet before letting his fourteen-year-old have a go at it.
Will pushed his hair out of his eyes and placed his index finger at a small thumbnail photo in the corner of the Maranatha House brochure. It was a close-up black-and-white photo of a smiling young man. Looked like a stock photo until Luke squinted. He knew that face.
“Isn’t that Uncle Andy?” Will took a step back and studied his father, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Uh, I’m not sure. Kinda looks like him though, doesn’t it?” Luke couldn’t let on what he already knew—the picture of Andy and Natalie wearing matching T-shirts, arms around each other, smiling like they belonged together.
“Yeah, it does, but he looks really skinny there. Is that what he looked like when you and Mom met?”
Luke nodded and slowly folded the brochure. He held it out to Will, who grabbed it and opened to the same photo again, studying it carefully.
“It looks a little like him, but I told you, that place wouldn’t give me any information.”
“You should call him. This is a good clue. Maybe Uncle Andy and Mom knew someone there, or maybe it was for their high school community service hours, or maybe Andy is my . . .” Will’s voice trailed off, and a lump filled Luke’s throat. That wasn’t the thought he’d been avoiding all day, but it was close. He coughed.
“Okay, I’ll call him in a few days,” Luke said in an attempt to end the conversation even though calling Andy Garner was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Luke rolled up his sleeve one more time until it hugged his bicep. “First, I need to do the dishes.”
Will hesitated, his shoulders slumping inside his grungy hoodie. “Or we could wait until we know more.”
Luke nodded and plunged his hands into the water. Will tucked the brochure into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a pair of white earbuds. He put one in his right ear and then paused. “Yeah, we should wait. We don’t even know if the guy in that picture is Uncle Andy.” Without waiting for a response, Will put in the other earbud and stomped up the stairs to his room.
Luke yanked the plug in the sink, angry. Angry that the water had turned cold, that his son was peppering him with questions, and most of all, angry that he knew the man in the picture was Andy Garner.
The picture had been cropped so only Andy’s face and shoulders were showing, but he hadn’t been the only one in the picture when it was taken. Over his left shoulder a hand hung down, and on that hand was a ring. Natalie’s engagement ring.
The sink emptied quickly, and Luke turned on the water and let it run until it steamed. When the sink was full, Luke submerged his hands into the water and savored the scalding. This time it couldn’t distract him, not enough anyway. He could stop all Will’s questions permanently with one simple paternity test. Then, when the results came in, Luke would show them to Will and say, “See? I am your dad!” The test would stop Will’s questions, but it couldn’t stop the questions percolating in Luke’s mind. It definitely wouldn’t quiet the one thought that had stopped him from enjoying the spaghetti or laughing at Clay’s sauce-covered face. Maybe Uncle Andy was someone else’s dad and that child’s mother was Natalie.