His words seared her, his forgiveness more than she could bear. "I'm so sorry, Daddy..."
"Look at me," he said, but she couldn't. She could think only about his need for the piano, something she'd taken away from him. Because she'd thought only about herself. Because she'd wanted to hurt him. Because she hadn't cared.
"Look at me," he said again. His voice was soft but insistent. Reluctantly, she raised her head.
"I had the most wonderful summer of my life," he whispered. "I got to watch you save the turtles, and I had the chance to see you fall in love, even if it doesn't last forever. And most of all, I got to know you as a young woman, not a little girl, for the first time ever. And I can't tell you how much joy those things gave to me. That's what got me through the summer."
She knew his words were sincere, which only made her feel worse. She was about to say something when Jonah burst through the door.
"Look who I found," he said, motioning with the can of Sprite.
Ronnie looked up to see her mom standing behind Jonah.
"Hey, sweetie," she said.
Ronnie turned to her dad.
He shrugged. "I had to call her," he explained.
"Are you doing okay?" her mom asked.
"I'm okay, Kim," her dad answered.
Her mom took that as an invitation to step into the room. "I think we all need to talk," she announced.
The following morning, Ronnie had made up her mind and was waiting in her room when her mom walked in.
"Have you finished packing yet?"
She fixed her mom with a calm but determined stare. "I'm not going back to New York with you."
Kim put her hands on her hips. "I thought we discussed this."
"No," Ronnie said evenly. "You discussed this. But I'm not coming with you."
Her mom ignored her comment. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're coming home."
"I'm not going back to New York." Ronnie crossed her arms but didn't raise her voice.
"Ronnie..."
She shook her head, knowing she'd never been more serious in her life. "I'm staying and I'm not going to discuss it. I'm eighteen now and you can't force me to go back with you. I'm an adult and I can do what I want."
As she absorbed Ronnie's words, her mom shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other.
"This...," she finally said, motioning toward the living room, trying to sound reasonable. "This isn't your responsibility."
Ronnie took a step toward her. "No? Then whose is it? Who's going to take care of him?"
"Your dad and I have talked about that..."
"Oh, you mean about Pastor Harris?" Ronnie demanded. "Oh yeah, like he can take care of dad if he collapses or starts vomiting blood again. Pastor Harris can't physically do it."
"Ronnie...," her mother began again.
Ronnie threw up her hands, her frustration and resolve growing. "Just because you're still mad at him doesn't mean that I have to be mad at him, okay? I know what he did and I'm sorry he hurt you, but this is about my dad. He's sick and he needs my help, and I'm going to be here for him. I don't care that he had an affair, I don't care that he left us. But I do care about him."
For the first time, her mom seemed genuinely taken aback. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. "What exactly did your dad tell you?"
Ronnie was about to protest that it didn't matter, but something stopped her. Her mother's expression was so strange, almost... guilty. As if... as if...
She stared at her mom, recognition dawning even as she spoke. "It wasn't Dad who had the affair, was it?" she said slowly. "It was you."
Her mother's posture didn't change, but she looked stricken. The realization hit Ronnie with an almost physical force.
Her mom had the affair, not her dad. And...
The room suddenly felt suffocating as the implications became clear. "That's why he left, isn't it? Because he found out. But you let me believe all along that it was all his fault, that he walked out for no good reason. You pretended it was him, when it was you all along. How could you do that?" Ronnie could barely breathe.
Her mom seemed unable to speak, and Ronnie found herself wondering whether she'd ever known her mom at all.
"Was it with Brian?" she suddenly demanded. "Were you cheating on Dad with Brian?"
Her mom stayed silent, and again Ronnie knew she was right.
Her mom had let her believe it was her dad who had left for no reason at all. And I didn't talk to him for three years because of it...
"You know what?" Ronnie snapped. "I don't care. I don't care what happened between the two of you, I don't care what happened in the past. But I'm not leaving my dad, and you can't make me--"
"Who's not leaving?" Jonah interrupted. He'd just walked into the room, holding a glass of milk, and he turned from their mom to her. She could hear the panic in his voice.
"Are you staying here?" he asked.
It took a moment for Ronnie to answer as she wrestled her anger under control. "Yeah," she said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. "I'm staying."
He put his glass of milk on the dresser. "Then I'm staying, too," he announced.
Her mom looked suddenly helpless, and though Ronnie could still feel the sharp edge of her anger, there was no way she was going to let Jonah watch his father die. She crossed the room and squatted down.
"I know you want to stay, but you can't," she said gently.
"Why not? You're staying."
"But I don't have school."
"So what? I can go to school here. Dad and I talked about it."
Their mom moved toward them. "Jonah..."
Jonah suddenly backed away, and she could hear the panic rising in his voice as he realized he was outnumbered. "I don't care about school! That's not fair! I want to stay here!"
34
Steve
He wanted to surprise her. That had been his plan, anyway.
He'd played a concert in Albany; his next performance was scheduled in Richmond two days later. Normally, he never went home while on tour; it was easier to maintain a kind of rhythm as he traveled from city to city. But because he had a bit of extra time and hadn't seen his family in two weeks, he caught a train and arrived in the city as the lunch crowd came streaming out of their office towers in search of something to eat.
It was pure coincidence that he saw her at all. Even now, the odds seemed so remote as to be impossible. It was a city of millions and he was near Penn Station, and he was walking past a restaurant that was already nearly full.
His first thought, when he saw her, was that the woman looked exactly like his wife. She was seated at a small table wedged against the wall, across from a gray-haired man who appeared to be a few years older than her. She was dressed in a black skirt and a red silk blouse and was running a finger over the rim of her wineglass. He captured all of that and did a quick double take. It actually was Kim, he realized, and she was dining with a man that he'd never seen before. Through the window, he watched as she laughed, and with a sinking certainty, he knew he'd seen that laugh before. He remembered it from years ago, back when things were better between them. When she rose from the table, he watched as the man stood and placed his hand on the small of her back. The man's touch was tender, almost familiar, as though he'd done it hundreds of times before. She probably liked the way he touched her, Steve thought as he watched the stranger kiss his wife on the lips.
He wasn't sure what to do, but thinking back, he couldn't remember feeling much of anything. He knew they'd been distant with each other, he knew they'd been arguing too much, and he supposed that most men would have gone into the restaurant and confronted the two of them. Perhaps even made a scene. But he wasn't like most men. So he shifted the small carry bag he'd packed the night before to his other hand, turned around, and headed back in the direction of Penn Station.
He caught a train two hours later and arrived in Richmond late that evening. As always, he picked up the phone to call his wife, and she a
nswered on the second ring. He could hear the television in the background as she said hello.
"You finally made it, huh?" she asked. "I was wondering when you were going to call."
As he sat on the bed, he pictured the stranger's hand on the small of her back. "I just got in," he said.
"Anything exciting happen?"
He was in a budget hotel, and the comforter was fraying slightly at the edges. There was an air conditioner beneath the window, and it rattled, making the curtains move. He could see dust coating the top of the television set.
"No," he said. "Nothing exciting at all."
In the hospital room, he remembered those images with a clarity that surprised him. He supposed it was because he knew Kim would be arriving soon, along with Ronnie and Jonah.
Ronnie had called him earlier to tell him that she wasn't going back to New York. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. He remembered his dad's shrunken, emaciated figure toward the end, and he didn't want his daughter to see him that way. But her mind was made up, and he knew he wouldn't be able to change it. But it scared him.
Everything about this scared him.
He'd been praying regularly in the last couple of weeks. Or, at least, that's how Pastor Harris had once described it. He didn't clasp his hands or bow his head; he didn't ask to be healed. He did, however, share with God the concerns he had regarding his children.
He supposed he wasn't much different from most parents in his worries for them. They were still young, they both had long lives ahead of them, and he wondered what would become of them. Nothing fancy: He would ask God whether He thought they would be happy, or continue to live in New York, or whether they would ever get married and have children. The basics, nothing more, but it was then, at that moment, that he finally understood what Pastor Harris had meant when he said he walked and talked with God.
Unlike Pastor Harris, however, he'd yet to hear the answers in his heart or experience God's presence in his life, and he knew he didn't have much time.
He glanced at the clock. Kim's plane was leaving in less than three hours. She would leave from the hospital to go straight to the airport with Jonah sitting beside her, and the realization was terrifying.
In just a little while, he would hold his son for the last time; today, he would say good-bye.
Jonah was in tears as soon as he rushed into the room, racing straight for the bed. Steve had just enough time to open his arms before Jonah fell into them. His birdlike shoulders were shuddering, and Steve felt his own heart breaking. He concentrated on how his son felt against him, trying to memorize the sensation.
Steve loved his children more than life itself, but more than that, he knew that Jonah needed him, and once more, he was struck by the realization that he was failing as a father.
Jonah continued to cry inconsolably. Steve held him close, wanting never to let go. Ronnie and Kim stood in the doorway, keeping their distance.
"They're trying to send me home, Daddy," Jonah whimpered. "I told them I could stay with you, but they're not listening. I'll be good, Daddy. I promise I'll be good. I'll go to bed when you tell me to and I'll clean my room and I won't eat cookies when I'm not supposed to. Tell them I can stay. I promise to be good."
"I know you'd be good," Steve murmured. "You've always been good."
"Then tell her, Dad! Tell her you want me to stay! Please! Just tell her!"
"I do want you to stay," he said, hurting for himself and for his son. "I want that more than anything, but your mom needs you, too. She misses you."
If Jonah had held out any hope, it ended then and there, and he began to cry again.
"But I'm never going to see you again... and it's not fair! It's just not fair!"
Steve tried to talk through the tightness in his throat. "Hey...," he said. "I want you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Jonah forced himself to look up. Though he tried not to, Steve knew he was beginning to choke on his words. It took everything he had not to break down in front of his son.
"I want you to know that you're the best son a dad could hope to have. I've always been so proud of you, and I know you're going to grow up and do wonderful things. I love you so much."
"I love you, too, Daddy. And I'm going to miss you so much."
From the corner of his eye, Steve could see Ronnie and Kim, tears running down their faces.
"I'm going to miss you, too. But I'm always going to watch over you, okay? I promise. Do you remember the window we made together?"
Jonah nodded, his little jaw quivering.
"I call it God Light, because it reminds me of heaven. Every time the light shines through the window we built or any window at all, you'll know I'm right there with you, okay? That's going to be me. I'll be the light in the window."
Jonah nodded, not even bothering to wipe away his tears. Steve continued to hold his son, wishing with all his heart that he could make things better.
35
Ronnie
Ronnie went outside with her mom and Jonah to see them off, and to speak with her mom alone before she left, asking her to do something for her as soon as she got back to New York. Then she returned to the hospital and sat with her dad, waiting until he fell asleep. For a long time he remained silent, staring out the window. She held his hand, and they sat together without speaking, both of them watching the clouds drifting slowly beyond the glass.
She wanted to stretch her legs and get some fresh air; her dad's good-bye to Jonah had left her drained and shaky. She didn't want to picture her brother on the plane or entering their apartment; she didn't want to think about whether he was still crying.
Outside, she walked along the sidewalk in front of the hospital, her mind wandering. She was almost past him when she heard him clear his throat. He was seated on a bench; despite the heat, he wore the same kind of long-sleeved shirt he always did.
"Hi, Ronnie," Pastor Harris said.
"Oh... hi."
"I was hoping to visit with your father."
"He's sleeping," she said. "But you can go up there if you want."
He tapped his cane, buying time. "I'm sorry for what you're going through, Ronnie."
She nodded, finding it hard to concentrate. Even this simple conversation seemed impossibly arduous.
Somehow, she got the sense he felt the same way.
"Would you pray with me?" His blue eyes held a plea. "I like to pray before I see your dad. It... helps me."
Her surprise gave way to an unexpected sense of relief.
"I'd like that very much," she answered.
She began to pray regularly after that, and she found that Pastor Harris was right.
Not that she believed her dad would be cured. She'd spoken to the doctor and seen the scans, and after their conversation, she'd left the hospital and gone to the beach and cried for an hour while her tears dried in the wind.
She didn't believe in miracles. She knew that some people did, but she couldn't force herself to think that her dad was somehow going to make it. Not after what she'd seen, not after the way the doctor had explained it. The cancer, she'd learned, had metastasized from his stomach to his pancreas and lungs, and holding out hope seemed... dangerous. She couldn't imagine having to come to terms a second time with what was happening to him. It was hard enough already, especially late at night when the house was quiet and she was alone with her thoughts.
Instead she prayed for the strength she needed to help her dad; she prayed for the ability to stay positive in his presence, instead of crying every time she saw him. She knew he needed her laughter and he needed the daughter she'd recently become.
The first thing she did after bringing him home from the hospital was to take him to see the stained-glass window. She watched as he slowly approached the table, his eyes taking in everything, his expression one of shocked disbelief. She knew then that there had been moments when he'd wondered whether he would live long enough to see it through. More than anything, she wished
Jonah had been there with them, and she knew her dad was thinking the same thing. It had been their project, the way they'd spent their summer. He missed Jonah terribly, he missed him more than anything, and though he turned away so she couldn't see his face, she knew there were tears in his eyes as he made his way back to the house.
He called Jonah as soon as he got back inside. From the living room, Ronnie could hear her dad's assurances that he was feeling better, and though Jonah would likely misinterpret that, she knew her dad had done the right thing. He wanted Jonah to remember the happiness of the summer, not dwell on what was coming next.
That night, as he sat on the couch, he opened the Bible and began to read. Ronnie now understood his reasons. She took a seat beside him and asked the question she'd been wondering about since she'd examined the book herself.
"Do you have a favorite passage?" she asked.
"Many," he said. "I've always enjoyed the Psalms. And I always learn a lot from the letters of Paul."
"But you don't underline anything," she said. When he raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. "I looked through it while you were gone and I didn't see anything."
He thought about his answer. "If I tried to underline something important, I'd probably end up underlining almost everything. I've read it so many times and I always learn something new."
She studied him carefully. "I don't remember you reading the Bible before..."
"That's because you were young. I kept this Bible by my bed, and I'd read through parts of it once or twice a week. Ask your mom. She'll tell you."
"Have you read anything lately that you'd like to share?"
"Do you want me to?"
After she nodded, it took him only a minute to find the passage he wanted.
"It's Galatians 5:22," he said, pressing the Bible flat in his lap. He cleared his throat before he started. "But when the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control."
She watched him as he read the verse, remembering how she'd acted when she'd first arrived and how he'd responded to her anger. She remembered the times he'd refused to argue with her mom, even when she'd tried to provoke him. She'd seen that as weakness and often wished her father were different. But all at once, she knew she'd been wrong about everything.