Bobby kept his promise. Both he and Courtney did all they could to help and support Marie and the kids. The Dimonds didn’t need money. They needed friendship and stability. Bobby and Courtney were there for them. Always. The extended family stayed strong in spite of the tragedy. Or maybe because of it.
“Marie and the kids came by yesterday,” Bobby said.
“All of them?” Courtney asked. She helped Bobby sit up in bed, moving the pillows and propping him up.
“Yeah. You know those kids aren’t kids anymore. They’ve got their own little ones, for cryin’ out loud, but they still call me Uncle Bibs.”
“And they always will,” Courtney replied.
The two were silent for a moment, then Bobby said, “I wonder if they felt like they needed to see me too.”
Courtney sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t have to answer. Of course that’s why they came.
They were holding hands. It was late. Past visiting hours. The room was silent. There were no monitors of any kind. Bobby wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t care what his vitals were. “If I’m breathing, that’s vital enough for me,” he’d say. The doctors didn’t argue.
“It’s okay, you know,” Bobby said to Courtney. “I’m good with this.”
Courtney nodded.
“You should be too,” he added.
“I am,” she said. “It’s just that…I kind of got used to having you around.”
“Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come over to my house that night?” he asked.
“The night of the basketball game?”
Bobby nodded.
Courtney answered, “Nothing would have changed. Destiny is a funny thing. When something is right, it’s hard to avoid it. We’d still be sitting here, two old farts, spending more time thinking about the past than living in the present.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bobby said quickly. “I’m enjoying this hand-holding business.”
Courtney leaned over and gave Bobby a kiss. She liked kissing Bobby. Always did. They were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
“Uh, ooh, sorry. Excuse me.”
They both looked up quickly, embarrassed that they’d been caught kissing. Standing in the doorway was a man who looked to be in his forties. He wore a long, light brown coat over jeans and a work shirt. His brown hair fell below his ears. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the man said. His eyes were on the ground, but Bobby could see that he was smiling.
“What’s the matter?” Bobby called out in a thin voice. “Never seen a couple of lovebirds smooching before?”
“Please, don’t stop on my account!” the guy said, and backed out the door. “I can come back.”
“Stop!” Bobby called. “The mood’s gone now, thank you very much. Who you looking for?”
The man walked into the room, still holding back his smile. He stood at the foot of the bed. “I’m looking for you, Bobby.”
“Bobby?” Bobby exclaimed. He and Courtney exchanged surprised looks. “Nobody’s called me that since I was a kid. Who are you?”
“I’m here to deliver something to you,” the guy answered. “Is that okay?”
“Sure,” Bobby answered. “So long as it’s something decent to eat. Between the lousy food here and my diet restrictions, I haven’t had anything edible in weeks. I could go for some French fries.”
The guy chuckled and stepped back toward the door.
Courtney asked, “Why are you here so late at night?”
The guy answered, “Because it’s time.”
Bobby and Courtney looked at each other again. Who was this guy? The visitor leaned out the door, reached to the floor, and came back with a large, white cardboard box.
“That can’t be for me,” Bobby announced.
“But it is.” The guy lifted the lid, reached inside, and pulled out a roll of yellowed paper tied with leather twine.
“Looks like a pirate map,” Courtney observed.
Bobby added, “If you’ve come here thinking I might head off on some wild-goose treasure hunt, you’re a little late.”
“No, I’m right on time,” the guy said. “But this is a treasure. Of sorts.”
“What’s this all about, young man?” Courtney asked, growing impatient. “Mr. Pendragon is not a well man. He doesn’t need to be bothered by—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. But I would like you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” Bobby asked.
“Read.”
“‘Read’?” Bobby repeated.
“That’s right. In this box is a story. A good one. Told in thirty-seven chapters.” He held up the roll and added, “This is the first chapter. The rest are in here. Some are in book form. Some are recorded with interesting technology that you can watch with a player. But they’re all part of the same story.”
“What kind of story?” Courtney asked.
“You’ll have to read it for yourself, but I can say this much, you’ll be glad you did.”
The man held out the roll of paper. Courtney took it and examined it curiously. Bobby took it from her and did the same. He ran his fingers over the rough surface, as if trying to glean some information by touching it.
He cast a suspicious look back to the strange visitor.
“Do I know you?” Bobby asked. “You look awful familiar.”
“I doubt you’d remember me” was the man’s answer. “It was a long time ago.”
“I remember everything, and you sure do remind me of somebody,” Bobby said. “You ever been to Stony Brook?”
“Like I said,” the guy answered, “it was a long time ago.”
Bobby stared at the man. Something was tickling the edges of his memory. He had met this man before. He was sure of it. Then, like a light switch being turned on, he remembered.
“I know!” he exclaimed, sitting forward. Courtney held him back, as if the effort might do him some damage. Just as quickly, Bobby relaxed. His excitement was gone. “But that’s…that’s impossible,” he said as Courtney helped him rest back against the pillows. “You sure do look like him, though.”
“I get that a lot,” the man said with a knowing wink.
Bobby kept his eyes on the visitor. Though he knew there was no way he could have been the man he remembered, there was something about this stranger. Something truly familiar. Something that told Bobby he should be trusted.
“All right, fella, I’ll read your story,” Bobby answered.
“It’s not my story,” the man corrected.
“Then whose is it?”
“Just read,” the man replied.
“What do we do with this when I’m done?”
“I’ll come back for it,” the man replied.
“Gee, could you be a little bit more mysterious?” Courtney asked sarcastically.
Her comment made the man laugh. “That’s perfect!” he exclaimed.
Courtney looked to Bobby and shrugged. The guy backed away, headed for the door.
“Where you going?” Bobby asked.
“Gotta run,” he replied. “I’ve got nine more of these to deliver.” He was about to walk out the door when he stopped and looked back. His expression turned serious. “You should read it now.”
He said it like he meant it. Bobby and Courtney both understood.
He winked and added, “But first take a look inside the box. Good night, Bobby. Good night, Courtney. See you soon.”
With that, he was gone. Bobby and Courtney sat there staring at the door for several seconds.
It was Bobby who spoke first. “You’d think I’d be a lot more confused about all that.”
“I know what you mean,” Courtney said. “Who did he remind you of?”
“Nah, it’s silly,” Bobby said dismissively. “Take a look in the box.”
Courtney stood and went to the foot of the bed. She looked inside to see more scrolls of paper. S
ome were the same as the first, others were light green. She saw bound volumes as well as loose sheets, and even a small device that Courtney figured was the “player” the mysterious guy mentioned.
“Now this just keeps getting stranger by the second,” she declared.
“Why?”
She reached inside and pulled out a small, white box with a thin metal handle. She held it up to show Bobby, saying, “Looks like he forgot his take-out Chinese.”
“Close the door!” Bobby exclaimed quickly. “Hurry! I don’t want those nosy nurses coming in and grabbing it away from us.”
Courtney opened the lid, looked inside, and smiled.
“Smells good,” Bobby said. “What is it?”
Courtney chuckled. “When was the last time you had some Garden Poultry fries?”
She tipped the box over, so that Bobby could see it was packed with the tasty, golden strips. Piping hot. Seasoned to perfection. Bobby’s eyes went wide with delight.
“Reading can wait,” he exclaimed.
The two polished off the fries in minutes. The experience brought back long-buried, delicious memories. Neither spoke while they ate. They didn’t want to break the spell. When the last fry was gone and the last finger licked, Courtney looked to Bobby.
“Do you want to read it now?”
“I’m thinking we should. I need your help though. My eyes.”
He didn’t have to explain. Courtney understood. “I’d love to.” She put on her own reading glasses, slipped off the twine that held the scroll together, and was about to unfurl the paper when she stopped and added, “We really had a great life, didn’t we?”
Bobby held his wife’s hand, squeezed it, and said, “The best.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Ready?” she asked.
“And so we go,” Bobby answered.
Courtney gave him a puzzled look. “You always say that. What exactly does that mean?”
He shrugged. “It’s something I say when I’m ready to move on. I’m always saying interesting things. Have I mentioned that before?”
Courtney chuckled and said, “Yes, I think you have.”
In the grand scheme of all that was and ever will be, a few decades is no more than a blip of time. An eye blink. A fleeting moment. But for the souls who live in Halla, every short second counts. All time is precious. The challenge is to make the most of it. The ability to decide how to spend time is a great and powerful gift. Everyone controls their own destiny. Makes their own decisions. Chooses their own fate. Not everyone chooses wisely, but that is the way it was meant to be. The way it should be. The way it will always be.
Bobby Pendragon got what he wished for. A little more time. When it ended, he could look back and know in his heart that he’d spent it wisely.
It was time for him to return to Solara. Courtney would soon follow. However, before that final journey could be made, he had to be prepared.
For that, he had to read.
“Can’t put my finger on it,” Bobby said. “But I’m kind of excited about hearing this story.”
“Then we shouldn’t waste another second.”
Courtney climbed into bed, leaned back into the pillow with Bobby, made sure they were both comfortable, and unfurled the scroll.
In a clear, confident voice, she began to read:
“Journal Number One. Denduron. I hope you’re reading this, Mark….”
THE END
D. J. MacHale, The Soldiers of Halla
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