Crossing Oceans (26 page)

A rapping sound was followed by the ding of a cash register shooting open. It slammed shut again. “We’ll wait about five minutes or so to see if anyone else comes; then Harry will take you below.”

Below?
I fingered the button of the cardigan that Craig insisted I wear, trying to figure out what sort of place we’d need to go down into. An underground casino? A tunnel? Maybe it was an old bunker from the cold war era turned into a museum. None of the possibilities seemed to warrant the wearing of a blindfold, but wherever we were going, it certainly beat sitting around the house watching Isabella bond with her new parents.

As we waited, I leaned into Craig. He laid his arm across my shoulder, enveloping me in his warmth and affection. I turned my face toward him and inhaled his smell.

After what seemed like far longer than five minutes, a gruff male voice axed through the silence. “We ’bout ready, Janice?”

I imagined he must be Harry. As soon as the words left his mouth, I heard the door open again and several sets of feet scuffle across the floor.

“Hello,” a male and a female voice said simultaneously.

“Three?” Janice asked.

“What’s wrong with her?” a boy’s voice demanded. He sounded a little older than Isabella. I assumed I was the “her” he referred to.

“I’m surprising her,” Craig answered.

“You can’t see,” the boy said in a mocking tone. He must have been very close to me because I could smell something like sour milk on his breath.

It left me uneasy to not be able to see his proximity, body language, or expression.

“Do you even know where we are?” the boy asked.

The cash register dinged to life once more.

I shook my head, wondering if I could incite him into telling me. “I’ll bet you don’t know either.”

Instead of filling me in, the brat said, “Nice try.”

Craig laughed. “I like that kid already.”

That made one of us.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Harry said.

Craig gathered my cold hand into his warm one and helped me stand. Following the other footsteps and voices, he led me a hundred or so feet before we stopped.

“How long you gonna make the missus wear that thing?” Harry asked.

“Just until we get to the bottom,” Craig answered.

“Well,” Harry said, “make sure you’ve got her, then. Those stairs are mighty steep.”

Craig tightened his grip. “Don’t you worry. It would take an act of God to make me let her go.” He placed my hand around a cold, metal rail and clasped my waist. “Jenny, just take it slow. Like he said, the stairs are steep.”

As he nudged me downward, anxiety filled me. I wanted to know where I was and what waited below. I was certain it must be safe, but still apprehension filled me.

One slow step at a time, with Craig beside me, I descended into the unknown. The air grew colder and damper with each step, and a slow, steady drip echoed in my ears.

No matter how many times or ways I told myself there was nothing to fear, my heart still beat faster.

As I descended, Craig whispered in my ear. “I know that it must be frightening to think about dying, but the darkness won’t last forever.” His grip tightened around my waist. “The next step is the last and then it’s flat ground.”

“You’re going to want to grab that young’un’s hand.” There was something foreboding in Harry’s tone that made my stomach tighten.

I heard a loud click . . . then a scream.

“Turn the lights back on! Turn them on!” the boy yelled.

“It’s okay,” his mother cooed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Terror raced through me. Promise or no promise, I ripped my blindfold off. The darkest blackness I could imagine loomed before my eyes—cold, uncertain nothingness. The boy continued to shriek. Try as I might, I couldn’t catch my breath. If Craig’s hand hadn’t been grasping mine, I feel sure I would have died of fright. I was on the verge of screaming myself when Craig whispered in my ear again. “But then everything changes in the blink of an eye.”

Another click preceded the sudden onslaught of spotlights.

As my eyes adjusted, an underground paradise came into view. Inside a cavern, man-made lights illuminated God-made wonders.

From the cathedral-like ceiling, crystals bound together to form what looked like a castle made of diamonds. Beneath it, a smooth pool of glittering gold lay undisturbed save for the one drip gliding down a formation into it.

All around us, rich, colored lights reflected off crystal formations, making me feel as though I were standing in the center of a giant crown of jewels.

As I looked up at the magnificence that seemed to have no end, my mouth fell open. Everyone’s mouth fell open, even Harry’s—who surprised me by being a small, neat man with a kind face. Still plastered to his mother’s side, the little boy who’d been screaming his head off seconds ago now looked completely at peace with his wide eyes and cherub cheeks.

I turned to Craig. “This is incredible.”

With everyone fixed on the cavern, he gathered me in his arms and locked eyes with me. “Do you see, Jenny? One minute blackness and the unknown, but then just like that, everything changes.”

I felt myself start to choke up as I considered the analogy Craig had presented me. I’d known logically that when death overtook me, the pain and fear would be so very brief in the grand scheme of eternity. I knew that those few scary moments accompanying my passing would be nothing compared to the eternal splendor awaiting me on the other side. I’d wake up in heaven—pearl gates, streets of gold, mansions, and all of that. Even though my mind understood, until that very moment I hadn’t truly grasped it in my soul. When it hit me, it hit me hard and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees.

Craig pulled me tighter against him. “I love you, Jenny.”

In that moment of nirvana, my heart forgot all the reasons why I wasn’t allowed to love him . . . and it just did.

Chapter Thirty-one

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. Isabella spent more and more time with the Prestons, while Craig and I became steady companions. When September was ushered out by October, it took what remained of my health with it.

I had always found it difficult to fully enjoy the beauty of autumn. The trees ablaze with color were certainly magnificent to behold, but to me, these brilliant flashes of gold and crimson fluttering to the ground were little more than a pretty curtain falling on a soon-to-be empty stage. I had always hated the thought of winter’s impending arrival, and that was true this year more than ever.

As I did most mornings, I sat with an afghan tucked around my thin legs, waving good-bye to my daughter as she trekked off to school, hand in hand with her cowpa.

Weeks ago, when Lindsey offered to enroll her in Tullytown Elementary, it was all I could do not to bawl. Not just because my little girl was no longer a baby, or the fact that I wouldn’t get to sign her up myself, but because I hadn’t even had the sense about me to think of it.

Watching my dad walking hand in hand with her reminded me of the father I knew as a little girl—the daddy who packed my lunch, walked me to the bus stop, and pushed me on the swing so high that my mother would shriek with terror. For the first time, I found myself considering that he may have loved me as much as I loved Isabella. Somehow this seemed both likely and impossible.

I called after them, “Bells, you have your lunch?”

She turned and held a small brown bag high above her head. Every day I asked her, and every day she responded the same way. I think the question was just my lame excuse to see her beautiful face one more time . . . just in case. I rocked back and forth in my chair, watching the two of them make their way to the very corner where I had waited as a child.

As they disappeared around the bend, I turned my attention to the lawn. By the time they lowered my casket into the ground, this grass would be faded to the color of straw. Seeing the vibrancy of the green bleed from it a little more each day was like watching sand slip through an hourglass, and boy, was it slipping fast.

A gust of wind rang the chimes that my father had hung the week before. Mama Peg said they reminded her of church bells, but to my ears they sounded like claws on a chalkboard. I pulled my sweater tighter and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. The moment the chimes quieted, I felt another breeze, this one much warmer than the last. Strangely the chimes remained silent. Instead, I heard a familiar voice whisper,
Fall begets winter; winter begets spring.

I rocked faster, trying to ignore it. More and more frequently, I’d hear what sounded like someone sighing cryptic messages into the wind. Instead of these strange little tidings that I’d long since given up trying to decipher, I wished they’d say something useful like “You forgot to put water in the teakettle” or “Hey, your zipper’s down.”

Now and then, hands I could not see would stroke my face or arm, covering me in a fresh crop of gooseflesh. Sometimes I would even smell strange fragrances, like incense or spices, for which I could find no explanation.

I liked to imagine that the closer I got to death, the more the spiritual realm opened to me, releasing glimpses of the afterlife. That’s what I wanted to believe, but a little research indicated that David was probably spot-on when he suggested that the cancer had spread to my brain.

I considered scheduling a CAT scan so I could know for sure but decided it really served no purpose. Tumor or no tumor, it changed nothing. My body was in far worse shape than my mind.

After fifteen minutes or so, my father sauntered back and kissed my cheek, just as he did every morning. His lips felt cold against my fevered skin. “See you later, pumpkin.”

“Where you off to in those snazzy britches?” I asked.

He looked down at his checkered pants, then back to me. “I thought I’d teach Miss Rachael how to swing a nine iron. Her drive—” he chuckled—“or should I say
putt
, needs a little help.”

“You’ve been seeing a lot of her.”

He shrugged. “She’s not your mother, but we have fun.” He looked like he was about to say something else but changed his mind. “Tell your grandma I won’t be home for supper.”

I suspected his new love life had less to do with his fondness for Rachael or golf than it did with having an excuse not to be around me. I didn’t think he could stomach watching someone he loved waste away . . . again. Although his growing distance bothered me, I figured if my dying jump-started his living, at least something good was coming from it.

“This must be getting serious. That’s three times this week.”

His face turned shades of red. “Oh, c’mon, Jenny. I just like having someone to pal around with. I’ve only been seeing her a couple months. It’s no more serious than you and Craig.”

I almost choked on that one. He obviously didn’t understand what Craig and I had become to each other.

“Can you get Isabella off the bus this afternoon?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He squatted beside me and gathered my hands into his. That gesture, coupled with the exaggerated concern on his face, made him look like a soap opera actor. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

I pulled my hands away. “Good grief, Dad. I’m not dead yet.”

He looked as if I had slapped him. “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”

“I’m just tired of everyone treating me like I’m a china doll. I’m not made of porcelain; I’m not going to break.”

Something hit the sidewalk. I looked down at an acorn, then up at the squirrel scampering across the gutter.

“I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to my father. “Go. I’m fine. You kids have fun.”

He stood and looked down at me. “Jenny, make sure you eat today.”

It took everything in me not to say something sarcastic, but I reminded myself that his motivation was love. “I’ll try.”

He studied me a moment, then nodded.

I watched his car back out of the driveway, then gathered up my blanket and went inside.

The kitchen smelled of Mama Peg and maple syrup. My grandmother sat at the table with a half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of her. Her breathing sounded labored; her skin was the color of ash. In other words, she looked like she usually did.

I picked up her dish. “Finished?”

She glanced up from her crossword. A bit of breakfast clung just above her lip like a mole. “Put that down. I’ll take care of it.”

I draped my blanket across the back of a chair. “I’ve already got it.”

She stood and took the dish from my hand. “You don’t need to be doing that.”

“I’m fine.” I reached for the plate again.

She pulled it back. “Jenny, you need your strength.”

I felt my cheeks catch fire and something inside me snap. “Stop it!”

She flinched. “Honey—”

“
Honey
, nothing. News flash: You’re not the picture of health either, in case you haven’t noticed. You want me to start treating
you
like an invalid?”

I snatched the plate back out of her hand and marched over to the sink. After shoving the pancakes into the garbage disposal, I scoured the plate as if it had an inch of caked-on grease, trying to work off my frustration. It seemed like a day couldn’t pass without someone trying to remind me that I was dying—as if I could forget.

I scrubbed and scrubbed until my anger had slipped down the drain with the last of the suds. I wrung out the sponge and stood there, trying to get up the nerve to turn around.

Preparing to face her, I looked out the window at the lake, drew in a breath, and braced myself for retribution—the cold shoulder, a lecture, or at the very least, a disapproving scowl. When I turned, Mama Peg was doing none of those things. Her reaction was something far more punishing—she was crying.

I don’t think I’d ever felt as bad as I did at that moment. I hurried over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Mama Peg.”

She lowered her hands, revealing glistening eyes and a trickling nose. “It’s okay, Jenny. We all have our moments, and you were right.”

I kissed her forehead. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”