Hopeless Determination - By Rick Packard

Chapter 26 - A Little Bit of Hope

2008-01-15T20:21:00.000-08:00

It was a frigid January day when Shelly McCarthy hailed a cab at the Madison, Wisconsin airport. Shelly hadn’t slept for days, in anticipation of this trip, and it had been another exhausting journey. The cold Wisconsin wind nipped at her face and froze her fingertips. As she impatiently waited for the cab, she decided that she needed sleep in the worst way. “Some warmth would be nice too,” she thought.

Shelly directed the cab driver to the hotel that she had booked. Once again, she didn’t even bother to unpack her bags when she arrived in her room. She was beginning to wonder if it was all worth it. “Oh well, too tired to worry about those things today,” she thought. Shelly flopped on the bed, and was sound asleep within minutes.

After living the past several months with his in-laws, Dylan Robertson had decided that it was time for a change. He couldn’t just sit there numb in Hope’s childhood house day-after-day. It had been over a month since her death. While time seemed to have stood still for him, the rest of the world was still turning. Hope wouldn’t have wanted him to sit around, half dead himself.

Dylan had purchased a modestly priced condominium. Since Hope’s death, he had accumulated a few pieces of furniture that had been stored in Vern and Ida’s basement, along with the items that had not been sold at the auction. So, with the help of some friends, Dylan was moving out. There wasn’t a lot of stuff, but enough to require the rental of a medium-sized truck. And he was chided more than once for picking the coldest day of the New Year for this task.

“Don’t you guys worry about the weather,” was Dylan’s retort, “I’m treating for dinner tonight. And you can drink all of the beer that you want!” They were more than willing to endure the cold just to help Dylan, but dinner and drinks was certainly a nice perk. And Dylan thought it would be nice to hang out with some of the old gang again.

Shelly McCarthy was up at the crack of dawn that day, ready to take on new challenges. She had learned from the adoption records that her mother’s name was Hope Quinlan. The father’s name was barely intelligible – it appeared to have been smeared. She couldn’t make out the last name, other than the middle letters, “bert.” And as best as she could tell, the first name was four or five letters – perhaps one of them was an “L.” Not a lot to go on.

Shelly had done her homework ahead of the trip, and could not locate a single Hope Quinlan in the Madison phone book. For that matter, there didn’t appear to be a single person in the state by that name. “Of course,” Shelly had thought, “what are the odds that she even lived in Madison in any more?” But Shelly had uncovered a lead. There was one Quinlan with a Madison address, Vern and Ida Quinlan. She had thought of calling, but then decided to pay a personal visit given the sensitivity of the issue. Shelly realized that she might not be a welcome sight. But it would be harder for someone to turn her away, if she was there at the doorstep.

Shelly was nervous and a little nauseated as she climbed into the cab. “130 Winston Circle, please.” She said it with a crack in her voice, and she could feel the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. The thoughts went wild in her head. “Maybe it’s not my mom, but what if they’re related to me? Maybe it’s an aunt and uncle. Maybe Vern is my brother, for all I know.” Shelly squeezed her hands tight, and shut her eyes, “I just pray to God that they can help me.”

Dylan’s friends had driven the truck away to get a head start on the unloading, while he checked the house over once more for anything that might have been left behind. He knew that there was nothing left to move, but he needed some time alone in Hope’s room. Vern and Ida had told Dylan that he could take anything that he wanted from Hope’s room. He left it intact, though. Dylan couldn’t stand the thought of dismantling it. Besides, he could visit anytime that he wanted – anytime he wanted or needed to feel a little closer to Hope.

Dylan sat on the bed, looking around. “Such a wonderful person, such a wonderful life, why did it have to end?” A lone tear streamed down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away because it reminded him that he was alive – it was nice to feel that way, instead of numb. The tear slowly ran from his cheek down his neck. “I wish I could at least see her one more time, just one more time.”

As Dylan stood up, he looked out the window to see a cab pull up to the curb. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Hope climb out the back. “Oh my God,” he said out loud. “How could this be?” Dylan was sure that he was hallucinating as he sprinted down the staircase, two steps at time. “Vern! Ida!” He called to the back family room. “This is incredible! I don’t know what I’m seeing but I think it’s Hope!”

Dylan ran to the front door, slinging it wide open, just as Shelly had stepped onto the porch. She stepped back, startled. Shelly saw a man with a look of joy on his face. As he focused in on her face, though, the joy turned to puzzlement. Dylan stopped dead in his tracks. “This is Hope alright, but she doesn’t look a day over twenty,” he thought. Dylan recalled their conversations about reincarnation. “Could there be some truth to it all?” he wondered.

Shelly had a speech prepared, but she totally forgotten it in the moment. The man on the porch looked oddly familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. Shelly stared back at him for a moment, and then snapped out of it enough to speak a few words. “Uhm, sir,” Shelly said, “I’m looking for Hope Quinlan. Does she live here by chance?”

“Why no,” Dylan replied, “Hope died a little over a month ago. Who are you? Why do you want to see Hope?” Dylan could not get over the uncanny resemblance.

Shelly’s heart sunk to her feet. She had missed meeting her mother by a month. She didn’t know why – maybe it was the culmination of so many months of hard times and so much work all for nothing – but Shelly began to cry.

Almost instinctively, Dylan walked to Shelly, drew her into his chest, and hugged her. Shelly didn’t resist. It was nice to be hugged again. She had been so lonely for so many months. She sobbed as she spoke some of the words of her speech, a speech that was now irrelevant.

“My name is Shelly McCarthy. I was adopted shortly after my birth. Hope Quinlan was my mother.”

Dylan couldn’t believe his ears. For a split second, he wondered if this was some sort of con. Then he realized that the woman before him looked too much like Hope to be a lie.

“Oh my,” he said taking a step back, “then I’m your father. Perhaps we should get in out of the cold. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and there are some people inside that you would probably like to meet.”

Vern and Ida had been peering out the living room windows. They walked to the front foyer, as Dylan and Shelly entered the house.

“Vern and Ida,” Dylan proclaimed proudly, “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter. I guess there’s a little bit of Hope alive after all.”

Chapter 25 - You'll Understand What Happiness Is

2008-01-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

Hope lay there so peacefully, so still. It seemed as if she was in a deep peaceful slumber as she lay on the couch. Dylan had covered her with a blanket, and the cats climbed all over her, sniffing for any sign of life. Finally, one of them lay down close to her head, and the other nestled itself between her feet.

Hope’s mother walked back through the room after phoning the funeral parlor, and was upset with the cats. She shooed them away, apparently fearful that they would harm Hope in some way that Dylan could not understand. Dylan felt angry, believing that the cats were entitled to say goodbye in their own way, but he didn’t have the energy to put up a fuss. He just sat across the room, numb. He didn’t have any more energy for crying. There was nothing left. He just sat; staring at Hope, wishing it was just a bad dream.

Dylan jumped when the front doorbell rang, about an hour later. The funeral home folks had arrived. They asked the Robertsons to say their good-byes. Dylan held Hope tight. She was cold to the touch, but he couldn’t let go - he didn’t want to let go, for he knew that he would never see her again.

Hope’s father delicately pulled Dylan away, and led him to the kitchen. There they sat as the morticians wheeled a stretcher in, on top of which lay a body bag. They had asked that the family leave Hope, so that they could place her in the bag. Dylan became impatient, as the minutes ticked away, stranded in the kitchen. As he peered around the corner to check on their progress, the mortician zipped the bag around Hope. His last memory of Hope’s face was now the cold look of the canvas bag being zipped round and over her head. They wheeled Hope out of the house, into the cold sunny breeze. With his face pressed against the window, Dylan thought that Hope would have enjoyed feeling the warmth of the sun one more time on her face.

There is no rest when there’s a death in the family. There are so many details. Dylan had to make arrangements with the funeral home – although Hope’s situation was fairly “easy,” because she had requested that her body be cremated. Still, Dylan had to meet with the minister. He had to call and email friends and relatives to let them know of the death. And then the phone started ringing nonstop. Amidst all of that, Dylan had to come up with an obituary.

Dylan wanted Hope’s obituary to be something special. When he called the newspaper, they said they needed it by noon. He told them that he wanted time to think. They gave him three extra hours. He scrawled out some words, and began to edit. Funny thing, even though Dylan was writing about Hope, the process took his mind off her death. He was so intent on coming up with something special that he lost sight of what he was actually doing. When Dylan reread it several days later, though, he doubted that he had done justice to Hope’s exuberant existence.

He felt the same sense of failure when it came to Hope’s funeral. Even though Dylan had lived for years in the shadow of her imminent death, he was still unprepared when it happened. He sat there, talking to the minister about the eulogy, trying to reduce Hope’s life to mere words. Hope and Dylan weren’t exactly church-going folks, so the minister hardly even knew Hope. All that Dylan could think of was things like “she liked to run,” “she was a good cook,” “she loved her cats” – things that were all true, but really didn’t get to the heart of things.

Truth be told, Hope loved to run, and it was a part of her life. It was part of what made her Hope. When she was sad or stressed, she ran to make herself feel better. When she was happy, she ran like the wind. And her bright smile greeted all who she encountered. Perhaps they in turn then smiled at someone else, and on and on. But now, that ripple effect is gone forever.

And her cooking – it wasn’t just a meal. It was feast, every time. It was a way that Hope showed how much she loved herself and those around her. Even the simplest meals had little garnishes or other special touches. Perhaps the napkins were folded in a special way, or candles adorned the table’s center. Her meals were another form of her love. And that too had an effect on many lives.

Dylan found it difficult to express how the simple things that made up Hope had such a dramatic impact on the lives around her. The words of her obituary and eulogy did not do her life justice - neither for those who knew her, nor for the casual newspaper reader who happened to read her column that day. No one fully understands the impact of the Hopes in their lives until it’s too late. Just as people take for granted the air that they breathe, the water that they drink, everyone has Hopes in their lives who they do not fully appreciate.

One thing Dylan felt he did do right was to have a special song played during Hope’s memorial service. They had begun their trip with a visit to the Chicago Schubert Theater’s production of “Cats,” and enjoyed the show very much. Dylan had never realized what a poignant piece “Memory” was until then. It really hit home that night. The lyric, “if you touch me you'll understand what happiness is,” always made him think of Hope. True to his word, he would always remember Hope. And now, everyone who attended the memorial would think of Hope too whenever the song was played.

In the days and weeks that followed Hope’s death, Dylan felt numb and lethargic. Nothing mattered at all. He couldn’t smile. It hurt to eat. It hurt to breathe. He didn’t even care if he ate or breathed.

Dylan didn’t want to sleep, as it was no escape. Night after night, he had awful, inexplicable nightmares about Hope. He would see her crouched over, alone, consumed by flames, screaming. And there was nothing that he could do - he just stood there watching, while she knelt in the midst of the searing flames. When his brain could take it no longer, Dylan would awake with a start, his sheets soaking wet from sweat.

Night after night, Dylan would lie in bed, as the grandfather clock chimed 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m. – whatever ungodly hour it might be – and he would try to fall back asleep. But he couldn’t. His sheets were wet and cold, and he had the uneasy feeling that he had abandoned Hope, just left her to suffer in the flames. But he couldn’t figure out what the flames meant. And Dylan felt fear as he lay in his bed - an odd, bewildering sensation that Hope was there in the room, but that she was angry. The feeling perplexed him. Perhaps the countless nights of restless sleep were finally getting to him. Dylan knew that it was irrational, but it felt real, all too real.

Night after night, Dylan would finally give up on the idea of falling back to sleep. When he could muster the courage to pull the sheets off his head and get out of bed, he would arise well before the dawn to watch some inane television show. To say that he actually watched it isn’t really accurate – it was more like he stared at the tube, simply for the company, simply so he didn’t feel so alone.

Dylan tried to discern the meaning of his dream. “Surely, someone like Hope could never end up in hell,” he thought. “If Hope were in hell, there was no justice in the universe, and there was no God that deserved his respect.” While Hope was not a religious person by any means, Dylan believed that she was as good as a person could be. She respected life, and lived it to the fullest. She was a saint to one and all, and never hurt a fly. “If living a life like Hope’s doesn’t get a person into heaven, then the hell with it all,” Dylan thought.

Dylan still believed that nothing happens when a person dies. But even the most steadfast of people can waiver from time-to-time. With Hope on the “other side,” whatever that might be, things became cloudy, and the subject of heaven and hell even more poignant in his mind. Hope was still alive in Dylan’s thoughts and dreams, so perhaps she was still alive somewhere else.

And he wondered why would he even imagine that Hope would be in hell? What in the world could she have ever done that would make him think such a horrible thought? And then he remembered the baby.

Vern and Ida also had the baby on their minds. One day during breakfast, and completely out of the blue, they raised the subject with Dylan. This came as quite a shock to him, as they hadn’t discussed it with him in over two decades.

“Dylan, we owe you something,” Vern said.

“Yes,” Ida said, “and it’s way overdue.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan replied, still half asleep after another restless night.

“We owe you an apology about how we handled the situation with the baby,” Vern said softly. His voice cracked, and Ida took over.

“Dylan, dear, we didn’t handle that situation well at all. The way we treated you and Hope during that time was awful. We made our peace with her before she died….” Dylan was at a loss for words, and sat there dumbfounded.

“What Ida’s trying to say, son, is that we’re really sorry. We took so much out on you during that time, but it was just as much Hope’s fault. Hell, it was probably somehow our fault too, in one way or another.”

“Yes,” Ida continued. “We blamed you for Hope’s pregnancy. And just because you were the father, well, it doesn’t make you totally to blame.”

“This means a lot coming from you guys,” Dylan said. “Thank you.”

“Well, it’s just that you were so good to Hope. We can’t believe that we chased you out of her life back in high school. And we didn’t exactly welcome you back when you guys hooked up later.”

“Yes, Dylan,” Ida said, “we’re just trying to say that we really appreciated everything you did for Hope, and we are so grateful that you were a part of her life.” Ida began to cry, and tears welled up in Dylan’s eyes too.

“And thinking back, Ida and I sure wished we wouldn’t have put so much pressure on Hope to give up the baby for adoption.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad about that,” Dylan interjected. “It was the right thing to do at the time. Hope’s life would have never been the same with a baby in high school. She really didn’t have a choice. She knew that too. Don’t be so hard on yourselves.”

Ida tried to regain her composure. “It’s just that if the child were around – oh this sounds so selfish – but if the child were around, at least we’d have a grandchild now. At least their Hope would have a legacy. At least there would be a little bit of Hope still alive.“

Chapter 24 - A Peaceful Ending

2008-01-15T20:14:00.000-08:00

The days that followed were quiet and uneventful as Hope's life wound down. Dylan spent hours just staring out the front living room window of the house, watching the traffic glide by and the school children marching off to school, then meandering back home. Autumn had reached its peak, and now Wisconsin was spiraling toward winter. Day after day was filled with clouds, as rain pelted the once colorful leaves onto the ground. Thanksgiving was approaching, yet there seemed to be little for which to be thankful.

Hope's condition had deteriorated significantly, and there was nothing that Dylan could do, but helplessly stand by and watch. Recent x-rays, which would be her last, showed that her lungs had been eaten away to nearly half their original size. Hope was now on pure oxygen virtually all of the time. It was so difficult for her to even walk around the house that she became for all intents and purposes a permanent resident of the living room sofa. A large oxygen tank, nearly the size of a man, rested vertically on the floor beside her, a cold constant reminder that Hope's demise, like the falling leaves outside, was inevitable.

Dylan did what he could to comfort Hope, but there was little to do. She was often in a semi-conscious state, usually napping throughout the day and night. He helped her to reach the toilet when necessary, and gave her sponge baths everyday. Hope's appetite was all but gone, and Dylan could rarely even lure her to eat with tempting treats like chocolate chip cookies or bread pudding, goodies that she had only weeks earlier loved to gobble down with much delight. Dylan hated to leave her alone, so he often sat near her, gently running his hands through her hair and over her head to try to sooth her pain. The cats sensed that something was wrong, and usually lay nestled beside her in constant vigil for signs of improvement.

Regretfully, Dylan felt that he had his own life to live too, so he spent time looking for work. He knew that someday he would be on his own again, and that he could not plan to live with Hope's parents forever. As he drove to the occasional job interview, he even glanced at the sporadic "House for Sale" signs, giving consideration to where he might live on his own again.

Dylan’s affect during this time was dull and depressed, and he put on some terrible performances during many job interviews. It was such a waste of time, and it sometimes consumed him with guilt when he returned home from those outings. “How dare I live my life while Hope lies behind limp and dying?” he would think. But then he knew that Hope would want it that way, and that she could not and would not expect him to just sit there hour after hour, day after day, watching her die.

Dylan would share stories with Hope about his job hunting – but never about his passing glances at houses – and she would listen intently and nod. But she would rarely hear the ends of his stories, as she usually slipped back into slumber several minutes after awakening. Dylan would find himself alone again, talking to no one but the cats. Hope's parents both continued with their jobs, as they were not wealthy people and needed the income to stay afloat. So Dylan just sat there beside Hope, listening to her labored breathing and praying that her end would come easily and peacefully.

It was all beginning to seem like an eternity. Dylan could hardly even remember what life was like when Hope wasn't sick. He secretly prayed that the end would come soon. He couldn't stand to see Hope suffer, and he could no longer stand the uncertainty of whether her death would be a peaceful one or painful. “No one ever teaches you anything about dying,” he thought. “It happens to all of us, but we're all pretty much left on our own to figure it out.” Dylan had no idea how the end would come for Hope, and he began to fear the worst.

Years earlier, Dylan had an awful experience with the slow death of a pet cat, Kathryn. He worried incessantly that Hope’s life would end equally badly. Kathryn lived to thirteen years, and her body finally just gave out one day. Her hind legs could hardly move, and she could no longer climb stairs. Dylan spent an entire afternoon and night beside her on the floor, attempting to comfort her. He barely slept, listening to Kathryn’s labored, irregular breathing throughout the night. On several occasions, the breathing seemed to stop, and Dylan thought the end had come peacefully. But then the breathing would once again resume.

Dylan spent the better part of the next day, cuddled beside the dying cat. He dozed off for a mid-afternoon nap, and awoke to her frantically struggling and gasping for air. Dylan became a blubbering lunatic, crying a river, as he took Kathryn to the vet. He couldn’t stand the thought of actually seeing the vet euthanize her, though, and begged the vet to take care of it without him. He hung his head as the vet took Kathryn into a cold, sterile room alone. He was ashamed that he had abandoned his little friend in her greatest time of need.

And Dylan feared the worst with Hope. During Hope’s last days, he often cried himself to sleep at night, not so much because Hope was dying – he had come to accept that fact – but because he feared that he would let her down in her time of need. He worried that Hope’s death would not be peaceful, but that it would be violent and painful. He silently vowed over and over again that he would stick with Hope, whatever the circumstances. Dylan only hoped that he would have the courage to live up to his secret vow.

Thanksgiving came, and they tried to make the best of it. Vern and Ida invited Dylan’s parents for lunch. Hope somehow mustered the strength to make an appearance at the dinner table, but it was short-lived. She had several bites of turkey and mashed potatoes, and then whispered to Dylan that she needed to rest. She lay down on the living room couch while the others continued to dine. The five left at the table said very little. When they retired to the living room to watch football, it seemed that they were really there to watch Hope die.

December came, and while the first official day of winter was several weeks away, the ground was already covered with snow. Hope, who had comes to term with her condition, told Dylan that it was appropriate for her to die at this time. She always hated this time of year. Everything had died, and was now being buried by the snow.

Hope no longer had the strength to climb the stairs to her upstairs bedroom. She spent her last days in the living room, lying on the couch. She had also needed the large tanks of oxygen at this time, as she could only survive on a nearly pure oxygen mixture. The tanks were too large and heavy to haul upstairs, anyway, so the living room was a reasonable choice.

Day after day, Dylan thought that maybe that would be the day, the day that he found Hope dead on the couch. He had tried to sleep in the living room with Hope for several nights, but it did not work. Her breathing was just too loud and disruptive, and he could not survive under the stress of the times without sleep. He had resigned himself to sleeping in Hope's room, and making the uncertain journey downstairs each morning, never knowing what he would find. He hated the thought of leaving Hope alone on the couch, but there seemed to be no alternative.

On an early December evening, Dylan bade Hope goodnight, like every night before since he had returned to sleeping in her bed. He hugged her, and said, “I love you.” Hope didn't respond, laying there deep in sleep, or unconsciousness. The line between the two was becoming harder and hard to define. When Hope first began using the large tanks of oxygen, they lasted for a week or more. She was now going through the tanks at a rate of one every two days.

As Dylan walked upstairs, he turned to look at Hope, overcome by the fear that this might be the last time that he saw her alive. His eyes swelled with tears, and he rushed back to the couch. Hope was oblivious to his presence as he sobbed uncontrollably be her side. Dylan decided that he would not leave her side that night, and that he would be there for her. He didn't sleep at all that night, but finally dozed off as the first glimmer of daylight appeared outside.

Dylan awoke several hours later, and was startled by Hope's absence. He yelled for her, but heard no reply. The toilet flushed, and he rushed to the bathroom door. Hope emerged, shuffling her feet, and pushing the portable oxygen tank used for these small trips. She forced a small smile, and Dylan assisted her back to the couch.

When Hope reached the couch, she tried to speak, but she was out of breath after walking from the bathroom. She gasped for air, and Dylan switched her to the floor tank. Hope began to sob as she caught her breath, and then she embarked on an unexpected tirade.

"Why did I give up my baby, Dylan?" She said over and over. "How could I do such an awful thing?" Why did you let me do that? I am such a terrible person." Dylan tried to calm her down, but his efforts were to no avail. Finally, Hope just wore herself out, and the delirious blather ceased. She fell into a deep sleep, and she didn’t wake up again that day.

Dylan was a wreck, and now feared the worst. It was only 10:00 a.m., but he rushed to the kitchen, found the liquor cabinet, and poured a shot of whiskey. He needed something to calm his nerves. But as he put the tumbler to his lips, he realized that alcohol was not the answer. He turned to the sink, and dumped the contents of the glass down the drain. Dylan sat at the kitchen table, with his hands on his head, and cried himself to sleep. He didn't wake up until Hope's mother returned home from work later that afternoon.

Dylan, Vern, and Ida watched TV that night sitting beside Hope. A humorous Christmas movie was on, and they tried to make the best of things. They chuckled some, but the mood that night was somber in stark contrast to the levity on the TV screen. Then Dylan realized that Christmas was going on all around them, but there was no sign of it in the house.

Dylan woke up the next morning to find Hope still alive, but his nudges could not bring her to consciousness. Dylan left the house that day, the first time in almost a week, and ventured out in the snow for a Christmas tree. When he returned, Hope was still asleep. He set the tree up in the corner of the living room across from her, and began to decorate it. When it was properly glimmering with tinsel, and the bulbs burned bright in every strand, he awoke Hope from her deep sleep. Dylan had to prod her more than once, but he finally brought her back to consciousness.

Christmas was something special to Hope. The holiday always brings out the best in people, but it seemed to have an even bigger impact on her. She would smile and sing non-stop, while she baked cookies for all of her coworkers and everyone in the neighborhood. She absolutely loved that time of year – it was almost as if her heart had a little bit of Santa built right in.

Dylan could hardly believe that he had let so many days pass since Thanksgiving without putting up the Christmas tree. For Hope, there was never a delay. While others may have flocked to the malls on the day after Thanksgiving, Hope always headed straight for the basement. She didn’t want to miss a day of Christmas festivities, and was always up bright and early on the day after Thanksgiving, retrieving box after box of Christmas decorations and ornaments. The tree ornaments were always her favorites, as they held so many memories. Many of them had special stories behind them related to how she received them or on what trip they were purchased. Everyone always said that the Robertsons had the best Christmas trees that they had ever seen.

When Dylan directed Hope's attention to the Christmas tree that December 12, her eyes opened wide. "Oh Dylan, it's beautiful," and "Is it Christmas?" were her only words. Dylan helped her up, and they walked over to the opposite corner. Darkness was approaching, and the only light in the room came from the tree. Dylan had put some Christmas music on the stereo, and one of Hope's favorite songs "White Christmas," played softly in the background. Hope carefully looked the tree over with a smile on her face, and then she gave Dylan a firm hug. He escorted her back to the couch, where she continued to eye Dylan’s tribute to Christmas. She asked that he leave the tree lights on that night, and eyed them from her pillow as she drifted back to sleep.

Hope's parents were gone for the evening, attending a work-related holiday function. Dylan sat in the living room with Hope, staring at the tree, thinking about wonderful Christmases past. He made plans to go shopping the next day. Even if Hope couldn’t enjoy them, she deserved some presents. When he finally tired of sitting, Dylan hugged Hope, and kissed her good night.

Friday, December 13. It hadn't even occurred to Dylan as he woke up that morning that he was opening his eyes to such an ominous day, Friday the thirteenth. He walked down the stairs like he had every other day that month. Hope wasn't on the couch, and he imagined that she had found her way to the bathroom. Dylan glanced down the hall to the bathroom, though, but no sign of Hope. He panicked, and ran to the living room. Dylan found Hope in the corner by the Christmas tree, barely alive, barely breathing. Sometime during the night, she had freed herself from the oxygen. Hope had crawled to the tree to nestle herself within its protection.
Dylan carried Hope to the couch, and tried to reattach the oxygen to her face. She was semi-conscious, and shook her head no, as she pushed the mask away.

“It’s time, honey, it’s time. I’m ready.” She could barely speak, but Dylan understood. And he accepted her wish.

Dylan cradled Hope in his arms. “What can I do to make it easier, sweetie? What can I do for you?” Dylan felt panic, along with a million other emotions rushing through his body like a shot of adrenalin. He kept his cool, though, reassured by Hope's strength.

With calmness and conviction, Hope opened her eyes, looked up at him, and whispered, "I love you."

Dylan whispered, "I love you" in return. Hope closed her eyes, and her breathing stopped. She died peacefully in Dylan’s arms.

And it was over. The worries of how she would die, of when she would die, if Dylan would be there when she died, and on and on and on - none of that mattered anymore. It was over. And Dylan was in shock. Despite weeks of preparation, Dylan was not prepared for that morning.

Hope's death was so peaceful that it was almost beautiful. “I should have known that someone of Hope's character would bow out so gracefully, so courageously,” Dylan said to Vern and Ida, who had just reached the downstairs.

Dylan looked at Hope's parents from across the room. They stopped in their tracks at the base of the staircase. Dylan’s hands began to tremble, and he cried uncontrollably. He cried first because he had lost his cherished loved one, his best friend. Then he cried out of relief that it had ended peacefully. And then he cried because he was all alone.

Chapter 23 - A Welcome Home

2008-01-15T20:09:00.000-08:00

It was late November by the time Hope and Dylan headed back to Wisconsin. As Dylan lay there that last night in the St. Augustine hotel listening to Hope laboriously breathe, he was surprised with how quickly the time had flown by, and with how quickly Hope’s condition had deteriorated.

“I guess I thought that we would be on the road a lot longer than we have been,” he thought. “Boy, I really was in denial…. But Hope always seemed healthy overall.” It was shocking for him to see the frail shell of what she once was only six months after they had set out on their journey.

Hope woke up late in the morning the next day. Dylan lay there beside her all night and into the morning, just biding his time until she awoke, not wanting to disturb her. There was so much planning to do that Dylan just couldn’t sleep.

“Perhaps I was naïve, but I never thought it would all end this way. I feel terrible for Hope. Where are we to go? What were we going to do?” In hindsight, Dylan wondered whether the whole trip was a mistake. “But it was surely worth it for all of the wonderful times that Hope and I shared during her last days.”

Dylan had made arrangements for the couple to stay with Hope’s parents in Madison. Vern and Ida were more than happy to have us stay with them. They were decent people, but Dylan’s relationship with them had been strained going all of the way back to the time when Hope and he had dated in high school. And about the best that Dylan had to offer at the moment was a hotel or an apartment.

“I’ll just swallow my pride,” he thought. “It would certainly be better for Hope to stay with her parents, rather than some sterile hotel room.” Hope and Dylan would be staying in her old bedroom, and maybe that would provide some comfort for her.

Hope turned to Dylan as he lay beside her. She forced a small smile, and asked for his assistance. Dylan helped her get out of bed so that she could go to the bathroom. She was in there for quite awhile, and he became concerned, so he crept near the door. Dylan could hear sobbing, and he gently tapped on the door. “You okay in there, honey?”

“No, I’m not, Dylan, but please don’t come in. I’ll be okay.” The sobbing continued. Dylan returned to the bed, feeling useless and helpless.

Hope emerged ten or so minutes later, asking for Dylan’s assistance so she could shower. He helped her undress, and they set the oxygen tank near the tub, so that she could inhale from the tube when she needed. Her shower was a brief one. She didn’t have the strength to stand for very long.

They left for the airport shortly after finishing their last room service meal. They were glad to be headed home, and Hope’s spirits lifted as they climbed into the rental car. Hope slept all of the way to the Jacksonville airport. As Dylan drove along, the nagging feelings of life without Hope entered his thoughts again. He again thought about what his life would be like without her. And once again he felt terribly guilty about it. It’s not so much that he made specific plans that didn’t include Hope, but he simply began to wonder what the future had in store for him. He tried to turn his thoughts to other things, but Dylan kept coming back to Dylan. He was glad to reach the airport so he could shift his attention to other things.

Dylan stood in line at the check-out counter, while Hope rested on a nearby seat. The airport was crowded, and difficult at times for Hope to maneuver her oxygen through the passing throng. They waited at their gate for only a short while before boarding began.

When they called the Robertsons’ row, they moved into line. Dylan thought nothing then of the airline employee who earlier had been eyeballing Hope’s oxygen tank. Dylan assumed that she was just a leering, obnoxious cretin, without any manners.

“Excuse, me, ma’am. You can’t get on this plane with that oxygen tank.”

Dylan couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean? What are you talking about? We need to get home.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You need a certified tank, a special one that can withstand the pressure changes.”

Dylan totally lost his cool at that point. All of the emotions that had been churning inside him - anger, fear, self-pity, and confusion - just boiled over. This was all news to him, and it was not the news that Dylan wanted to hear.

Dylan raised his voice; probably well past a reasonable volume, even under those circumstances. “What the hell are you talking about? How come no one told me about any of this before?” The line behind all took a giant step back. Many of the passengers were just a little scared that Dylan was going to totally lose his temper, and who knew what might happen then.

The employee remained calm, to her credit. But the tinge of sarcasm in her voice when she asked, “Well, did you tell anyone about the oxygen?” was just enough to totally set Dylan off. He began ranting and raving. Hope tried to calm him down, but he was fuming mad.

“Look, we have to get on that plane. My wife is very ill. We have to get on the plane.” Dylan was practically screaming by then. He went totally ballistic, and that poor ticket-taker was unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time that day.

Before he knew what happened, two airport security guards grabbed Dylan by the arms. He was adeptly whisked away from the line into a nearby room, kind of like a conference room, but more like some special holding area. “What the hell is going on?” Dylan shrieked. He tried to wiggle free at first, but ultimately succumbed to their strength, realizing that resistance was futile. By the time they pushed Dylan down into a chair, he realized that he may have overreacted. He began to take long, deep breaths in order to calm down.

“Fella, just what the hell were you doing out there?” the larger of the two guards asked. They still had a tight grip on Dylan, even though he was seated.

“Look, I’m really sorry guys,” Dylan said as he looked down at the table. “It’s been a rough couple of days. I’m sorry. I got way out of hand. Sorry.”

When the guards could see that Dylan had regained his composure, they loosened their grip on his arms. Then Hope came into the room, and actually had a smile on her face. “That was quite a show you put on, Dylan.” She came over and hugged him, and he began to cry. She held him tight until she could stand no longer.

"Dylan, I think that I have things worked out. They won’t let me take the oxygen on the plane, but they have special canisters that we can rent. I guess they’re worried about these things exploding or something. We’re going to have to leave this one behind. They’ll have a canister lined up for us within an hour or so.”

Dylan almost lost it again. “We’ll miss the flight –“ Hope gently put her hand across his mouth.

“It’s the best they can do, honey. They’ve got us lined up for the next flight to Madison, which is just a little later this afternoon. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Dylan heaved a mammoth sigh as Hope finished. The guards suggested that Dylan and Hope could stay in the room while they waited for the next flight. Dylan again apologized as they exited. The room was some sort of private first class lounge, so Hope was able to stretch out on a sofa while the minutes ticked away until their flight. She fell into a deep sleep while Dylan stared out the window. It was a cloudy, dreary day, and the rain that gently streamed down the window reminded him of the countless, unwelcome tears that had recently fallen into Hope’s and his lives.

They boarded the next flight without incident, and were pleasantly surprised to be assigned first class seats. Hope winked at Dylan, saying, “I guess all of your ranting and raving paid off!” Dylan remained embarrassed about the event, and wanted to get out of Florida as soon as possible. But he was glad to see that Hope still had her sense of humor. The crew tended to their every whim and fancy on that flight. Dylan wondered if it was because they were in first class, or because the crew had all heard about the lunatic that would be riding on their plane.

The plane arrived in Madison at around 8:30 p.m. Dylan had arranged for Hope’s parents to pick them up at the airport. They expected a low-key greeting, and never in a million years would Hope and Dylan have expected what they saw that evening.

Dylan would later recall that never in all of his life did he see such an outpouring of love and affection. As they walked off the jet-way, and into the airport terminal, they were greeted by a throng of people - friends and family, former co-workers, former neighbors - all there to pay their respects to Hope. It was a totally unexpected heart-wrenching show of support, reminiscent of the final scene in the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Hope was exhausted from the flight home, but she stood there and waited as each person greeted her with a hug and a few kind words. There were countless offers to assist in the future in any way necessary. Their words and smiles of support did not reveal it, but the pained expressions in the eyes of the well-wishers made clear that they saw a much different Hope that day than they saw before the six-month journey. Hope had lost at least five or ten pounds in the past week, and she looked so feeble with the oxygen hose running to her nose.

There were so many people there to greet them that Hope eventually had to take a seat in the terminal as the ranks filed by. While Hope would have preferred to just get home and rest, she never let on to the crowd. She remained stoic and appreciative until the last caller had said his piece, some 45 minutes after they landed. Then they loaded up the car, and drove to Hope’s parents. It was an unforgettable homecoming that would unfortunately be overshadowed by the events of the next several weeks.

Autumn was Hope’s favorite season, and it was at its peak when she and Dylan awoke the next day. They felt a certain “culture shock” going from palm trees and heavy humidity to cold air and trees all ablaze in yellow and orange. Halloween had recently come and gone, and one could still sense the youthful excitement in the air.

Hope felt a youthful reinvigoration waking up in her childhood room. The room was much how she had left it, some twenty-five years earlier. She walked around, picking up this and that, reminiscing out loud. Dylan sat in bed listening attentively. She told of past adventures, and of the special significance that her many trinkets and knickknacks held. Hope had certainly led a full life in her short time on earth, and Dylan enjoyed seeing a smile on her face.

She was flipping through the pages of a scrapbook when a newspaper clipping turned her mood somewhat melancholy. When she was in high school, she had entered a poetry contest sponsored by a local bookstore. Hope read her poem aloud:

IRONIC
An autumn tree loses
Its blanket of
Summer leaves
To stand naked
In the cold winter wind.

“Wow, that’s great, Hope. It’s short, sweet, and to the point, yet elegant. I can see why you received a second place award.” Hope was not moved in the least by Dylan’s praise.

"Dylan, I plagiarized this poem. I have never forgiven myself for it, and I feel terrible about it now. You see, I was kind of dating a boy at the time. You didn’t know him, and it was before our time. He was someone I met on a summer vacation, while camping – he didn’t go to our school. Actually, we were more like pen pals. I never did see him again after that summer." Hope paused, staring out the window, lost in thought.

"Tommy Rierdon was his name,” she continued. “He sent me some poems that he had written. I just loved this one, and I entered it. But I intended to enter it under his name, but – I don't remember why – something got screwed up, and the entry was under my name. I was flabbergasted when it won second prize."

"Hope," I interrupted, "that doesn’t sound like plagiarism to me. You never intended to enter it under your name."

"No, but I took all of the credit. I never corrected the error, even though I had more than one opportunity to do so. I feel so ashamed. I got all of this attention in the paper, and I even won a beautiful poetry book." She hunted through her bookcase, and snagged the book. It looked brand new. "I never even opened the book. I just couldn’t stand to…."

Dylan tried to console Hope, but she would have none of it. "Hope, would you feel better if you could tell Tommy about this?"

"Believe it or not, I actually tried to contact him several years later, but I couldn't locate him. His family had moved, and the forwarding order had expired."

Dylan convinced Hope that all was not lost, and that maybe he could track Tommy down. They gathered all of the information that she had on him, and Dylan set out to see what I could do. The Internet was not a resource available to Hope when she last attempted to locate Tommy. Within a short time, Dylan had several reasonable leads. He began making phone calls, and had tracked Tommy down by mid-afternoon. Hope was napping when he finally reached the real Tommy Rierdon. He sounded excited about speaking with her. Hope slept for another hour after Dylan hung up the phone.

Hope's eyes were as big as saucers when Dylan told her the news. They went into Vern’s den to make the call. As Dylan followed her in, Hope turned and gave him a look like a teenage girl about to speak with her first boyfriend – she didn't need him eavesdropping - so Dylan did an "about face," and closed the door behind him as he left the room.

Hope spoke with Tommy for about an hour, and Dylan could hear an occasional giggle or shriek from his resting place in the living room, down the hall. When she emerged from the room, her face was aglow. "Oh, Dylan, that has to be one of the best things that anyone ever did for me. Thank you so much for locating Tommy." She went on non-stop to tell all about his life, his wife, his kids, even his pet cats.

"I want to do something now that I have wanted to do for years!" Hope marched into her bedroom, grabbed the second prize poetry book, and pulled the second prize certificate from her scrapbook. She took some whiteout, and blanked out her name from the certificate. She carefully scrawled "Tommy Reirdon" in its place. They then wrapped the certificate along with the book, and prepared them for mailing to Tommy the next day.

As Hope applied the last stamp, the doorbell rang. "Well, who could that be?"

Hope walked to the door, and nearly fainted when she saw who was on the other side. "Buddy! Felix! What in the world are you guys doing here?"

Unbeknownst to Hope, Dylan had contacted the people with whom they had left their two cats. While the new owners had grown attached to Buddy and Felix over the past several months, they were willing to part with them under the circumstances. It was a tearful reunion for Hope and a sad farewell for the cats' most recent companions. Hope squeezed the little guys so hard that Dylan thought they might burst in her arms. Hope spent the rest of the evening brushing and playing with her furry friends.

Later, when Hope finally retired for bed, it was clear that the day had taken a toll on her. Her face was pale, and she looked utterly exhausted. But a smile was still on her face, as she petted Buddy and Felix beside her. As Dylan kissed her goodnight, Hope whispered, "You did something so nice for me today. My conscience feels so much better, and we have our little furry friends back. This has been one of the best days of my life. Thank you so much."

Chapter 22 - Cold Hard Cash for Information

2008-01-15T20:04:00.000-08:00

Shelly slowly awakened, not quite remembering where she had spent the night. The room was dark. She turned to spot the clock, and the unfamiliar red glow of the numbers sent a flood of thoughts rushing back. “Oh, God, if only this had just been a bad nightmare, how nice that would be,” she thought. She lay in bed, not wanting to get up, but unable to fall back asleep.

Staring at the clock’s red minutes slowly clicking by, Shelly felt sorry for herself. The longer she thought, though, she realized that she had much for which to be thankful. Her parents had been loving and kind, and she had a wonderful childhood full of opportunity and potential. And she still had that opportunity and potential - things were just a little different than she had planned they would be.

“I still have a good existence,” she realized. “I’ve just hit a rocky patch.” Shelly could hardly imagine the hellish existence of the countless street people she had seen the day before. Things she had taken for granted - a hot shower, soap, warm meals, a bed with sheets and covers, and on and on - were beyond the grasp of many of these people, and always would be. She vowed then to always look on the bright side, and to not to take the simple things for granted.

Shelly stood in front of the adoption agency some 45 minutes later. She had no plan, no idea what she would do, and only hoped that something would come to her as she once again prepared to sit on the curb. It was a cloudy, chilly, dreary day. For the first time, Shelly noticed puddles of water at her feet, and downed tree branches nearby. A late summer evening thunderstorm had cleared out the heat and humidity of the day before, and Shelly had slept right through it. “My gosh was I ever tired last night. It looks like that storm was a whopper,” she thought.

Shelly found a dry area of concrete, and plopped down. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew that she sat down in front of the agency for one reason, and one reason only. Shelly was somewhat surprised with herself. She didn’t even feel remorseful or guilty about her decision. She only knew what she had to do, and she was going to do it, regardless of the consequences.

The agency had not yet opened its doors. Twenty to thirty minutes later, a man arrived, unlocked the door, and slowly shuffled his way in. Shelly thought that he may have been the man she encountered on the first floor the day before. Then paranoia rushed through her veins, and she stood up in a bolt. “Cripes, I can’t be sitting here, just waiting for trouble. Everyone who works for that agency will see me, and someone will surely recognize me. This probably calls for some discretion.”

Without wasting a second, Shelly rushed across the street, down to the left. She found an unassuming park bench about seventy-five yards down the street, and made herself comfortable. If she leaned forward, and tilted her head to the right, she could peer past some bushes to get a view of the agency’s front door. She patiently kept watch, but there was little to be seen. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes went by, but no one else entered the building. Shelly checked her watch, as it rounded the corner to 9:00 a.m. “Aw, the heck with this,” she thought, standing up.

Just then, she spied the two women from the second floor approaching about a half a block away to her left. It looked as if they would walk right in front of her. Shelly panicked, not knowing what to do, but knowing for sure that she did not want them to see her. She spotted an old newspaper lying on the ground. It was wet from the rain, but Shelly was desperate. She unfolded it as best she could, water running down her sleeves. Spreading it open wide, she buried her head inside, pretending to read. “Oh, this must be quite a sight,” she thought. “Who is going to believe that I am reading this waterlogged thing?”

Shelly listened attentively as the women passed. They were discussing the evening’s storm, and did not seem to pay the least bit of attention to her. They walked on by, and Shelly was sure that neither woman had even noticed her. Just to be safe, she kept her head buried in the paper for several minutes longer. When she could no longer stand the feeling of moldy water running down her sleeves, she crumpled the paper and tossed it back to the street.

Shelly was startled as she looked up from the street. There standing in front of her was the anonymous woman from the agency. Shelly didn’t know how to react, having been caught off guard.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

The woman cast a thoughtful stare and a sly grin. “Oh, I think the better question, ma’am, is what are you doing here and what do you want?” Shelly was caught red-handed, leaving her flustered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was Shelly’s only reply, uttered with a sense of indignation.

“Let’s cut through the crap, lady, I know why you’re here.”

Shelly was having second thoughts, and looked down at the ground.

“Okay, first off, lady, are you a cop? You gotta tell me if you’re a cop if I ask you. So don’t you lie to me lady.”

“No, I’m not a cop,” Shelly mumbled.

“You better not be, lady! Okay, I know you want your adoption records, and you know I’m your only hope. I’ve seen this a dozen times.” The woman paused for a second, mildly chuckling to herself. “With this place going out of business, I guess I won’t be seeing this many more times more, though….” The woman drifted off into thought, as if trying to determine where her next scam would be.

“Okay, where was I?” the woman continued, not giving Shelly an opportunity to interrupt. “Look, here’s the way it is. You get me $10,000.00. You meet me at Union Station on Thursday at 7:45 a.m. by the fountain on the Capitol side. You be there with that money, and I’ll get the information you need. This is your one and only chance.” She turned and walked away.

“Hey, wait a minute. You don’t even know my name,” Shelly yelled. The woman marched back, and Shelly continued. “Assuming I wanted this information, how are you going to get if for me by Friday?”

“That’s not the way it works, honey. Money first, cold hard cash - information later. You get me the money, and you’ll have what you need by the end of the day on Friday.”

Shelly was dumbfounded. She couldn’t even believe that she was having this conversation. “But I’m from out of town. How am I going to come up with that much cash by tomorrow?”

“Hey, that’s your problem, lady. See you tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, no cops – or I’ll kick your ass good.” And the woman hurried across the street, and into the agency.

Shelly had a million thoughts running through her brain. “How am I going to get that much money in a day? How can I trust this total stranger? What if someone saw us? I could go to jail for this.” Her mind raced, but she just stood there, staring blankly down the street, self-absorbed in her own thoughts. She didn’t budge until a passing pedestrian brushed against her.

“Well, I’ve got to get the money. If I have to risk $10,000.00 to find my birth parents, I’m prepared to take that chance.”

Her first thought was to try a cash advance on her credit card. The first bank she tried wouldn’t advance that much cash, and made her feel like a criminal. The second bank wouldn’t do a cash advance either. But Shelly found a compassionate ear at that bank. The teller suggested that she arrange for her bank to wire the money. The teller could have cash in Shelly’s hand within the hour. Shelly made the necessary arrangements, and had the money in hand before lunch.

After she had the money, Shelly felt paranoid again. She wondered if the lady was just setting her up. What if the woman had someone trailing her, and was going to jump her now that she had a bundle of money? Shelly trembled as she pushed her way through the revolving door to exit the bank. She went straight to her hotel room, and hid the money. Too scared to leave, she arranged for room service, spending the rest of the day barricaded behind her hotel room door.

Shelly didn’t sleep at all that night. Her mixed emotions ran the gamut from fear to jubilation. She worried about jail or a mugging one minute. The next she fidgeted with excitement at the prospect of learning the names of her parents. The covert and illegal nature of her expedition also intrigued her. She fancied herself as a CIA agent or 007 off on another mission to save the world.

Shelly was waiting at the Union Station fountain well before 7:00 a.m. on the day of the rendezvous. She found a nearby park bench, and tried not to look conspicuous. That was difficult as the cool air of the day before was blowing through with blustery gusts and blasts that left poor Shelly fearing that her purse full of money might blow away. She tried to read a newspaper flapping in the wind, but finally conceded that no one in her right mind would be relaxing on a park bench that windy morning.

She walked across the street to Union Station, and had a cup of coffee, impatiently waiting for the designated quarter hour to approach. Shelly brought the paper with her, but had become too nervous to read it. She scanned the rushing crowd for a familiar face, hoping to view the woman from the agency. She could think of nothing better than to complete this transaction as soon as possible. The woman never appeared in the station, though, so Shelly marched back outside at about 7:40.

Shelly didn’t have to wait long. The agency woman appeared promptly as scheduled. She had clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. Her clothing was in disarray, her hair was a mess, and her appearance was more that of a street person, than a professional.

“You got the cash?” The woman was annoyed and short with Shelly. Certainly not the demeanor she expected from someone who was receiving so much money from her. Shelly started to hand the money over, then stopped short.

“Hey, you know, I don’t even know your name,” Shelly muttered, somewhat fearful of the woman. Then she mustered up more courage. “I’m giving you a lot of money. How do I know that you’re going to live up to your end of the bargain? What am I supposed to do if you just take this money and I never see you again?”

“Look, lady, I don’t have time for this shit. You’re dealing with a criminal, and you and I are about to break the law. This is the way it goes, and you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“B-b-but -,” Shelly stammered.

“Aw, forget you,” and the lady stormed off. Shelly chased after her, and grabbed her coat sleeve.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Shelly pleaded. “We’ll do it your way. You’ll get no more grief from me. Please don’t leave. Please.”

“Christ, lady, settle down. Don’t make a scene. We don’t need that kind of attention.” The woman pulled out a small note pad. “I need some information from you, you know, name, birth date - that kind of crap.” Shelly obliged, and told the woman everything that she needed to know. “Okay, now give me the money, and I’ll be on my way.”

Shelly pulled out a two-inch wad of twenty dollar bills from her purse. “Jesus, lady, don’t you have a brain in your head!” The woman snatched the money from Shelly, and crammed it quickly in her coat pocket. “I thought you would have had the sense to put it in a bag or something. Christ, you want everyone around looking at us?” The woman started to walk off.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Shelly yelled, catching up to her. “Where do we meet again? When do I get my information?” Without even slowing, the woman turned around, and barked, “Be here tonight at 7:00 p.m.” By then, the woman was already lost in the crowd. Shelly hoped that her money wasn’t lost too.

It was another long day for Shelly, like way too many that had preceded it. She was tiring of all of the stress and uncertainty in her life. Shelly was too worried to do anything constructive with her time. “What if the lady is an undercover cop or an informant? What if I get arrested when I go back to Union Station? Why did I do this?” She calmed herself by rationalizing that there were bigger things for the police to worry about. “And besides, if they were after me, wouldn’t they have arrested me by now? Why wait until tonight?”

Shelly’s biggest fear was that the woman had simply absconded with her money, and that she would never see her again. It wasn’t so much the idea of losing $10,000 - although that would be bad enough - but Shelly feared that this was her last and only hope. If this mysterious stranger did not pull through for her, Shelly might never have another chance to learn the names of her parents. It bothered her that so much depended on this anonymous woman.

Shelly hung around her hotel room until about 6:30 p.m. She worried herself so sick that she ate nothing the entire day. She was much less enthused about leaving the room than she was in the morning. All of her worrying had left her quite skeptical and fearful about the entire process. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to show up for the meeting. In the end, as she exited the hotel, she muttered out loud, “I’ve come this far, I might as well see this thing through.”

Union Station was surprisingly desolate at 7:00 p.m. Clearly, no one hung around downtown Washington D.C. in the evening, unless they had to. The absence of people made Shelly feel even more paranoid. She had felt better being in a crowd.

As she approached the fountain, Shelly saw a homeless man sprawled out on her park bench. And two more men in a similar state lay beside him on the concrete. She stayed clear of them, and found another bench on the opposite side of the fountain. She felt somewhat safe there, as the height of the fountain obscured their view of her and her view of them. They must have seen her approaching, though, as they wasted no time hooking up with Shelly.

“Excuse me, ma’am, spare change for some food?” The first man to approach looked to be in his seventies, although Shelly imagined that life on the street aged a person quicker. “Yeah,” said the second one, “just some change would really help us out.”

Shelly felt vulnerable, and didn’t want to open her purse to pull out any money. She feared that the men might try to rob her if they thought there was more money available. “I’m sorry, no money on me at all.”

The men did not take kindly to that. Maybe they had too much to drink already, maybe they had mental disorders, or maybe Shelly’s refusal just came at the wrong time. By now, the third member of the threesome had joined them in front of Shelly. He yelled loudly, obviously angered, “What do you mean, no money? Look at your clothes - you got money. You got a purse right there. We need money, lady.”

Shelly was petrified. She wasn’t sure whether to cry or scream. Just as she was about to stand and flee, a police officer appeared. Shelly was relieved to see the officer, but her heart raced even faster as she feared that the officer might be there to arrest her instead of the vagrants. Shelly stood to greet the officer, trying her best not to appear guilty of anything.

“All right you guys, move along, leave this lady alone.” The officer spoke with a tone of authority that the men instantly recognized and responded to. They didn’t say anything, just grumbled something unintelligible. They moved along like cattle, on to some other park bench, probably only to go through the entire scene again, maybe later today or the next.

The officer turned to Shelly. “Ma’am, Union Station isn’t the best place to be this time of day. I suggest that you find someplace else to relax.”

Shelly was ecstatic inside, realizing that she was not going to be arrested. “Oh yes sir. I’m just waiting for a friend. I won’t be here much longer.” The officer suggested that she pick a different meeting spot next time, and walked away. Shelly chuckled to herself, “Next time, yeah right.”

Checking her watch, Shelly’s complexion turned pale. “Oh my God, it’s 7:27. Where is that woman?” Shelly had lost track of time, having no idea that her recent saga had lasted so long. She was convinced that she had been swindled. She plopped down on the bench, and buried her face in her hands. “Surely, she would have been here by now. But maybe all of the excitement scared her away.”

Like an angel sent from heaven, Shelly felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up and it was the woman. Shelly was so happy, she wanted to jump up and hug her, but thought better of that and merely stood up to greet her.

“Jesus H. Christ, lady. I saw the cop here, and almost turned and ran. Then I realized the cop was here ‘cause of the bums. You’re damn lucky that I took a second look. I’ve been waiting over at the station ‘til things calmed down out here.”

“Oh, thank you so much for waiting. I don’t know what I would have -- “

“Enough of the formalities, lady. Here’s a copy of your folder. Don’t lose it, ‘cause there ain’t no more where that came from.”

Shelly began paging through the photocopy, not even realizing that the woman had walked away. Then, she looked up, and saw her off in the distance. “Thank you!” Shelly yelled in a cheery sing-song way. The woman didn’t even turn back, just threw her arm up in the air in a kind of wave, and walked out of Shelly’s life.

Shelly sat down to read the papers more closely. After several minutes, she looked up with a triumphant grin, and proclaimed, “Look out Wisconsin, here I come.”

Chapter 21 - A Turn for the Worse

2008-01-15T20:00:00.000-08:00

Hope woke up bright and early the next day. She managed to shower without disturbing Dylan, but grew impatient seeing him slumber even after her hairdryer noise had filled the suite. Dylan awoke to her nudging, and opened his eyes to one of the best sights he had seen in days or maybe even weeks. There before him was Hope, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a huge grin plastered across her face.

“Come on, sleepy head! We’ve got places to go, and the day’s wasting away!”

It was so nice to see Hope in such high spirits. It reminded Dylan of the old days, when she was filled with eternal optimism. Back then, she really seemed to believe, even in the worst situation, that things would turn out for the best. Her outlook and attitude had changed in recent years.

It was also a treat for Dylan to see Hope awake and ready before he even climbed out of bed. That, too, was like the old days. His energetic Hope, full of vim, vigor, and a zest for life, was back. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and had to check to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming as he climbed out of bed.

“Dylan, remember that goofy alligator farm on the edge of town? I would really like to go there. We had so much fun last time.”

“Wow, Hope, believe it or not, I forgot all about that old place. Sure, that would be a blast!”

While Dylan showered and dressed as quickly as possible, Hope left to round up some milk and doughnuts. He was to meet her in the parking lot. Dylan ran out of the room as quickly as he could, and there she was, waiting for him in the car. Hope had discovered a little park in the old downtown district. They headed to the park to eat breakfast.

It was a glorious day, and the weather was perfect. Hope spread out a blanket on the ground, and they sat in the warm morning sun, laughing and giggling about silly, stupid things. They reminisced about their last visit to the gator farm, and their prized crocodile, “Gargantuan,” “Godzilla,” or something like that. He was this immense guy - must have weighed about a ton - who just sat there alone, leering at the tourists against the backdrop of some huge sign, bragging about his colossal size. It was like a circus side show, and it gave Hope and Dylan quite the chuckle.

They arrived at the reptile ranch, only to discover that Gargantuan had died since their last visit. Instead of giving the poor guy a break from the tourists, and a decent burial, they had his stuffed carcass on display for all to see. Patting his leathery head, Hope joked, “Please don’t do this to me!” Dylan forced a chuckle, but it was hard for him to joke about such things.

Hope and Dylan enjoyed the farm, but it wasn’t the same without “Gargantuan.” They left after an hour or so, heading for Castillo de San Marco, the old Spanish fort along the shore. The fort made a romantic setting for photographs, and Dylan took countless ones of Hope that day. She was in just the right mood to joke around, pretending that she was a model, and Dylan played along. They carried the act on to such an extreme that some of the other tourists actually believed that they were involved in some sort of photo shoot.

Lunch time found them famished. They headed back to the same little bistro for lunch that day. It was filled to the brim with a 30-minute wait for a table, so they opted for sub sandwiches from a nearby New York style delicatessen. Dylan didn’t dare say a word for fear that he would jinx their wonderful day, but it looked as if Hope was starting to tire after lunch.

As they walked through town, an enterprising young entrepreneur coaxed them into renting a pedal car for the afternoon. The four-wheeled, two-seat contraption somewhat resembled an old fashioned “horseless carriage.” However, it was not powered with an engine, but with foot pedals, much like a bicycle.

Hope and Dylan had a grand old time pedaling the “car” around the streets of old St. Augustine. They annoyed several car drivers with their methodical pace, however, and even managed to get honked at once or twice. They ignored them all, though, holding hands and singing old childhood songs like “Oh, Susanna” and “Row Your Boat” as they merrily prodded along. When they ran out of old songs, they serenaded passersby with songs by the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and others. Most of the onlookers probably thought that they were nuts, or drunk, but they didn’t care.

After they had pedaled around town for a good two hours, Hope was forced to admit that she was getting tired, actually exhausted. Dylan didn’t mind because he was tired too. They returned the chariot, and headed back to the hotel.

Dylan drove along with the radio blasting and the windows down, momentarily oblivious to Hope’s plight. He eventually realized that she was gasping for air, and immediately pulled the car to the side of the road. “Hope, gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice sooner. Are you okay?”

It was all that Hope could do to shake her head in the negative. Pooling together every available ounce of energy, she said that she needed a doctor. Dylan tore down the streets like a terror. He drove like a madman, honking and swerving through rush hour traffic, somehow managing to find the local hospital. After explaining the situation, he was directed to wait in the cold, sterile lobby while Hope was rushed off to the emergency room. As she was whisked away, Dylan didn’t know if he would ever see Hope again; he didn’t know what was happening.

Then he heard a voice call his name. “Dylan Robertson?”

He spun around to see a doctor approaching, her head buried in a chart while she spoke. “Mr. Robertson, I’m your wife’s doctor.”

“How’s she doing? Is she going to make it?” Dread was evident in Dylan’s voice.

“Your wife’s situation is under control. She’s on oxygen now, and her breathing is less labored. I have some bad news, however.” The doctor paused, and Dylan grew impatient.

“She seemed so healthy the past day or so. I almost forgot that she had cancer. I thought that maybe she was recovering or something. What’s going on here?”

“Mr. Robertson, I’m sorry, but Hope is going to need to be on oxygen for the rest of her life. Her lung capacity is greatly diminished. At first, she can be on a small portable unit. She’ll be able to regulate the oxygen flow. In time, though, maybe a month or two, maybe a little longer, she will need a larger unit. At that point, she will pretty much be confined to a bed.”

Dylan stood there dumbfounded in silence. The physician continued, “I was amazed to hear about your recent activities. I have no idea where your wife pulled together the strength to endure what she did. She’s obviously a fighter, but her body could only endure so much. Her lungs finally reached the point where there isn’t enough tissue left to work without help. She is comfortable now, and you can visit her if you would like.”

The doctor escorted him to Hope’s room. There she was, lying there with an oxygen hose fastened to her nose. Hope forced a weak grin as he sat down beside her, placing his hand on top of hers.

“Well, I’ve really gone and wrecked things now, haven’t I Dylan?”
Dylan didn’t know how to respond. He broke down and cried, hugging Hope tightly. Strong as always, she gently patted his back as he sobbed on her shoulder.

When he finally sat up, his eyes reddened and puffy, Dylan saw that Hope had drifted off to sleep. He decided to leave her be, and quietly sneaked out of the room. He located the doctor to get more information. Hope was approved to be discharged whenever she was up to it. She would need to be outfitted with a portable oxygen tank. Dylan checked back on Hope, and she was still asleep, so he left a note advising that he would return in the morning.

It was dark by the time that Dylan left the hospital. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. His gut had a sick, empty feeling, but it wasn’t hunger. He returned to the hotel room. Assuming that Hope would want to leave as soon as she could, he made arrangements for a flight back to Wisconsin two days later. He then called Hope’s parents and his folks, and broke the good news, bad news. At least they were coming home, that was good news of a sort.

Dylan didn’t sleep a wink that night. He worried about Hope, worried about himself, and worried about where they would live in Wisconsin. He second-guessed whether they made the right decision to sell the house. “How could we have thought this trip would last more than a few months? What were we thinking? What will happen to us now?”

Dylan felt guilty because he began to accept the fact that Hope was going die. His mind wandered, and he thought about funeral plans. He even thought about things that for himself – things like buying a new house, retrieving the truck from Seattle, finding a job - plans that didn’t involve Hope. Dylan was disgusted with himself, and he felt like vomiting. “How can I put her in the grave when she’s still alive? I need to focus on the here and now,” he told himself. “There will be plenty of time for worrying about me.” But he couldn’t stop thinking about the future no matter how hard he tried.

Dylan looked like hell when he finally dragged himself out of bed the next day. The sight of the hospital looming on the horizon as he drove across town was not a welcome one. He didn’t want to return to that awful place. He was sick and tired of hospitals, and he knew that Hope felt the same. He was tired of the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and he was tired of the nurses in white with their phony cheery dispositions.

Dylan thought back to the first time that Hope received a chemotherapy treatment. “’Chemotherapy,’” Dylan thought. “Now there’s a word you hear all of the time, but how often does anyone ever think about what it really means. It means burning; it means pain - that’s what it’s all about.”

As Dylan walked from the rental car to the St. Augustine hospital, he recalled sitting there helplessly while the nurse gave brave Hope her first chemotherapy injection. He saw Hope writhe and squirm as the burning napalm entered her forearm and slowly spread itself throughout her body. Something so potent not only attacks cancer cells, but beats the entire body into submission.

At that point, Dylan was about as low as he could be. He was disgusted with the entire process. All of the pain, all of the hassle, all of Hope’s persistence and hard work, and it was all for nothing. The system had failed Hope, and was now prepared to let her die.

He arrived to find Hope awake and slowly walking around. But what a shock it was to see her pushing a portable oxygen container, her beautiful face obscured by a clear plastic tube running to her nose. She lethargically waved from one end of the hall as he approached.

Dylan could see that Hope was beat. Her eyes were sunk in her head and her skin was pale, as she shuffled along. Her breathing remained labored, even with the oxygen. She cried as Dylan got closer, indicating only that she wanted to get home. “Dylan, I just want to get out of here. Please take me home.”

Home – wherever and whatever that was - would have to wait another day. But Dylan was at least able to get Hope out of the hospital, and back to their hotel room. They had room service for lunch, and rested for the afternoon in front of the TV. Hope slipped in and out of a light sleep as they sat there alone. Even when she was awake, she looked tired. For a woman in her early 40’s, Hope suddenly looked like someone who had lived many more years. It was shocking for Dylan to see how her condition had changed so quickly in such a short time.

Hope felt better by dinner time. While she still had a tired look in her eyes, her mood and appearance were refreshed. Her bed rest seemed to have done her well. They decided to break out of the room for dinner. “Dylan, let’s bring the oxygen along, but I don’t want to take it into the restaurant. Everyone always stares whenever someone comes along with something like that.”

“The hell with them, Hope,” was Dylan’s reply. He didn’t think Hope should worry about what anyone else thought. As far as Dylan was concerned, Hope had no reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed of the oxygen canister. Then, he reconsidered. “It’s easy for me to think that way, though,” Dylan thought. “I’m not the one people will be gawking at.”

“Sorry about that, Hope,” Dylan said. “Whatever you want to do with the oxygen is fine by me.”

“Thank you, Dylan. You know, it’s not so much that I’m embarrassed about the oxygen. I just don’t want to think that I was a cigarette smoker. That’s what everyone thinks when they see the oxygen – ‘stupid smoker – he got what was coming to him.’ I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea. Do you think that’s silly?”

Hope was weak without the oxygen. She couldn’t walk on her own, and Dylan needed to hold her arm as they shuffled into the restaurant. Dylan tried to make small talk, but they said little during dinner. Without her oxygen, it was all Hope could do to just sit and eat. When she spoke, it was just above a whisper. Once they returned to the car, Hope was relieved to breathe pure oxygen, having virtually suffocated through dinner. That was the last time that Hope went anywhere without her canister.

Chapter 20 - High Spirits on the Coast

2008-01-15T19:20:00.000-08:00

It was late and they were exhausted by the time that Hope and Dylan retrieved their bags from the Jacksonville airport baggage pickup. St. Augustine was at least an hour away, as the rental agent handed over the keys to a mid-sized sedan. Dylan was tired, in no shape to drive so late at night. And Hope was clearly beat. They decided to find an airport hotel, and prepared to make a fresh start the next day.

Dylan slept in until around 8:30 a.m. the next day. Hope remained sound asleep as he quietly slipped out the door to find a newspaper. When Dylan returned, he didn’t want to wake Hope up. So he tip-toed into the bathroom, where he read the paper from front to back while perched on his porcelain throne.

He checked on Hope at around 10:00 a.m. - still out like a light. By then, Dylan figured that Hope wouldn’t mind waking up. So he hopped into the shower, assuming that the noise of the running water would eventually intrude on her slumber. The hot water felt good on his back after the long flight the day before, so he soaked in the shower for a good 10-15 minutes.

Dylan emerged from the bathroom in a prune-like state, only to find Hope still sound asleep. He became concerned and walked beside her. He could hear her labored breathing, but it was faint and uneven. He brushed his fingers over her hair to try to gently wake her. Nothing happened, and Dylan felt the rush of adrenaline course through my arteries.

“Hope, wake up honey,” he whispered in her ear. Nothing. Then he spoke it louder. Still nothing. He gently shook her, and Hope moaned, slowly opening her eyes. She smiled, but it was evident that she was weak. “My gosh, did you ever scare me! I was so worried that you were dying on me.”

“Oh, Dylan, I am dying on you …. but you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Hope forced a smiled, and slowly raised herself to a seated position.

She looked so very tired. Dylan could see that the end was near. This was not the same Hope Quinlan that he had married. She was tired, and was by all appearances resigned to dying. Dylan couldn’t blame her. Hope had gallantly fought a long and difficult battle. Dylan realized from her words that she had come to terms with her life and death, and was prepared to take the next step.

Unfortunately, the reality of the entire situation was just finally sinking in with Dylan, and he wanted Hope to fight more. He didn’t want to see her concede defeat, even though the doctors had said that she was beat. He was months, maybe even years, behind the psychological place where Hope found herself that morning. She was at peace with the world, and Dylan was finally emerging from a cocoon of denial.

“Sweetheart, how about if you call for some room service, and I’ll get in the shower? I want to get on our way to St. Augustine as soon as we can.” Hope was quite chipper, and Dylan obliged, summoning a large feast of pancakes, bacon, fruit, and rolls. They devoured the food, and bolted out the door on the way to Highway A1A.

The Florida coast never looked so inviting. The autumn off-season was just beginning, and there was a cool bite in the morning air. They rolled the car windows so they could inhale the crisp salty air. They stopped from time-to-time along the way to comb the beach for seashells. Dylan had forgotten how they had enjoyed doing that so many years earlier. “Such a carefree life we led back then,” he thought.

On their honeymoon, Hope and Dylan had collected a huge bag of seashells, and placed them in a clear glass vase when they returned. The vase was proudly displayed on their fireplace mantle for several years. It was eventually moved from room to room as they accumulated more possessions, finally finding its way to the basement. Prized possession one day – basement junk the next.

Hope and Dylan walked along the beach hand-in-hand, hardly encountering a soul on that beautiful sunny day. “Say, Dylan, whatever happened to those seashells that we had in the vase from our last trip?”

“That’s funny that you ask, honey. I was just thinking about those. You know, I think that we may have thrown those things away. Can you believe that?” Dylan was astonished to think that they could have discarded something that would seem so precious to them now.

“Dylan, let’s gather some more. You can put them on the mantle and think back fondly on this day whenever you need some comfort.”

Dylan forced a grin as a tear streamed down his cheek. “That’s a fine idea, Hope.”

“Let’s have none of that crying today, honey. We’ve got work to do!”

Dylan was amazed at Hope’s strength that day. She was full of energy and zeal. They dodged waves landing ashore, and dug through the sand, filling a backpack full of precious seashells. Hope’s shoes got wet when she was caught off guard by an unexpected wave, so they ditched their shoes and socks, rolled up their pants, and had a grand old time frolicking along the shore.

That backpack must have weighed ten or fifteen pounds by the time they filled it. Some months later, Dylan located a glass vase much like the home for their original batch of shells. That vase of memories remained the centerpiece on his fireplace throughout his days.

When Hope and Dylan had their fill of beach combing, they rinsed their feet, and climbed back into the cruiser. They found themselves in downtown St. Augustine in no time. There were some tourists in town, but it appeared rather sleepy, much the way they remembered it years earlier.

“Dylan, remember the restaurant with the most excellent key lime pie? Oh, and the margaritas!”

“Hey, you read my mind! Let’s check it out.”

Sure enough, the restaurant was still there, and they sat down on the patio for a late lunch. Hope had pretty much abstained from drinking alcohol to keep her strength up, but she wasn’t about to pass up what they recalled as being one of the most delicious margaritas known to humankind. They ordered up a pitcher, and all of their cares drifted away as they sipped the intoxicating mixture and reminisced about their honeymoon.

It was ironic that Hope and Dylan wound up in St. Augustine for the last leg of their trip – ironic because Hope was about to die. Yet legend had it that Ponce de Leon had discovered the Fountain of Youth on that very spot. Perhaps there was some truth to the legend, as Hope appeared reinvigorated while they giggled away the afternoon on that sunlit terrace.

After a fantastic lunch of coconut shrimp, they ordered the coup de grace, the icing on the cake, the key lime pie. It was every bit as delicious as they remembered it. “Heck,” Dylan recalled years later, “it tasted so good that the trip to Florida was worth it for the pie alone. It was worth it too because Hope was in such high spirits.” They had fun on that memorable day, just keeping each other company, frittering and wasting the hours away. As Hope often said, “The simple pleasures really are the best.”

Chapter 19 - Crimes and Misdemeanors in D.C.

2008-01-15T19:13:00.000-08:00

After her Manhattan detour, Shelly was excited about the prospect of traveling to Washington, DC. She had not been to the capitol city since a summer vacation several years ago with Charles and Beth. She thought back fondly on that trip. It was an educational experience second to none, but it was also terribly hot there. And she expected that it would be a cooker for this late summer trip too.

Rather than drive, Shelly elected to get to Washington as quickly as possible, even though her late minute fare was quite costly. She had wasted too much time in New York without any answers, and wanted to get to the bottom of her adoption. She threw a few things in her suit case, and rushed out the door to the cab that waited patiently by the curb for her.

In the blink of an eye, Shelly found herself in Washington shortly after noon. The airport was a bustle with commuters going in every direction. She made her way to the subway station. They rode the subway on her last trip, and she recalled it being rather fun and convenient.

The airport stop was an outdoor one, and the Washington summer humidity hit her with full force. Shelly baked in the hot noontime sun for several minutes, gazing at the Washington Monument off in the hazy distance, before her train glided into the boarding area. It was so hot that Shelly was coated in sweat, simply from standing on the platform waiting for the train. The cool air escaping from the opening train door was welcome relief.

The metro was packed, as Shelly squeezed herself into the last car on the Blue Line. There was standing room only, but she didn’t mind. She had much more important things to worry about - in a few short hours she would know the names of her real parents. Then she hoped to be on the road for her next journey, hopefully to locate her parents and introduce herself.

Shelly lost her footing as the train launched itself toward the city. She had forgotten to hold the hand rail above her head, and had been standing in the aisle without any support. Her face turned bright red, as she peered around the train car. Realizing that no one had paid any heed to her stumbling, Shelly grabbed the bar, and stared straight ahead, expressionless, like all of the other anonymous travelers surrounding her.

Many of the train’s passengers abandoned ship at the Pentagon stops, and Shelly was then able to rest her feet. She took the opportunity to study her map to make sure that she left the train at the right stop. It was lucky for her because she realized then that she needed to switch trains to reach her destination. Shelly made the train switch, and found herself at Union Station several minutes later.

“Shoot, I went too far,” she muttered to herself once she became oriented back on the surface. “I should have gotten off one stop earlier. Oh well, good thing I wore comfortable shoes.”

Shelly backtracked along E Street to the 4th Street intersection. She was dismayed by the number of homeless people she saw on that short trek. Two men had asked her for spare change, and countless others simply stared hopelessly into space as she passed them by. She even saw a man urinating on a wall adjacent to the sidewalk, in plain view for all to see. Shelly realized just how lucky she was to have had such caring and loving parents like Charles and Beth. Had they not adopted her, who knows, maybe she would have ended up homeless some day. It made her shudder to think how precarious each person’s life is, and how any one event might have a dramatic impact on a person’s life.

Shelly wondered about her birth parents. Maybe she didn’t want to know who they are. What if they were drug addicts or alcoholics, living homeless on some Wisconsin street? Or what if they were in prison? Until then, she had had this “fairy tale” image of Ozzie and Harriet Nelson, patiently waiting in their cozy suburban home for their long lost adopted daughter to return. “Maybe that’s not the case at all,” Shelly thought.

She reached the adoption agency, and paused in front. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to take that next step. She couldn’t go in the door. She stood there for a long time, not knowing what to do. “Do I really want to know the truth?” she thought. “Everything was fine having Charles and Beth as my parents. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone.” Shelly eventually moved to the curb, and sat herself down, slowing starting to sob. She was confused and scared. “Why did this have to happen to me? Why me?”

Shelly collected herself and stopped crying, but she could not bring herself to stand up. A homeless man sat down beside her, mumbling something about Vietnam. He smelled of sweat and booze. Shelly pitied the worn and torn man. She reached into her purse, pulled out a $5.00 bill, handed it to him. He grabbed the paper with his left hand and wadded it into a ball, staring straight ahead the entire time. His mumbling turned into a meandering atonal whistle as he shoved the crumpled bill into his front shirt pocket. He turned to Shelly, winked, and trotted off down the street.

“I suppose he’ll just buy more liquor,” she thought to herself. But it made her feel good to bring some cheer into that downtrodden man’s life. “Who knows, maybe that will make a difference. Probably not, but I can only hope….”

Shelly mustered the strength to face her past, and walked into the agency. It was quiet inside, more like a lifeless morgue than the hustle and bustle she expected from an adoption agency. There was no reception area, and only a long, dark hallway ahead of her with numerous offices to her left and right. The doors were old, with cloudy glass windows on top. Many of the doors were closed, but Shelly could still see that they were unoccupied with only gray shadows lurking behind the clouded panes.

She finally came upon an open door. Inside the office was a lone man shuffling through papers scattered all over his desk. His shuffling appeared mindless, as if he was doing it for no reason other than to pass time. Shelly startled him, clearing her throat to get his attention. He reacted angrily, probably because Shelly had caught him playing his senseless game.

“Excuse me,” she said with an apologetic tone to her voice. “I’m trying to find someone who can answer a question about an old adoption. I guess I need your records division, or something like - -“

“Upstairs, third door on the left,” he spitefully muttered without hardly looking up. Without a second thought, he went back to his paper shuffling, hunched over his desk peering at each paper. Focused only on the papers and muttering to himself, the worker reminded her of the homeless man with the blank stare outside. “I guess there’s a pretty thin line between having a job and being homeless for some people,” she thought.

The man’s rudeness ignited a spark in Shelly. “Thanks for your help,” she replied. He grunted some sort of noise in response. Shelly marched upstairs, now feeling confident, ready to finally resolve the questions that had plagued her those past few months. The upstairs hallways remained sparsely populated. Even when she located the records division, there was an eerie absence of any human activity. Shelly walked to the counter where a lone woman stood, talking on the phone. The woman saw Shelly, but ignored her and refused to acknowledge her presence.
After several minutes, Shelly grew impatient as it became evident that the woman was involved in a personal call, simply gossiping with some friend or relative about “Uncle Arthur’s” recent drunk driving ticket. Shelly’s impatience must have been evident, as the woman took the phone from her ear, “I’ll be with you in a second.” That “second” dragged on for several more minutes.

Shelly turned away from the counter. The walls of the office were barren, with signs of old tape or glue lingering behind. Shelly observed a small cubicle in the corner of this room in which another woman diligently typed away at her keyboard, her back to Shelly. She had a huge stack of files on the floor to her right, and appeared to be doing some type of data entry, as she swiftly and adeptly went from one file to the next.

“Can I help you?” Shelly spun around back to the counter.

“Why, ah, yes.” Shelly tried to regain her composure. She was caught off guard. Despite having rehearsed this “speech” in her head many times over the past few days, she now was at a loss for words.

“Look, ah, you see, I’m - I’m trying to locate someone.” The woman at the counter gave Shelly a blank, glazed over stare, light a deer in headlights. She couldn’t have cared less about Shelly or her problem.

Shelly realized that she was getting nowhere fast as her tongue stumbled over word after word. She composed herself for a second, and then blurted out a stream of consciousness. “I’m adopted; at least I’m pretty sure that I am. You see, my parents died - a few months ago - and I found some papers in the basement.

Digging through her bag while she spoke, “here they are. And I’ve tracked you guys down. It looks to me that you are the place that, uh, uh, coordinated the whole thing. I’m hoping that you can help me. Can you help me? I am trying to find out the names of my parents, and where they live, and you know, that kind of stuff.”

As Shelly rambled on, the clerk had directed her gaze downward, fiddling with a staple in a large pack of papers. When Shelly finally finished, an uneasy silence fell over the room. The shuffle of the papers in the cubicle behind was the only sound to be heard.

Shelly cleared her throat after what seemed like at least a minute. “Well, can you help me? Or can you please tell me where I need to go for help?”

“Lady, you’re in the right place. But you aren’t getting any information from me without a court order. And I can tell you, the court doesn’t normally give orders unless it’s a life or death situation.”

Shelly stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Then her eyes swelled up with tears. This all came as shock to her. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve come so far; there’s no one else to help me. I’ve got no family. What am I supposed to do? I’m all alone….”

“Sorry, lady. And you better hurry up if you want to see these records. This agency is closing down. There’s no more funding. There’s just the three of us left, and this is all going to be gone in a week or so. I don’t know where the records will end up after that.”

Shelly’s tears turned to sobs. She didn’t know what to say or do. She never felt so helpless before. She lost all of her composure. Crying out loud, she ran from the room, down the stairs, and out to the street. “Oh my God, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?” Shelly sat down on the curb and put her head down between her legs.

After awhile, Shelly sensed that someone had sat down beside her on the curb. She figured it was the homeless man, looking for more money from an easy mark. “Go away; I’m not giving you any more money.” Shelly spoke sternly without looking up.

“Excuse me, ma’m.” It was a woman’s voice. Shelly slowly raised her head, turning to the left. She didn’t recognize her at first, but then she realized that it was the woman from the agency, the one stuck in the cubicle shuffling papers.

“I overhead what happened in there. Betsy’s not totally right. You can get that information without a court order.”

Shelly perked up. “What do you mean? What are you talking about? Just exactly who are you?

The woman lowered her voice, and suggested that Shelly do the same. “I’m just saying there are other ways to get the information that you need, if you catch my drift. For a small fee, I can get that information for you by tomorrow.”

“What kind of fee are you talking about?” Shelly began to suspect that this was not in the least bit legitimate.

“$10,000.00 will get you a complete copy of your file. Heck, you’d pay more than that to have a lawyer get you a court order.”

Shelly stood up. She had no interest in anything like that. “Thank you, but I’m not interested. As Shelly walked away the woman offered, “you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Shelly muttered to herself, “the nerve of some people.” She always considered herself a good law-abiding citizen. Surely, there is a legal and right way to get that information, she thought. She set a course for the nearest phone booth. Spying one, she made a beeline across the street, only to discover that the phone book was missing. Shelly must have walked a mile, from booth to booth, diagonally back and forth across the streets of Washington before she finally found a phone booth with the yellow pages intact.

“Let’s see, Architects, Artists, Asphalt, Astrologers…. Maybe an astrologer is what I really need!” she chuckled. “Okay, here it is - Attorneys.” She skimmed through the book looking for an ad indicating expertise with adoption issues. She found several. Looking left, then right down the street, no one was in sight. Shelly tore the pages from the book, and marched on to the nearest bench. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Okay, it looks like these guys are the closest - Schmidt, O’Neil & Timmerman. Oh, and Timmerman is a woman. That would be good; I’d prefer to deal with a woman.” Shelly marched back to the phone booth, and scheduled an appointment for later that day. Then she looked at the address. “Oh, gosh, this lawyer is clear out by Maryland. Oh well, I guess it’s back to the Metro.”

She boarded the train, and her car was nearly empty. A lone elderly woman sat back in the corner. Shelly had time to think about the day’s events. She never felt so alone and miserable in all of her life. She held back the tears as she ruminated on her misfortune. “Why does this have to be so hard? Isn’t it bad enough that I lost my parents, er uh, Beth and Charles? Now I have to go through this. When am I going to get a break?”

Shelly was exhausted, the stress of it all was too much for her. She was tired, and she leaned back in the hard plastic seat. Her eyes closed, and it felt good. Next thing she knew, she was nudged from the side by a woman with two large shopping bags. The once empty train was now loaded with commuters. “Oh my God, what time is it?” Shelly scrambled to sit up straight, and checked her watch to see that she had only ten minutes until the appointment with the attorney.

“Excuse me ma’m, can you tell me what the next stop is?” Before the woman could answer, the intercom came on, “Chevy Chase, next stop Chevy Chase.” She quickly checked her pocket map. “Aw, crap, I went too far,” Shelly muttered.

Shelly disembarked, got her bearings straight, and checked for the train heading back into town. She nearly had a heart attack when she realized that is was just across the way, ready to depart for the next station. Shelly ran as fast as she could, the doors closing as she approached. She jammed her hand in between a set of doors, and they bounced back open. Shelly jumped onto the crowed train, with only inches of space to spare.

It was standing room only, but she was relieved to be headed back on track. Two stops later, Shelly emerged from the underground tunnel to the surface above. She was down to two and one-half minutes left before her appointment, so Shelly ran as fast as she could. She found herself at the lawyer’s front door with no time to spare. Shelly paused for a second, straightened her hair, caught her breath, then slowly opened the reception area door, and walked in.

The fine cherry wood foyer was an impressive site, with striped wallpaper accenting the rich wood. Furnished with antique chairs and sofas, it looked more like George Washington’s living room, than the entrance to a lawyer’s office. The receptionist’s desk sat empty, as a woman walked in from an adjacent hallway.

“Shelly McCarthy, by chance?” the woman said.

“Why, yes, I am.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lori Timmerman. Come on back to my office.”

“She’s certainly pleasant enough,” Shelly thought. “Maybe things will work out after all.”

After the obligatory small talk, Timmerman invited Shelly to tell her story. After such a frustrating and exhausting day, Shelly would occasionally get off track, even crying from time to time, but Timmerman would always steer her back on course. After Shelly had gone on for ten minutes or so, Attorney Timmerman held her hand up like a traffic cop, signaling for Shelly to stop.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to cut you off, Shelly, but I think that I’ve heard enough. I can’t even begin to comprehend what you are going through, and I would be happy to help you in any way that I can…,” her voice trailed off.

Timmerman turned to the window, her back turned to Shelly. “I’m sorry, though, but you don’t have a case. Unless this is a life or death situation, there is no way that I can help you. And, even if it were a life or death situation - for instance, if you needed a bone marrow transplant or a kidney - the courts are still reluctant to grant access to adoption records. The judge would make sure there was no other way to save your life. It would be days and days of hearings. These are highly confidential records.”

Shelly couldn’t believe her ears. She sat dumbfounded for the longest time, while Attorney Timmerman remained fixated on the view outside. “What am I to do? This isn’t fair. Don’t I have the right to know something as basic as the names of my parents?”

“I’m afraid not, Shelly. Basically, the courts have concluded, in most cases, that your parents’ right to privacy is more important than your right to know their names. I’ve taken cases somewhat similar to yours all the way to the Supreme Court, and lost.”

Shelly’s mind raced. She was running out of time. She thought of the woman on the street. “Say, if someone offered to get this information for me without a court order, would that be against the law? Could I go to jail?

Attorney Timmerman slowly turned around, her hands folded as if in prayer, pressed against her lips. She put them down to her side, walked around her desk, sitting down beside Shelly. Timmerman looked Shelly straight in the eyes, “I can’t tell you to do something like that. It is against the law. You could find yourself in jail. But I have heard of others who have obtained information in such a fashion. More than likely, the only people who would ever complain would be your parents. If you find one or both of them, and they don’t want to see you, you could find yourself in a whole lot of trouble. Maybe it’s a chance that you want to take. I have to tell you that I advise against it, but it’s probably your only realistic hope.”

Shelly thanked the attorney for her time, and headed back to the subway. She couldn’t take any more. She needed to rest, and took the train into town. Shelly found a room at a Capitol Hill Hotel, and collapsed on her bed. All of the thoughts swirling around in her brain would just have to wait for tomorrow. Shelly fell into a deep sleep on top of the bed spread, still wearing her street clothes.

Chapter 18 - Time Takes Its Toll

2008-01-15T18:53:00.000-08:00

It was mid-November. Hope and Dylan Robertson had been on the road for nearly six months. They had made their way from southern California all along the coast until they found themselves in San Francisco.

Perhaps the most memorable part of their stay was what they did not see. Every day, they checked out the Golden Gate Bridge, hoping to see its expanse crossing the bay. But it was regularly engulfed in fog throughout the duration, night and day. Hope and Dylan could see parts of the bridge from the distance, and they got a feel for its girth by walking across. However, they had to settle for a souvenir shop post card to get the full picture of the bridge.

After a week in San Francisco, they ventured further up the coast through Oregon and Washington. They called Seattle home for nearly two weeks. Hope and Dylan had friends from college who lived there, and they stayed in their beautiful house on Puget Sound. Steve and Joan Schumacher were both surgeons, so vacation opportunities were few and far between. The Schumachers were expecting Hope and Dylan, but had left on a vacation in late July on a whim. Their plan was to catch up with the Robertsons during the latter half of their visit.

“It sure is nice to stay here, instead of a hotel room,” Hope commented after their first night.

Dylan agreed. “It’s especially nice having the place to ourselves – kind of like being home again.

By the third or fourth day, Hope especially became homesick, but it also hit Dylan. They had both had their moments over the past months. But it really hit hard in Seattle, especially since they stayed in a place that reminded them of home – much more so than a hotel room. The Schumachers’ two cats made Hope and Dylan yearn for their orphaned ones. And, having more than one room in which to live made it difficult to think about spending another night in a hotel or motel room.

Time was also starting to take its toll on Hope. Dylan did most of the driving from San Diego to Seattle. Hope often napped as they rolled along the highways. At first, he would wake her up to see some special vista or view along the Pacific Coast. Although she was always politely interested, he began to realize that she would probably just as soon rest. So it got to the point that Dylan didn’t interrupt her rest as they traveled north. He felt quite alone behind the wheel during that time, with nothing but his thoughts.

Hope grew tired more easily, even from simple things like walking. She went to bed earlier at night, and slept longer in the mornings. The unspoken truth that they hated to admit was that Hope’s lungs were giving out on her. As each day passed, the cancer destroyed a little bit more tissue, eating her life away right inside her.

Dylan could see it in her face, and hear it in her voice too. The cancer was beating Hope, and she was succumbing. Hope tried as always to maintain a positive, chipper attitude, but even that became hard as she grew less and less energetic. Hope’s breathing had become labored and heavy, especially while she slept. Dylan often lay beside her, wide awake staring at the ceiling, practically in tears, listening to Hope’s wheezing and huffing as her lungs did their best to keep her alive. He knew that the end was approaching.

After a week in Seattle, Hope, sitting up in bed with her pillow against the headboard, finally acknowledged out loud what they both already new. “Dylan, I am getting tired and weary. It has been a wonderful time, but I don’t know how much longer I can carry on. It gets harder and harder every day….”

She drifted off, staring out into space for a second. She did that often lately. It was sad and scary all at once. Then she gathered up the strength to speak again.

“I have a special favor to ask of you. I’m afraid it may be a difficult one, though.”

“Honey, I’ll do anything I can. You name it.”

“Dylan, I want to see St. Augustine again, one last time.”

Hope and Dylan had taken their honeymoon in St. Augustine, Florida. Neither of them was earning much money at the time of their nuptials. They couldn’t afford much of a honeymoon. But as it turned out, Dylan had to travel to northern Florida on business shortly after they married. They chose to make that their celebratory trip. They had a wonderful time, and reminisced about it often over the years.

“Whatever you want, honey, Dylan said as he brushed the hair out of her eyes. “That’s probably the best vacation we ever had, and I can certainly understand why you want to go back.”

“That would be wonderful, Dylan, just perfect.”

“We’re going to have to fly, dear. Will that be okay? We’re just too far away to drive, and I don’t think that I could handle the driving all by myself.”

“I’ll manage,” Hope said. “I understand. Time is short anyway.”

“I could just kick myself for not planning out things better,” Dylan said. He was visibly upset. “I don’t know how we ended up out west when we want to be in Florida.”

“Dylan, please, please don’t fret about this. It’s been very fun not being tied down to any agenda. That’s what we wanted when we left. We had no commitments, and we were free to go wherever and do whatever we pleased. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me for not lasting. I’m sorry that I ran out of gas now. I wish there was more time.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for your condition. We’ll work this out. And we’ll have a wonderful second honeymoon in St. Augustine.” Hope smiled as she dozed off to sleep.

“Well, we’ll just leave the truck here,” Dylan thought. “I’ll make arrangements to pick it up someday, but that doesn’t matter now.”

Under different circumstances, Dylan would have never so easily abandoned an expensive truck like that. He would have worried on and on about whether it would be safe, and how they were going to retrieve it. With Hope’s illness, he had eventually come to question all of his values, though. He wondered why he had bothered to spend so much of his life struggling to accumulate things when it all becomes meaningless in the end. Dylan came to realize that the most important “things” a person can struggle to have and accumulate are good memories – to experience life at its fullest. After all, if there is life after death, those memories are surely the only thing anyone can take along.

Dylan was able to arrange a flight from Seattle to Jacksonville, Florida. It would be a long day with a two-hour layover in Chicago. They were scheduled to leave at 7:30 a.m. They were not scheduled to arrive in Jacksonville until nearly 8:00 p.m.

“I am worried that this will be too hard on you, Hope.” But Hope wasn’t concerned.

“Look, Dylan, I’ll just be sitting around most of the time. I’ll probably just nap. It will be no problem at all - nothing different than riding along in the truck.”

The night before their flight, Hope and Dylan sorted through all of their belongings to put together a couple of suitcases for Florida. The rest of the stuff was repacked and tucked into a corner of the Schumachers’ basement. Once again, Dylan would worry later about how to retrieve those items.

Hope seemed reinvigorated by the newly laid plans. She was humming away as they packed, and that old glow was back on her face.

“It’s nice to see you feeling chipper again,” Dylan commented. “I’m really glad that you came up with this idea. I have no idea where we would have gone next anyway.”

“Yes, I agree,” Hope said. “It will be fun to zip across the country to a whole new environment.”

They woke up bright and early the next day. “Wow, I feel just as excited as I did on our first day of this trip!” Dylan observed. He even momentarily forgot about Hope’s waning health as he handed her a heavy suitcase to carry to their waiting taxi. He wished he hadn’t forgotten, though, as the smile from Hope’s face instantly vanished.

“Sorry, dear, I just don’t have the strength to lift this. I wish I did, but it’s gone,” her voice trailed off.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Dylan said as he gently hugged her, and then carried the bag outside.

Hope and Dylan were quiet as they climbed into the cab. The sun was barely shedding light on the new day, as they drove away from most all of their remaining possessions. The cab driver was quiet too, apparently having just climbed out of bed only moments earlier.

Hope nestled next to Dylan, and he put his arm around her shoulder. She tucked her head close to his body. Dylan tried to cheer her up by talking about the fun times that they would have in St. Augustine. Unfortunately, they both knew that this trip would probably be nothing like their first one, for Hope was on her way to St. Augustine to say good-bye. He held tight onto Hope, as tight as he could.

Hope dozed off during the ride to the airport. Her napping left Dylan with more time to think.

“I wonder if I’ve been in denial about Hope’s condition,” he considered as he sat listening to her labored breathing. “My God, this is really happening. She is really going to die.” Thinking back, Dylan thought it never ever sunk in until that moment. “I guess I never really believed it because Hope always seemed so healthy….”

Dylan felt despondent. Worse off, he felt that he had betrayed Hope – as if, by not accepting her fate, he had not believed in her.

Dylan sat there in the cab feeling bewildered and sad. A sinking feeling invaded his stomach, and tears swelled in his eyes. He cried the entire way to the airport. The cab driver saw Dylan’s tears through the mirror, but said nothing. Perhaps the driver could tell that Hope’s health was poor, and she understood. Maybe the driver just didn’t give a damn. For whatever reason, she just let Dylan be. He cried and cried, holding Hope tight. The tighter he held her, the more he cried.

As the airport neared, Dylan tried to collect himself. He managed to stop crying, but the evidence of his tears was written clearly all over his face. Dylan nudged Hope as they pulled into the airport.

“Oh Dylan, you’ve been crying.”

“I just lost control, Hope. I don’t want to lose you.” Without even thinking, Dylan whispered “please don’t go, please don’t leave me,” as if Hope had control over the situation.

“I would stay if I could, dear,” Hope cracked a small smile.

It was clear that Hope and Dylan were at different levels in dealing with her looming demise. She was prepared to accept the inevitable. She didn’t want to die, but she had made peace with herself. It would be sometime later before Dylan reached the point where he could accept what happened to Hope.

They ventured into the airport, which was wide awake with the hustle and bustle of early morning business travelers. Other than some minor turbulence over Iowa, the flight to Chicago went smooth as silk. They had a nice breakfast, and Hope rested her eyes for awhile. Dylan worked on some crossword puzzles, and gazed out the tiny window to his left.

After roaming the terminal, they found the gate for the Jacksonville flight, and made themselves comfortable for the wait. By the time they settled in, Dylan’s watch showed a little over an hour to go. The prospect of an hour wait didn’t seem too bad at all. Actually, it was hardly enough time, though, for the big surprise that Dylan had arranged.

Of course, O’Hare was less than three hours from Madison. Dylan had phoned Hope’s parents and his parents the day before, and advised them of the change in plans. They had agreed, in a day and age before 9-11, that they would meet us at the gate for the Jacksonville flight to surprise Hope. Dylan was surprised, though, that the parents weren’t waiting when they arrived.

The minutes ticked away, too quickly for Dylan’s comfort, as the limited time remaining dwindled to 45 minutes. He began to worry that they wouldn’t make it on time. Hope sensed his tension, probably because Dylan was checking his watch every 30 seconds or so.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ll announce our flight. You don’t have to keep such close tabs on the clock.”

Before he could reply, he heard Hope’s mom and dad calling her name. Dylan’s folks were in tow close behind. They appeared with open arms and big smiles. Hope screeched in jubilation, jumped to her feet, and ran to the four of them. She hugged them one-by-one.

“Oh, what a nice surprise,” she repeated over and over.

It was a wonderful reunion, but it was over way too fast. They had such a nice time visiting that Hope and Dylan discussed the possibility of rebooking their flight. Dylan broke away to investigate the question, but learned from the ticket agent that no other seats were available for Jacksonville until two days later. They decided that it was best to be on their way that day. And, the reunion ended the way it began with hugs, but the smiles had turned to melancholy tears.

Before the jet-way, Hope’s father pulled Dylan aside. “She’s not looking too good, Dylan. Is she going to make it to Florida? Is this really necessary?”

“This is important to her, Vern. I’m thinking we’ll just visit St. Augustine for a day or two, and then probably head back to Wisconsin. She’s really gone downhill fast lately, but she wants this trip to end with Florida. I’ve got to try to honor that request.”

“I understand. But you take good care of my little girl.”

“You can count on me, Vern.”

Hope and Dylan looked back to wave one last time. Hope turned to Dylan, smiling, and thanked him for a marvelous surprise.

“You are such a sweetheart. I can’t believe you did such a nice thing for me.”
As they found their seats, a heavy rain pelted the jet. The captain’s voice appeared over the intercom.

“Folks, if you can take your seats as soon as possible, we would like to try to take off here. There’s a storm approaching, but we’ve still got clearance to leave if we hurry. I know you would all like to beat the storm if we could.”

The stewards and stewardesses quickly ushered the passengers to their seats, and they prepared for takeoff. As they slowly taxied along the runway, though, Hope saw a most unwelcome sight.

“Oh, my God, Dylan. We’re not the only plane trying to get out of here. There must be a dozen planes ahead of us all in a row.”

A traffic jam was developing, as the plane came to rest halfway between the terminal and the runway. Hope peered out the window, and could see that there were at least twice as many planes lined up behind theirs. And she could see another line developing about a hundred yards away on another part of the runway.

Then the storm hit. The mid-afternoon sky, which had become eerily black, was full of lightning, as the downpour broke free. The rain pelted the aircraft. And then the rain turned to hail. The noise was deafening, and the small children in the plane began to cry in fear.

The pilot’s voice crackled through the overhead speakers as he advised that they would be waiting for the storm to pass before take-off. The wind howled past the plane, but the pilot assured the passengers that they would be fine. He indicated that a severe thunderstorm warning had been issued, but that tornadoes were apparently not a concern. That did little to reassure most of the passengers. As Hope and Dylan peered out the tiny window, they could see the small white hail pellets bouncing up off the pavement. Occasionally, they would crack against the plane’s hull, sounding like an ice cube cracking in two.

As they sat on the runway, the air in the plane became stuffy and warm. The air conditioning was not working at full force, actually hardly at all, and Dylan and Hope began to sweat. Dylan hit the call button.

“It’s getting awful warm in here,” he said to an already frazzled stewardess. “Can’t you make it cooler?”

“Sir, I sorry,” the stewardess explained, “but we can’t do anything about the temperature the plane is in flight. It’s a safety issue related to cabin pressure.”

“Well, could I have a soda for my wife and me to share?”

“Sorry, but we need to be ready for takeoff whenever the control tower gives the go-ahead. When we’re on standby like this, I am not permitted to serve refreshments.”
Needless to say, Dylan was vexed and annoyed. “We aren’t going anywhere in that storm,” Dylan said as he stood up pointing out the window. “And that runway traffic jam is going to hold us here forever.”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat and fasten your belt. The captain has given the ‘prepare for take-off command,’ and we need to be ready.”

Dylan shook his head in disgust, and returned to his seat. A woman in the row behind leaned forward, “I agree with you. This is stupid.”

The unrelenting storm continued. Fortunately for the passengers’ ears, the hail had developed back into rain. The patter of the rain on the plane was rather relaxing. Dylan might have dozed off, but the interior of the plane was getting warmer and warmer by the minute. Even Hope, who needed a nap more than Dylan, could not fall asleep due to the increasing heat. Countless babies and infants aboard began crying, one-by-one.

The minutes turned to hours. The delays caused by the storm had wreaked total havoc at O’Hare. While the storm had passed after about forty minutes or so, the effect remained much longer. Aircraft were backed up as bad as the Kennedy Expressway in rush hour traffic, as more and more planes lined up, only to find themselves in a queue to nowhere. The aircraft inched along slowly, creeping toward the runway. It seemed that Hope and Dylan would never reach their destination.

It became more and more difficult for Hope to breathe in the stuffy cabin. Dylan once again called the stewardess over.

“Look, I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, trying the diplomatic approach this time, “but we’ve got to do something. My wife has cancer, and is finding it very difficult to breathe in here. I don’t know how much more she can take of this.”

While he spoke, Hope stretched her neck out to try to reach the thin stream of air trickling from the overhead vent. It was clear that she was in distress as she gasped for air.

“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” was her only reply, and the stewardess walked away. Dylan nearly approached a panic state, as Hope struggled for air.

“Don’t worry, Dylan,” Hope said slowly. “Look, we’re going to make it. We finally reached the runway. The air will come on soon.”

The announcement from the pilot had come none too soon, as the passengers would have surely mutinied had they been forced to sit in those terrible conditions much longer. All told, they spent nearly four and one-half hours stranded on an O’Hare runway that afternoon. The plane was finally flying, and the air was at last flowing through the vents. The temperature dropped quickly. Once the cabin had cooled down, Hope nestled in close to Dylan to nap for the balance of the three-hour flight.

The flight to Jacksonville was not a smooth one. The plane encountered much turbulence along the way, flying over the eastbound storm that had stranded them in Chicago. The dips and drops of the plane were much like an amusement park ride, but no one on board was amused. Dylan began to wonder if their fate was to perish in the air, after surviving the ordeal that got them there.

Hope was able to rest for most of the flight, and did not even eat the dinner served aboard. Once Dylan ate, he reclined his seat, and dozed off quite easily as the plane cruised high above Tennessee or Kentucky at 30,000 feet. Haplessly, Dylan’s slumber did not provide the relief that I had hoped it would. Instead, he had the most haunting nightmare, albeit a brief one. He dreamed that Hope had died, and out of the blackness, he heard her screams of sheer terror and pain. The blackness lightened to expose a room engulfed in flames. The flames roared wildly, all over the room. In the middle was Hope, kneeling while she writhed and screamed in pain. After several seconds, his brain could take no more, and he awoke in a snap.

Dylan’s brow was covered in sweat. He was glad that Hope was still asleep because he would not have wanted to explain the sweat. He jumped up to go to the bathroom, doused his face with cold water, and collected himself in the cozy latrine. When he returned to his seat, Hope was awake, and smiled at him as he sat down next to her. Dylan tried to act nonchalant, but she instantly sensed that something was wrong.

“Oh, I guess I’m just tired of being cooped up on this plane,” Dylan muttered, looking away. His explanation sufficed, and Hope nestled her head on his shoulder.

“We’ll be there soon, honey,” she whispered. “And this will all just be a bad dream in the past.”

Her words were so on point; Dylan wondered if Hope had understood what really happened. He knew that she had her share of awful cancer-related nightmares over the years. She had discussed some with Dylan. He could recall one she described where she found herself in a casket, still alive, but unable to move, while her family and friends peered upon her, thinking that she was dead. Others were similarly distressing. Yet none was as poignant, and none had the impact on Dylan, that that short-lived airplane experience had.

“What did that dream mean?” Dylan wondered. “I don’t think that Hope is going to hell. Why would I have such a dream?”

Dylan ultimately concluded that the dream was a reflection of his final realization that Hope was going to die. His conscious mind, having been in denial all of those months, finally recognized and appreciated the living hell that she had been forced to endure. Surely, Hope would not find herself being punished in the after-life after all of the pain that she had already suffered.

The nightmare continued to haunt Dylan as they prepared to land in Jacksonville. It was nearly 10:00 p.m., and the long day had certainly gotten the best of Dylan. He continued to reflect on Hope’s past, wondering what in his subconscious dreamed-up the idea that Hope would go to hell. Then he recalled the baby that she had given up for adoption.

“Was she to be punished for that? Would she be punished for giving up a little girl to the care of strangers?” Dylan could not accept that, but he felt sick to his stomach, and the cold sweat returned to his brow as the plane bounced gently onto the runway. He grasped Hope’s hand tightly. She again smiled at him, unaware of the fear that filled his mind.

Dylan could not accept the fact that God, if he or she even exists, could punish a person for putting a baby up for adoption. Yet, he could think of no other “sin” worth mentioning that Hope had ever committed. Of course, she had dealt with the memory of that choice for so many years, never forgetting about her child. While she rarely spoke of her, Dylan knew from her comments that her daughter was often in Hope’s thoughts. And Hope was filled with guilt and remorse for giving up that child. Dylan could see no reason why a god could be so unforgiving.

And then he thought of their brief pre-marital affair, a relationship that ultimately cost Dylan’s first wife her life. He had blamed that affair as an explanation for why Hope of all people had developed cancer.

“Could this be why I had the awful nightmare? he thought.

Again, he refused to believe that a person would be forced to suffer for eternity for such a minor transgression. Yet he could not extract the thought from his brain, no matter how hard he tried. In selfishness, Dylan worried about himself too. Was this fate also in store for him some day when he died quietly all alone without Hope by his side?

Chapter 17 - Good News in the Big Apple

2008-01-15T18:48:00.000-08:00

Shelly McCarthy had grown up close to the New York border, so she had made many trips to New York City. She loved Manhattan, especially the shopping, art museums, and Broadway shows. She planned to make this trip both business and pleasure, hoping to make herself feel a little better.

“Sometimes I just wish I were dead,” she thought. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” Shelly was a determined young woman, though, and she wasn’t about to give up yet. “Maybe things will improve after this trip. I’ll get my birth parents’ names and have some fun while I’m at it.”

Shelly left home early on a dreary weekday morning to take a train into Grand Central Terminal. Her train car was full of people, but no one said a word. Instead, they were all in their own little worlds, engrossed in a book or paper, or listening to music through headphones. Shelly didn’t have any interest in those distractions on this trip. She just stared out the window, watching the scenery fly by as the rain drops pelted the train.

The rain stopped by the time Shelly walked out onto 42nd Street, but it left high humidity in the air. She didn’t mind, though. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and the warmth felt good. “I’ve spent way too much time in the basement lately,” Shelly muttered. It will be nice to be outside for a change.”

Rather than take the train to the adoption agency, Shelly decided to walk. “Okay, let’s see,” she thought, looking at a map. “I’ve got to work my way down near the Village, around 13th Street. That shouldn’t take too long.”

She walked at a brisk pace, and the blocks flew by. Her purse bounced back and forth as she trod along, and caught the eye of a passing criminal-type. Next thing she knew, a man had grabbed Shelly’s purse off her shoulder and took off running down the street.

Instinctively, Shelly took off after the man. “Hey, you, come back here with my purse!” Shelly yelled as she ran along the sidewalk. The crowd parted as Shelly chased him, but no one else along the walk offered any assistance.”

“You don’t know who the hell you’re messing with!” Shelly yelled as she gained on the man.

The thief realized that he couldn’t outrun Shelly, so he threw her purse out into traffic, and kept running.

Shelly stopped, but yelled to him as he fled, “Come back here, you chicken-shit!” He just kept running. Shelly turned to the street and recovered her purse in tact just before a behemoth bus nearly crushed it.

“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well,” Shelly thought. “And I’ve made quite a lot of progress toward my destination!” She caught her breath, got herself oriented, and continued on her trek.

After a few more blocks, Shelly came upon a park. “Hey, wait a minute,” she thought. “Isn’t this? Yes, cripes – not this again….”

Shelly plopped down on a park bench. “I don’t have a brain in my head,” she thought. “Why didn’t I call first?” Her mood angered, but she managed to calm herself down.

“No sense getting angry about this,” she thought. “It’s frustrating, but I’ll manage. It sure is amazing how things change over time.”

“Westfield was one thing, but how am I ever going to track this place down in New York?” Shelly mumbled as a police officer passed by.

“Anything I can help you with, kid? You look lost.”

“Actually, I know right were I am – it’s where I’m going to that’s got me confused,” Shelly said. “I’m looking for an adoption agency that used to be at this address. Ever heard of it? Do you know where it’s at now?”

“I’ve been a cop on the beat for ten years, and this park has always been here as far as I know. Sorry, kid.” The officer started to walk on. He saw a cab driver arguing with a pedestrian, and was preparing to intervene.

“Say,” Shelly called. “Any idea where I might go to track the adoption agency down?”

“What do I look like, a librarian, kid?” The officer called back, as he turned his attention to the cabbie. As Shelly walked away, he was holding the pedestrian at bay with one of his arms.

“The library,” Shelly murmured. “That’s not a bad idea. And I know right where it’s at!”

Shelly worked her way back up to Mid-Town, battling the lunch hour crowds. When she arrived at the library, she found her way to a computer lounge with free internet access. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Sometimes I am so stupid,” Shelly said as she navigated online.

It took some time, but Shelly managed to find information on the adoption agency. The agency didn’t have any type of website, and most of the information appeared on bulletin board postings. She came up with an address and phone number in Washington, D.C.

“Okay, now maybe I’ve made some real progress,” she thought, as she stood up from the computer. “But I’ll make some calls this time before I take off on another journey! For now, though, it’s time to find a hotel for the night, and enjoy myself for awhile.”

Shelly made her way to the Waldorf-Astoria, and booked a room for the night. She and her parents had always stayed there on past overnight visits to the city. The clerk apparently had records of their past visits as she checked-in.

“Welcome back, Ms. McCarthy! Will Charles and Beth be joining you too?”

Shelly was somewhat taken aback. “Well, er, no, I’m on my own this time. I’m all alone,” Shelly said rather sadly.

The clerk was preoccupied with his computer, and didn’t appreciate the tone or significance of Shelly’s words. “Well, enjoy your stay,” he said as he handed Shelly a key card.

Shelly found her way to her room. “First things, first.” She called the number for the adoption agency in D.C. It rang nearly a dozen times. “Doesn’t anyone work in that place?” Just as she was about to hang up, a voice appeared at the other end.

“Well, hello. Say, I’m trying to track down some adoption records.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t give you any information over the phone.”

“Sure, I understand,” Shelly said politely. “I just want to make sure of your address. You see it’s been quite the wild goose chase tracking you down.”

“Yes, you’ve found us. We’re in D.C.”

“Say, can you tell me if you have any records for Charles and Beth McCarthy of Westfield, Connecticut?”

The voice at the other end was losing patience. “Like I said, lady, I can’t give you any information over the phone. Is there anything else? I’m kinda busy here.”

“I’m sorry. Well, can you at least tell me if you would have records from the Westfield, Connecticut branch of the agency? It closed down years ago, and I’m trying to track down some records from there.”

“I can’t tell you anything lady. But, I’ll tell you this. Any record that this agency ever had is here in the D.C. office.” With that, the phone was disconnected.

Shelly wasn’t fazed by the hang-up. “Hey, finally some good news!” she thought. “After I spend a night in the city, I’ll head to Washington D.C.”

Shelly got back on the phone, and bought a ticket for a Broadway musical. She had seen the revival of “42nd Street” with Charles and Beth earlier that year. “That’s such an upbeat show,” she thought. “And it’s got such a happy ending. Maybe my search will yield a happy ending too.”

Chapter 16 - Hope and Charity Across the Border

2008-01-15T16:24:00.000-08:00

Colorado is a beautiful state, a lovely, breathtaking place. Unfortunately, it took the Robertsons’ breath away more that they cared for, and Hope and Dylan hightailed out of state as soon as Dylan was discharged from the hospital. On to sunnier and warmer climates, they headed southwest for California, making a beeline for San Diego.

On the way, they couldn’t pass up a stop at the Grand Canyon. Both Hope and Dylan had visited as children, but neither recalled much about the earlier visits. Perhaps one needs to be a seasoned adult to fully appreciate the beauty and splendor of the canyons. Perhaps the canyon ruins of a long forgotten age are best left for those with their own mortality on their minds. Whatever, it was a truly awe-inspiring sight for Hope and Dylan.

They reached the park at mid-afternoon, checked into a room for the night, and had an early dinner. After, they ventured out to locate a vantage point for watching the sunset. Hope and Dylan found an isolated bench, tucked under a scraggly jack pine, and settled in for the evening.

It was a beautiful evening, with a deep blue sky and not a cloud in sight. The chatter of nearby crickets welcomed the first signs of sunset after Hope and Dylan had patiently waited for over an hour. The glorious hues of pink and gray swirling in the sky were only surpassed in their beauty by the majestic browns, tans, reds, and pinks of canyon rock. The landscape was a gigantic palette of color, and never a more splendid sight was surely seen anywhere on earth.

Hope and Dylan snuggled and huddled close, as the cool evening air slowly engulfed them. They “ooohed” and “aaahed” at the spectacular color display much like spectators at an Independence Day fireworks exhibition. Almost as if to make the moment more perfect that it already was, they heard a lone coyote howl in the distance. They couldn’t have asked for anything more.

As the first stars appeared, Hope dozed off on Dylan’s shoulder. He left her undisturbed as he gazed into the invading darkness. Even with Hope beside him, Dylan felt alone. He worried about what his life would become without Hope. He wondered how he could go on. As his mind drifted, he started to think of where he might live, and how he might spend his free time. And it made him feel guilty. He was making plans – plans that didn’t include Hope, that couldn’t include Hope. He felt terrible, and tried to bring his attention back to more immediate plans. There would be plenty of time for worrying about life after Hope.

Dylan nudged Hope, and she muttered something half asleep about turning off the TV. He smiled and nudged her again. She came to, gave Dylan a groggy smile, and they walked back to the room. They were tired, and fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows. It was their first night together in nearly a week, and it felt good to snuggle close.

Dylan slept well into mid-morning the next day, awakened by the chatter outside the room of two housekeepers. Hope was still sound asleep, so he nimbly slid out of the bed, and tiptoed to the door. Dylan intended on asking the housekeepers to talk somewhere else, but as he turned the door’s dead bolt, Hope woke up.

“Hey, where are you going?” she mumbled, still half asleep.

Hope’s words startled Dylan so that he nearly jumped to the ceiling. He smiled, turning toward her, “Oh, I was just going to run off with a couple of housekeepers, but I guess I’m stuck with you now.” Dylan winked as he climbed back into bed with the morning’s newspaper that was left outside their door.

Hope and Dylan relaxed just long enough to read the paper, and sip some coffee before they were on their way again. Given their Colorado experiences, the Robertsons steered clear of Grand Canyon rafting and horseback riding. Instead, they buzzed across the southern tip of Nevada, past Las Vegas, without even thinking to stop and gamble. Their last days together were too precious to waste in some windowless casino trying to get rich.

The interstate signs listing the miles to San Diego were a welcome sight. The city, with its lush palm trees and ocean lapping at its shores, stood in stark contrast to the dry, unforgiving desert that they so gladly left behind. They were tired and hot when they finally found lodging. Dylan booked a room for five nights, determined to relax and enjoy the scenery at their latest destination.

They stayed at a relatively low budget motel, never intending to spend a lot of time indoors. Hope knew from the guidebooks that the air they would encounter would be a glorious temperature filled with radiant sunshine in every direction. And the guidebooks didn’t lie. Every day was a beautiful one.

“Boy, you really have to wonder why we spent our lives living in Wisconsin,” Hope remarked one day. “Were we nuts, or something?”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Summer is hot and humid, spring and fall are wet and chilly, and I don’t even want to think about winter!”

“We could have never left our families behind, though,” Hope pondered. “I guess we’re just victims of where our ancestors decided to settle.”

“Yes, and despite the weather, Wisconsin really is a great place to live,” Dylan added. “Where else can you find brats and the Green Bay Packers!”

Hope and Dylan found the historic district of San Diego to be friendly and charming. It was a very relaxing time for both of them. They roamed up and down the streets, checking out the various shops and museums. There were several Mexican restaurants in the district, and they sampled the food at each of them. The couple always enjoyed Mexican food, and found the food at each restaurant to be delicious.

Their favorite restaurant was nestled in a hidden corner area of a small mall within the historic district. All of the tables were outdoors, some under small gazebos. Large propane heaters were dispersed throughout the seating area to warm diners when the cool evening air invaded. There was even a small Mexican cantina band that roamed the premises, serenading guests while they ate. Hope and Dylan spent an entire evening there; sipping margaritas, munching chips, and watching the crowds come and go. The heat of the propane heater within several feet of their table felt comforting and reassuring as the evening temperature dropped. Hope remarked that it reminded her of the fireplace back home.

They ventured into Mexico the next day. Hope drove to the border where they parked the truck just within the United States. They were surprised at how easily they could walk into Mexico. No authorities were anywhere in sight to check identification. They just walked right in, right in to another world.

It was depressing to see the large gates and fences that marked the border between two very different countries. Dylan reflected back to large yellow signs that they had seen posted along the highway near the border. The signs, which reminded him of deer crossing signs scattered across Wisconsin’s wooded countryside, showed silhouettes of people who appeared to be fleeing or escaping from somewhere.

“I guess there must be a prison nearby,” Hope had said.

As they entered Tijuana, however, it was clear that the curled razor fence was designed to keep Mexicans out, and trapped in what they may have perceived as a prison.

Their first encounter with Mexican citizens occurred as soon as they peeked their heads from the structure that separated the two nations. Hope and Dylan were engulfed in a sea of beggars and merchants, all hoping to get their hands on some United States currency. It was unsettling and upsetting, especially for Hope. They saw old men and women cradling sick children in their arms. They saw men without limbs, probably no longer able to work. And in the midst of this, they were bombarded by the babble of a dozen or more merchants, all trying to guide them toward their small stands where they all sold the same cheap bobbles and souvenirs.

“This is shocking, Dylan. How can these people live like this? Why do they have to live like this?”
“It really makes you wonder,” Dylan said. “Why are we so fortunate? Why do we get everything just because we were born on one side of the border versus another?”

“It just makes me sick,” Hope said under her breath. While her life would soon be cut short, the years had been so much kinder to her than the years of poverty and suffering endured by the people nearby with outstretched hands.

Most of the Americans passing across the border with the Robertsons turned a deaf ear to the pleas and cries of the beggars. Some were lured here and there by the border merchants, but most just found their way to a cab or bus stand, and made their way to downtown Tijuana, an area much cleaner and friendly to tourists. There were few beggars in downtown Tijuana - only pristine stores, restaurants, nightclubs, and souvenir shops. It was a whole new world established for the foreign tourist in the midst of an impoverished community.

Hope in particular was astonished by what they saw at the border that day. She had seen poverty on the TV, and they had read of it in the newspaper, but had never personally encountered anything like this in the upper mid-west. At once, she felt grateful for what she had, but also guilty for having it.

“This is just terrible,” Hope said. “How we Americans just sit idly by and let other humans live like this? Dylan, I don’t have a lot of time left, but I want to do something today to have an impact on at least one person’s life. It’s the least we can do.”

“I agree with you, but what do you have in mind? How can we do something significant on a day-visit to Tijuana?”

Hope looked around, put her finger to her lip and thought. Suddenly, her eyes lit up with an idea.

“Look in your wallet. How much money do you have?”

While Dylan obliged, Hope checked her purse. “I’ve got a little over $450,” she said.

“With my money, we’ve almost got a thousand. But, honey, this money’s supposed to last us for another week or so.”

“There’s more where that came from, right Dylan?”

“Yes, plenty,” Dylan conceded. He knew that any one of the destitute people standing in their vicinity could benefit so much more from that money than they ever could frittering it away on motels and restaurants.

“Well, Dylan, should we give it all to one person or should we divide it up? How are we going to choose who gets it?”

“I don’t know what to do, honey. Actually, this whole thing makes me somewhat uncomfortable. I don’t want to feel like I am playing God.”

Suddenly Hope bolted to Dylan’s left to get a better view down the walkway that led to the city. She spied a young woman seated on the curb with a toddler on her lap. She was more reserved than the others there that day, and she appeared to be playing with her child.

“Let’s go talk to her, Dylan.”

Before Dylan could respond, Hope was walking toward the young woman. He followed behind. As they approached, the woman became upset at the child, yelling loudly in Spanish. They paused. Neither Hope nor Dylan could understand her words, but the tone was unpleasant. Suddenly, she stood the young boy on the ground and began spanking him. He began to cry; she picked him up, and walked off.

“Oh, Dylan, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should just forget the whole darn thing.”

“Honey, this is a good idea. Don’t give up so easily. Maybe we can really make a difference for someone,” Dylan said.

They walked around, checking out possible candidates, dismissing some for no reason other than their impression that “he would just spend it on liquor” or “she doesn’t look like a good mother.”

There was nothing but arbitrariness in their approach, and all of the conclusions they reached were generally baseless. But their intentions were good.

After 10-15 minutes of meandering, Hope and Dylan finally agreed on a second possible benefactor. He was an older man, probably in his mid-fifties, seated on a bench with an old tin cup in his hand. He wore an old suit, probably the same suit that he had worn day after day on his visits to the border. He looked distinguished, though, with his worn features and graying beard. Hope and Dylan surmised that perhaps he was someone who had done quite well in earlier days, but had met with some recent personal or financial disaster leading to harder times. They thought that he could probably make good use of the funds.

“Okay,” Hope said excitedly. “How about if I approach him, and talk for just a few minutes. It’ll be like a ‘mini-interview.’ If he seems ‘worthy’ – whatever that is – we’ll hand over the money. Is that okay with you, Dylan?”

“Sure, honey. We don’t even know if he speaks English, but give it a shot.”

“Excuse me, sir. Hi, my name is Hope, and this is my husband, Dylan. May we sit down beside you?”

The man was startled by our presence, having nearly dozed off as he sat without shade in the warm morning sun.

“Oh, ah, good morning to you.” He spoke broken English with a heavy accent. “What can I do for you?” He put on a polite smile and an interested look as he regained his senses.

Hope continued, “We noticed you sitting here alone. Do you have any family?”

The gentleman’s smile faded from his face. “No, senora, my wife and three children were killed by a home fire many years ago. I have been alone since. They were all I had.”

He paused, looking down at the ground. “I miss them truly. It is hard to be alone, very hard.”

For a moment, Dylan’s mind wandered. The Mexican’s words hit hard, for he too would find himself alone someday soon. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Will I be just as devastated?” he thought. “Will I end up destitute and jobless? Hope and I gave up everything to take this journey. Will there be anything waiting for me at the end? What if I can’t find a job? What if we spend everything on this trip?”

The more Dylan thought, the more he worried and panicked. The he felt shame for his selfishness. “I have many years of my life ahead of me. I managed before, and I can manage again.”

Hope and the stranger had continued to talk while Dylan’s thoughts drifted.

“You see, their deaths came as such a shock, it was such a tragedy. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had no home, no family. I had a job, a good one. I was a bookkeeper. But when I lost everything, the job was nothing to me. I drank. I drank and drank and drank. I lost my job one day when I came to work drunk. I found myself on the street. That was many years ago. I since no longer drink, but I still have nothing.” He paused, lost in thought. “Oh, I go on so. I am sorry to talk so long.”

Hope looked at Dylan, asking with her eyes if he approved of passing along their money. Some cynical thoughts invaded Dylan’s mind, thoughts that this guy was just some con man making up some sappy story. Dylan pulled Hope aside.

“Gosh, I don’t know. Don’t you think he’ll just spend it all on booze? Is he any different than the others we’ve passed over?”

“Something tells me this man isn’t like that, Dylan. Obviously he doesn’t have much if he needs to sit on the border trying to scrape up spare change. Maybe we can really make a difference.”

Dylan nodded his approval.

“Sir, we would like to give you something. Something that we hope in some small way can help you. Maybe this will help turn your life around.” She placed the money, rolled up in a thick cylindrical shape, into the palm of the man’s right hand, and closed his fingers tight around it.

He opened his hand to gaze at his newfound wealth. His eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped open wide as he realized the enormity of his prize. He began to speak excitedly in Spanish. He was so animated that several passers-by even paused to see what all the commotion was about. Then he stopped.

“Oh, I cannot accept such a generous gift. I am not worthy. Surely there are many others who deserve this more than I.”

Dylan felt somewhat reassured by his response, and felt a warm glow in his body.

Hope and Dylan smiled at each other, and both shook their heads.

“No, no. We want you to have this,” Hope said.

Dylan joined in, “we just hope this makes things a little easier for you.”

The gentleman must have said “thank you” over a hundred times. Dylan was glad that Hope and he had made that small gesture. And he was grateful for having someone like Hope in his life, someone who would care enough about another person, even during her dying days, to make such an offer of compassion. Dylan held Hope’s hand tightly as the gentleman walked away. He turned back every few feet to wave and yell with a big smile “thank you” or “bless you.” They finally lost sight of him in the crowd some 50 yards or more away.

“Wow, that was wild, Hope!” Dylan said. “I would have never thought of doing something like that. This is the best day of our trip so far! Can you imagine that? The best day is the one where we give away the money instead of spending it on ourselves. That’s wild.” Dylan became more and more excited with each passing word.

“Yeah, that was very gratifying. Can you imagine what a difference it would make if everyone in the U.S. did something like that?”

“It would be a wonderful world, Hope. Probably a little too much like communism for some people though!” Dylan had an ear-to-ear grin that looked like it would never leave his face.

“Well, Dylan, since we don’t have any money on us, should we head back to San Diego? We can always come back tomorrow.”

Dylan agreed and they headed back to the border, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists.

Crossing the border back into the United States was a sharp contrast to the journey into Mexico. Unlike the empty corridor leading to Mexico, the northbound corridor was packed full of people. And there were American customs and immigration agents all over the place. Hope and Dylan walked along with the flow of the crowd, inching closer and closer to the border. Occasionally, an official would pull someone to the side to check identification. They even saw a few people get frisked.

To their right they could see the highway leading into the United States. Like the pedestrians on the sidewalk, traffic was slow moving. There was a traffic jam of cars as far as the eye could see, all stalled, patiently waiting to enter the Promised Land. Hope and Dylan crossed the border without incident.

As they walked toward the truck, though, Hope’s face turned white as a ghost. Dylan’s first thought was that her cancer was affecting her.

“Oh my gosh, Dylan. We gave away all of our money!” Her tone was one of alarm and concern.

“Yeah,” he responded. He wasn’t sure what was bothering her. “Are you having second thoughts? I think it was a very nice thing to do. We’ve got plenty more --“

“No, no,” Hope interrupted. “We gave everything away. We don’t even have money to pay for parking.”

Dylan too then felt her fear. Dylan felt sincere panic, for they had parked in a lot that charged something like $2.00 an hour for a space.

“Well, surely we have some change,” he said in a somewhat agitated tone. “We haven’t been gone that long, have we? Our total must be less than a buck or two.”

Dylan then hysterically stuck his hands in all of his pockets scrounging around for spare change. Hope looked in her purse, and checked her pockets too.

“I’ve got a quarter!” Dylan shouted. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so glad to find a quarter in all of my life!”

“I’ve got 70 cents!” Hope was excited too. “Do you think that 95 cents will be enough?”

“I don’t know, but we better hurry. Every minute is probably adding more to our bill.” They dashed to the truck, started it up, and drove quickly to the attendant gate.

“I guess all we can do, Hope, is go to the gate, and see what the charge is.”

The attendant was best described as a young punk. He was probably in his early twenties, had tattoos on his arms, and hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. It didn’t look like he had showered recently either, and it didn’t look like he really gave a damn about anything. He had a radio cranked loud to some heavy metal station. Dylan handed him the ticket, and the charge lit up on screen as $1.45.

“S-S-Sir, excuse m-m-me,” Dylan kind of stuttered, probably for the first and only time in his life. He was downright scared. At that moment, he felt helpless. He had a taste of what life was probably like for millions of people all around the world.

“We only have 95 cents. If you let us go, we promise to come back tomorrow and pay the difference.”

All the while, Hope was digging through the truck, trying to find some spare change. She came up with a couple of pennies and a dime.

“Make that $1.07,” she chimed out. We’ve got a $1.07 now, Dylan!”

“Man, I don’t need this kind of crap,” the attendant grumbled. “Look at the sign, loser, it says $1.45. That’s what you pay, or you stay.”

“We don’t have it. Isn’t there anything that we can do?” Hope pleaded with the kid from the far side of the truck, but the punk couldn’t care less about their plight.

“Get out of the way if you can’t pay. There’s people behind you who want to leave.”
He was getting angry. At first, Dylan thought that he was going to let them leave, but he soon realized that all he meant was for them to get out of the exit lane. He had no intention of letting the Robertsons leave without paying.

Hope got out of the truck to talk to the drivers of the two cars now behind them. Both of the drivers refused to roll their windows down but only a crack. Despite Hope’s pleas, neither driver would hand over 38 cents so that they could be on their way. All she could do was to convince them to back up, so that Dylan could back the truck away from the attendant’s booth. Dylan pulled the vehicle into a nearby parking spot.

“I know this stinks, Dylan, but it shouldn’t be that hard to get 38 cents.”

“But, honey,” he replied in frustration, “every minute that goes by, our bill gets bigger and bigger.”

“Well, we better get to it, then.” Hope never gave up. She rarely got pessimistic. She always dealt with whatever blows came her way. She was a fighter, and an eternal optimist. That made it even harder to see her lose her battle against cancer.

“Say, Dylan, maybe there’s an ATM around here. We could just make a withdrawal. Heck, we could get enough cash to go back to Mexico for the rest of the day if we wanted.”

“I’ve been looking around for one. I don’t see anything, Hope. You would think there must be one somewhere in this town, though.” Dylan couldn’t believe that they had gone from gift givers to beggars in a matter of minutes. “I think that we’re going to have to ask someone for help.”

Hope was already walking around looking for help. Dylan went with Hope, and was surprised by the reception they received. The first few people that Hope approached just turned away. They wouldn’t even talk to her, hardly acknowledged her.

Finally, she found a friendly ear. A husband and wife with three kids in tow were sympathetic to their plight. Hope told their sob story, and they gave her a buck. Hope tried to get their address so they could return the money, but the couple refused to give it out.

“I don’t know if they believed you, Hope, or if they just thought you were conning them!”

“Yeah, they probably think we’re going to use it for booze! Oh well, at least they helped us out.”

They dashed to the truck, and ripped toward the attendant. “You again,” he said with disdain. “You know, you gotta pay.”

“Yes, yes,” Dylan said. “Here’s the ticket. What do we owe?”

He took the ticket, and the meter rang up $2.00. With a sigh of relief, Dylan handed the cash over. With only seven cents left in their pockets, Hope and Dylan still felt rich that day.

Chapter 15 - Getting to the Bottom of It

2008-01-15T16:21:00.000-08:00

Shelly McCarthy sat dumbfounded in the basement for hours on the day she learned of her adoption. She was too shocked to cry. It felt like her entire world was crumbling down around her. She had just lost her parents, only to discover that they really weren’t her parents. Sure, they would always be her parents to her – no one could change that. But now it seemed like an even greater loss, if that were possible. Without Charles and Beth, how would Shelly ever know what happened? She wanted to know why she was adopted, and why her birth parents gave her up for adoption.

Shelly wallowed in self-pity for days. She scoured the rest of the boxes in the basement for more information, but found little more. The remaining scraps of records showed that she had been adopted on the day after her birth, and that the local adoption agency had worked with another agency somewhere in Wisconsin. The years of basement storage, with dampness and humidity, had not been kind to these documents, though. Shelly could only make out an “M” for the first letter of the city. Looking at a map, she guessed that it might be Milwaukee or Madison, but of that she could not even be sure – there were at least a dozen Wisconsin cities starting with that letter.

Shelly didn’t leave the house. She didn’t even open the window curtains, which was so uncharacteristic. Shelly loved the sight of sun shining through the windows on to the hardwood floors of the house. But she wasn’t in the mood for any sun these days. She never felt more alone in the world. She felt like she had no identity.

Shelly turned to alcohol for solace. Charles, Beth, and she were not big drinkers, but the liquor cabinet was always well stocked for entertaining guests. Shelly popped the cork on a bottle of wine, and settled down in the big leather chair in the study, listening to the radio. That was all the company that she needed or wanted that night. She drank her first glass rather quickly, and felt the dizzying effects shortly thereafter. At first, the wine made her feel better. Shelly cheered up a little, even giggled out loud, and sang along with a few songs on the radio.

She drank more and more of the wine, though, and her affect slowly soured. Shelly started feeling sorry for herself, wishing that her reputed “parents” had never died, and that she had never learned about the adoption.

“To think that I didn’t have a care in the world only a couple of months ago,” she thought. “Now my whole world has been turned upside down.”

The more she drank, the angrier and depressed Shelly became. She felt like an innocent victim.

“Why me?” she muttered under her breath, “Why in the world did this happen to me?”

Shelly cried herself to sleep, sitting there all alone on the cold leather chair.

The next morning, Shelly’s disposition had improved, despite the throbbing headache. She was not a quitter, and she was determined that this would not get the best of her.

“I’ll get to the bottom of all of this,” she thought. “I’ll find out what happened, and find my birth parents if it’s the last thing I do.” She had little insight then as to the battle she was up against.

Shelly had no family members to contact. Charles and Beth were only children, so there were no aunts, uncles, or cousins to enlist for help. Shelly fantasized that maybe she was part of a really big family, like she had often dreamed about as a child.

“Get real!” she thought.

With uncharacteristic pessimistic air, she realized, more than likely, her birth parents were strung out on drugs or in jail or maybe just too young to handle her.

“I was probably the last thing in the world that they needed.”

Shelly returned to the basement to carefully organize and categorize all of the bits of information that she could assemble on the adoption. She had an address for an agency in town, and it appeared that her adoption had been coordinated through another agency somewhere in Wisconsin. It seemed like so little to go on.

She checked the phone book for the number of the local adoption agency. There wasn’t even one listed. The only agency listed was one in New York City, many hours away. She double-checked her papers, and they clearly indicated that the agency was right there in town.

Shelly decided to drive downtown to check out the location. It was a beautiful late summer day, with the crisp chill of an approaching autumn in the mid-morning air. The sun bounced off the leaves and flowers, sending its glowing rays in every direction. The birds chirped, and she heard a neighboring dog bark as she left the house. Shelly wondered how anyone, including herself, could feel bad on such a glorious day. With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Shelly climbed into the car to venture into town.

She thought about Beth and Charles, and how they left the house one day, just as she did then. It was a beautiful day, as she recalled. The last thing in the world they expected was to die that day. Surely, the thought had never crossed their minds as they drove away from their daughter, their house, their town, and their lives.

“Our lives are in such a delicate balance,” Shelly thought. “One minute we’re alive, the next we’re dead. It’s over then, all over.”

And in the same sense, a person can have her reality dramatically altered with a simple piece of paper. Shelly thought she knew who she was until twenty-some hours earlier. One minute, Shelly was the proud legacy of Charles and Beth; now she wasn’t so sure whose legacy she was, and she doubted that they were proud of her.

Shelly reached town, only to discover that there no longer was an address corresponding with that for the adoption agency. Instead, on the block where the agency probably once stood was a small strip mall and parking lot. She had been there many times, walked across that parking lot on countless occasions, never realizing that her roots in a sense began there. Shelly had to chuckle at her observation that one of the stores in the mall sold pets, an adoption agency of sorts she thought. “Rather ironic, I guess, but this is getting me nowhere.”

Shelly headed to the municipal building. She hoped that someone could help her there. City Hall was a morass of mazes, noise, and confusion. People were hustling and bustling everywhere. Shelly had no idea where to start. After getting snubbed by several bureaucrats in different departments, Shelly finally stumbled upon a friendly ear in the Register of Deeds office.

They researched together that the adoption agency had been condemned by the city about ten years earlier, in order to make way for the strip mall. Its former owner was in New York, and Shelly thought she recognized the name as the same one as the agency listed in the phone book for Boston. She ran down to a pay phone, checked the book, and determined that her hunch was right.

“Next stop, New York.”

Chapter 14 - Time for a Change of State

2008-01-15T16:13:00.000-08:00

Dylan regained consciousness slowly, almost unwillingly. For the moment before, he had no cares, and felt at peace both with himself and the world. There were no vivid memories of the unconsciousness, only feelings of calm and tranquility.

Dylan’s body, not yet ready to die, fought hard to bring him back to the conscious world. But his mind seemed to resist resuscitation, content to remain in a dream-like state. Dylan’s peaceful numbness came to an end as he felt the violent upheaval of water from his lungs, and he began to forcefully cough. Where there was once serenity and darkness, he was suddenly thrown into bright light, noise, and confusion.

“Stand back, everybody. Give him some air.”

Those were the first words Dylan heard. Then he heard an unrecognizable voice shout out additional commands. As his eyes slowly focused, Dylan did not recognize his surroundings at first. He continued to cough hard. His clothes were wet, and his skin was cold and clammy. A shiver came over his body, as he lay on the shore of the river, upon a large rock only a few feet from the near drowning.

“Oh, Dylan, oh my God. Are you okay? I thought I was going to lose you.” Hope knelt beside Dylan, obviously panicked. She too was wet, and was trembling from head to toe.

Dylan mustered up a smile, and whispered in a hoarse voice, “Nice to see you again. I love you.”

Hope broke down in tears, hugging him, and repeating over and over that she loved Dylan too.

As Dylan laid on the rock, with Hope holding on for dear life, the roar of a helicopter appeared overhead. Medical care was on its way. Dylan tried to stand as a paramedic drew near, but he could barely raise himself to a seated position. He fell back to the hard slab, feeling himself slipping off into unconsciousness again, as if he had tried to stand up too fast. Everything went black, and he was at peace again.

Dylan didn’t come to again until he found himself rushing horizontally down the hall of a hospital corridor. Hope was running beside him, still full of tears, as two men rapidly wheeled his bed.

“I’ll be okay,” he said to Hope.

She scolded him, “don’t you leave me again. You stay alive.”

No sooner than those words left Hope’s lips than Dylan’s stretcher burst through the swinging doors of the emergency room, leaving her behind. There was noise, bright lights, and confusion. It was cold and sterile, as Dylan lost consciousness for the third time.

When Dylan woke up he found himself in the hospital bed while Hope looked on. For the months and years before, their roles had been reversed.

“Well, hello, honey,” Hope said with her face lit up. “It’s nice to have you back again.”

“Oh, my God, does my head ever hurt,” Dylan moaned. The rest of his body felt stiff and sore. He smiled at Hope, who looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she bent down to hug him.

“Oh, what would I do without you,” she whispered in Dylan’s ear.

Dylan looked around and saw tubes and wires connected to his body at various unwelcome places. He frowned, and Hope began to gently caress his head.

“You’ve been in a mild coma, Dylan.”

“How long have I been out? What day is it? Where am I?” Dylan’s face showed a panicked look. He tried to sit up, but there were too many lines and tubes. A nurse had entered the room, and gently eased him back down. He felt like a limp noodle, and was in no position to resist anyway.

“Don’t worry, Dylan. You’ll be okay. It’s just been two days. The doctors said that if you came out of it soon, everything should be fine.”

Dylan saddened. He had lost forty-eight hours with Hope, and she was forced to spend the past two days in the last place where she had wanted to spend the remaining days of her life.

“This is terrible, Hope. I am so sorry that you’ve been stuck here.”

“Oh, Dylan, don’t worry about a thing. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but by your side. You know, I’ve been reading to you for the past two days. Do you remember anything that you heard?”

Dylan smiled, “sorry, I don’t recall a thing. Maybe it will come back to me in a day or two.” He forced a wink, and Hope could see that her old Dylan was still alive.

Dylan was bed-ridden for another week. It was a depressing and frustrating time for him. He wanted to leave, to get on with their journey. But Hope was the picture of patience. This was her opportunity to repay Dylan for the countless hours he had spent beside her in the hospital.

Dylan had terrible headaches for several days, but then they lessened in intensity and frequency. Slowly, tubes and needles and sticky things were removed from his arms, chest, and head. Within three days, he had regained his freedom to walk around as he pleased - at least within the confines of this hospital floor.

Dylan developed a lot of compassion and empathy for Hope’s situation during those days of hospitalization. He often thought of the myriad of days and nights that she had spent in a cold, lonely hospital bed. And if that’s not enough, add the humiliation of people invading your privacy at will to stick you with this, or check that. They wake you up when you’re sleeping, and resent it the next day when you’re grouchy from the lack of sleep. And then you’re stripped of your regular clothes, and subjected to an embarrassing flimsy hospital gown that doesn’t even have a back. It’s bad enough that you’re sick or injured. It’s even worse that you have to feel trapped in such an unfriendly environment, where you’re often treated like a helpless child.

Colorado had not been good to the Robertsons. Dylan worried that Hope was slipping away with each passing, monotonous day of hospitalization. Hope, however, maintained high spirits throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’m just thrilled to have you alive, Dylan. I really don’t mind hanging out here. At least you’re the one in the hospital bed!” she chuckled.

“Well, I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Soon, dear. You can’t expect to just jump up and start running again after you’ve come back from the dead.”

“What do you mean, Hope? What are you talking about?”

“You were under the water for a good two minutes, Dylan. When they pulled you out, you didn’t have a pulse. Oh, it was awful. You looked pale as a ghost. They tried and tried to resuscitate you, but you wouldn’t come back. I thought I had lost you for sure. And then I started to pray that God would let you live. I was so afraid. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone when I die.”

Hope broke down in tears. She could no longer maintain the strong façade that she had presented over the past week. She couldn’t keep anything more inside, and it all came gushing out. She grabbed Dylan and he held her in his arms.

“Why did this happen to us, Dylan? I don’t know how much more I can take. It’s just not fair. Why would God do this to us?”

“I know, Hope,” Dylan whispered, “It’s not fair at all.” He held her tight, and just let Hope cry.

“She needs to get this out of her system,” he thought. “This has been stored up way too long.”

After a few minutes, Hope brought her head up, wiped the tears away, and forced a small smile.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “This week has been pretty hard on me. Seeing you in the hospital has been hard. It’s made me think about my situation more than I care to.”

“Hope, to get a little philosophical on you, I have had a lot of time to think about things too. I’ve always wondered, if there is a God, why would he or she do this to you? People always have these lame answers like, ‘God works in mysterious ways.’ Or they’ll say that ‘God knows that you can handle it, and he’s just putting you to the test.’”

“Yes, Dylan, we’ve heard that kind of comment lots over the past few years,” Hope chimed in. “It never made me feel any better, and it never helped me make any sense of this.”

“Hope, you know I’m not a big believer in God, and I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if he or she exists. But it occurred to me, that even if there’s not a God, or even if there is for that matter, maybe there’s good and evil. Maybe God does what he can, and everything that happens is good. And the bad stuff, maybe that’s just evil happening. And, you know that God looses some of the battles, but he wins most of them. Look what a great life we’ve had together, and how lucky we are to have found each other. That’s because good won in the end.”

“Yeah, I hear what you’re saying, Dylan, but what about me? I’m going to die way too early. Doesn’t that mean that evil won?”

“Well, yes and no,” Dylan said, as he pondered her question. “Sometimes evil does win, I guess, but God or good put me here to help you deal with it. That’s how God wins in the end. I’m here to try to make it easier on you. Just imagine how much worse your situation would be if you were all alone – no friends or family to care about you and help.”

Hope forced a smile. Dylan didn’t know if he really believed anything he had said, but he thought his words might offer some comfort to Hope. Her next questions made it clear, though, that she was still looking for answers.

“What was it like, Dylan? Do you remember anything about your time under the water?”

“Well, I was scared to death, for one thing, honey. I was confused. And it hurt terribly to have to go without air. God, that was awful. I never felt such unpleasantness before, and hope that I never have to again.”

Thinking of Hope’s circumstances, Dylan wished that he had bit his tongue a sentence or two earlier, but his comments didn’t faze Hope in the least.

“No, no, Dylan. I mean, what was it like when you were dead?”

Dylan didn’t know how to respond. “Gosh, Hope, I don’t really feel like I died. I didn’t see a light at the end of a long tunnel, I didn’t see any angels, and I don’t even remember my entire life passing before my eyes.”

“Then again,” Dylan thought, “maybe none of that happened because I didn’t die.” Dylan considered death to be something permanent, and his “death” surely wasn’t.
He did tell her the truth, though, about how he felt during those unconscious moments.

“I remember it being peaceful, honey, very peaceful. I don’t remember much, but I remember feeling like I didn’t have a care in the world. It was kind of nice, like I was in a restful sleep.”

Dylan hoped that his words would comfort his wife, and they seemed to. She sat on the bed beside Dylan, staring out the window for what seemed like an eternity. Then Hope turned to him as a tear began to roll down her cheek.

“That doesn’t sound so bad, huh honey?”

Her lips trembled, and she began to cry. Hope lay down beside Dylan in the bed. He held Hope tight, wishing and praying that he never had to let her out of his grasp, still hoping for a miracle that he doubted would ever occur.

Then Hope collected herself, and sat up. “Dylan, I just can’t accept that our lives are so pointless that we are born, we live, we die, and that’s it. There has got to be something more to it. There just has to be.”

Dylan patiently listened as Hope spoke. If nothing else, he believed that it had to be therapeutic for Hope to air her thoughts. It made her feel better, and Dylan was there for her.

“I don’t know if there’s a heaven or a hell. For all I know, we may be in hell now.” Hope paused, had second thoughts, and rested her head on Dylan’s shoulder. “But that can’t be the case, or I wouldn’t be with you.” She smiled and looked into Dylan’s eyes.

“Sometimes, Dylan, I think that reincarnation makes the most sense to me. There have been so many lives that have come and gone over the centuries that I find it somewhat preposterous that those are all new ‘souls’ who spend a brief existence on earth, and then move on to someplace called heaven. That just seems too easy. And besides, it would be awful darn crowded up there.” Her smiled showed Dylan that she was feeling a little better already.

Dylan questioned her. “Why do you think that reincarnation makes any more sense, Hope?”

Dylan had heard this all before, but he was still glad to listen. Hope was a born orator, and he always enjoyed it when she made speeches from her “soapbox.”

Hope stood up, and walked around the room as she spoke. Dylan was glad to see a little bit of the fire return to her eyes.

“There are so many times when I feel like I have a connection or an attraction to a person. Of course, it is strongest with you, Dylan. I just think that maybe there’s a reason for that, maybe you and I have known each other before. Maybe we have known each other many times in many other lives. There are just some people you run into over and over again – why is that? We just keep coming together, hooking up, until we get it right.”

Dylan lay back on the bed, pondering Hope’s words as he looked at the ceiling. “What is it that we are supposed to get right?”

Hope smiled. “If I knew that, then I guess we’d be billionaires. You’ve got to admit, though, Dylan, we have quite an attraction between us. Why do we feel that way about each other, but not about other people? Why are we attracted to each other? There must be a reason, isn’t there?”

Dylan admitted that there was appeal to Hope’s words. In all earnest, he sat up, smiled, and whispered, “I look forward to seeing you again in our next life together.”

Chapter 13 - Submerged in the Icy Depths

2008-01-14T19:14:00.000-08:00

Hope and Dylan decided to leave the Colorado Rockies. They felt like the high altitude was no longer safe for Hope, and neither one of them wanted to risk another problem like the horseback ride. They knew that if they headed west, they would have to cross more mountains. But they also knew that they could make it across the highest peaks much quicker by truck than by horse, so maybe Hope’s problems would be minimal. And Hope had looked at some maps, figuring that most of the passes only climbed to around 10,000 feet, well below the altitude that affected her. They desperately wanted to make it to the west coast, and resolved to proceed in that direction. But first, they had one deviation to follow.

Hope had always wanted to whitewater raft, but had never had the opportunity. Dylan wasn’t too keen on staying around the mountains any longer - even in the foothills - but he chose to keep his reservations to himself. He didn’t want to spoil it for her.

“Besides,” he thought, “our rafting would never take us to the high elevations.” He felt bad about their recent experience, though, and wanted to move on to someplace else.

They drove north from Denver to Fort Collins, a short 90-minute drive. Hope’s research led them to the Cache La Poudre River. She had read that the rafting was great there - good for beginners, but still exciting enough even for experts. Hope had hoped to book a three or four night overnight adventure, but nothing was available until the next week. There were actually very few vacancies left for any trips that week. Not wanting to get bogged down in Fort Collins, they opted for an all-day journey. They signed up with a local outfitter for a guided trip beginning bright and early the next day. They were to ride a bus with the rest of their group, and were told to arrive five to ten minutes early so that the bus could leave on time.

Hope and Dylan had the rest of that day to relax. They checked into the first good looking motel they found with a swimming pool. They got into the room and collapsed on the bed in the mid-afternoon. Neither Hope nor Dylan had realized how tired the past few days had made them. The stress of the horseback ride probably added to their feelings of exhaustion. They napped well into the early evening, waking up just in time for a quick swim and a late dinner. Returning to the room, they soon fell back asleep.

Hope and Dylan dozed off so fast that evening that they didn’t even brush their teeth, nor did they remember to set the alarm. Hope awoke first with the red numbers of the clock glaring 7:27.

“Oh my gosh,” she yelped. “Hope, honey, wake up!”

Dylan jumped up with a start. They had to be at the outfitter by 8:00 a.m. that morning, and it was a good half hour drive away. They scrambled to get dressed, and were on their way just before 7:45.

Under the circumstances, Dylan urged Hope to do the driving. She could be a fearless racecar driver when necessary. She drove like a madwoman, racing in and out of morning rush hour traffic, zigging and zagging, beating yellow lights, and dodging the front end of some red lights. Dylan held on tight to the arm rests as Hope raced along at breakneck speed to beat the clock. Fortunately, they had been to the outfitter the day before, and knew the route, which was relatively straight. The minutes ticked away, and they both feared that we would miss out on our big rafting adventure.

“Hope, we’re never going to make it. Maybe, we should just forget about if for today. We can always go tomorrow.”

“But, Dylan,” Hope sputtered, “I think they are pretty much booked solid for the rest of the week. If we don’t go today, we could be waiting for days for another chance.”

“I’ll tell you what – how about if I call and see if they’ll hold the bus for us. But you’ve got to slow down. It’s just not worth it, honey.”

It was 7:55, and, despite Hope’s swift maneuvering, they still had at least ten minutes of driving ahead of them.

“Surely, the bus could wait five minutes,” Dylan mumbled, as he pulled out the cell phone and made the call. “What?” he cried out. “The bus has already left,” he said to Hope.

Hope slowed the truck. “Well, can we catch it?” she said. “Or, maybe you can get directions to the launch site?”

Dylan started to jot down some information, and Hope sped up, recognizing by his actions that there was still a chance. Hope blew through what was clearly a red light, and Dylan began to sweat a little. He covered the phone, and urged her not to kill them both so early in the day.

“Okay, honey, I’ve got directions. The bus left a couple of minutes ago. The way you’re driving, we should be upon them shortly, I’m sure.”

Hope’s determined look softened somewhat, knowing that they would make it one way or another. They left the outskirts of town as Hope revved the engine well above the posted speed limit.

“Why are you driving so fast, Hope?”

“Well, we can’t catch them if we drive the speed limit! I’ve got to do something to gain on them.”
Dylan was stressed out by the whole experience, and was looking forward to a relaxing raft ride down a lazy river. To take his mind off of Hope’s driving, he focused his attention on the back seat, trying to organize some of their gear.

“Hey, Dylan, up there. Is that the bus?”

They gained on the large multi-colored school bus as if it were standing still – or better yet, going in reverse. Hope hit the brakes hard as they closed in. They couldn’t see any identification on the rear, so Hope hit the gas to go along side. Unfortunately, she forgot to check for oncoming traffic as she pulled out. Dylan turned pale as a ghost when he saw the grille of the approaching semi.

“Oops,” Hope said innocently, managing to pull them back behind the bus to avert certain death.
After the truck flew by, Dylan did the impossible; gripping the arm rests even tighter than he had before. Hope leaned out to check for more oncoming traffic. The coast was clear, so she pulled out along side the bus.

Dylan suggested that this could not be their bus. It’s multi-colored, abstract design looked like a throwback to hippie days. Then Hope saw the writing on the side, “Wanderlust Adventures.”

“Thar she blows,” Hope howled out, sounding like a pirate with his pants on too tight. She honked the horn, and Dylan sheepishly waived out the window, gesturing for the driver to pull over. The driver finally obliged, and Hope pulled in ahead of the bus along the highway. They jumped up out of our seats, and ran back.

The driver wasn’t exactly thrilled to see them, but Hope warmed him up quickly. After satisfying himself that they belonged there, he invited them aboard. There were about twenty others on the bus.

As they got seated, Hope and Dylan found themselves in the middle of the orientation program. One of the guides stood near the front of the bus, rather quickly going over the ins and outs of whitewater rafting, wearing lifejackets, rowing techniques, and guide commands. He went through it all so summarily that Dylan feared that they had missed all of the important information. He asked after the guide completed his spiel. “Oh, heck no folks, I just started before you got on.”

Dylan began to worry, thinking back to how many times this guy must have said “drown” or “drowning” during his five minute talk. And Dylan didn’t know how in the world he was supposed to remember all of the rowing techniques and commands.

“What had we gotten ourselves into?” he thought. “These hippies don’t know what they’re doing.”

Everyone on the bus was fairly quiet, except for the 4 or 5 guides who joked about some drunken misadventure, probably from the night before.

“Great, they’re all hung-over. Probably stoned today,” Dylan whispered to Hope.
She laughed. “Oh, Dylan, sometimes you just worry too much. We’ll be fine.”

The old diesel engine groaned as they chugged along the highway. As Dylan looked around, it was evident that the bus was not in the best of shape. Some of the windows appeared to be jammed shut, while others looked to be stuck open. The seats were several different colors, apparently cannibalized from many different buses. The engine roared as they approached an incline, and Dylan could no longer hear the inane banter of the drunken, drugged up hosts.

They arrived at the launch site after about two hours of driving. Hope had dozed off, and Dylan nudged her as they approached. They had caught up to another bus that was towing a trailer carrying about half a dozen large rubber rafts.

As they exited the bus, everything was all business. The guides methodically unloaded the rafts, oars, lifejackets, and helmets. Dylan’s confidence in them grew as they barked out commands in military fashion, directing the tourists where to go and what to do. Hope and Dylan were teamed up with two barely teen-aged boys, who would make up the foursome on their raft. Their guide was a rather petite looking woman, and what little confidence Dylan had generated was washed away.

“How are Hope and I going to manage this huge raft with two young boys and that tiny little woman?” he thought.

Dylan gave Hope a worried look. She came over and hugged him, whispering in his ear, “This is going to be super. I am so excited. Thank you for agreeing to do this.”

Dylan decided that his worrying was probably all for naught. He tried to be a little more chipper. Hope’s hug helped a lot, and he began to feel more enthused about the entire experience. He vowed to stop worrying about his fellow crew members, and just try to enjoy the day.

The four crewmembers carried the raft down an embankment to the rushing water as their guide, Nicole, barked out commands like a drill sergeant on where to place it.

“Maybe things won’t be so bad after all,” Dylan thought.

Nicole checked all of the life jackets, tightened them where necessary, and then rapped the mates on their helmets as she doled out the oars. As Dylan boarded the vessel, he noted the name embossed on its side, “Titanic.” He noticed another raft was labeled, “Edmund Fitzgerald,” and another was “Lusitania.”

“Hey, Hope, did you notice these raft names? What kind of sick sense of humor would give our rafts these kinds of names?”

“Oh, Dylan, come on now. Don’t forget to lighten up, and have fun. I think it’s kind of clever.”

Their vessel was the second raft to leave the shoreline. There were three more behind to round out the caravan. It seemed easy and carefree at first. They really did very little paddling. Nicole steered from the rear, as they occasionally paddled to assist in the maneuvering. It seemed quite safe, and Dylan began to think that he might get his lazy ride down the river after all. He didn’t realize, however, that they were slowly picking up speed.

“This is pretty sweet,” Dylan remarked. “I could really get used to this.”

“I sure hope we go faster than this.” There was a twinge of disappointment in Hope’s voice.

“Oh, don’t you worry, ma’m,” Nicole sputtered. “You’ll have the time of your life by the time we’re through.”

Nicole went on to tell some corny jokes that she told all of the tourists, and there was some bantering back and forth between the novices and their guide. Dylan noticed, after ten to fifteen minutes, that the river didn’t appear level and flat anymore. They were coursing along a seemingly downhill segment of the river, and the water began to splash up along the sides. Dylan sensed that his opportunity for lying back and sunning himself was coming to an end.

As she threatened to dump one of the teen-aged passengers overboard, Nicole cut herself short, and began to bark out commands about rowing this way and that, and making sure that everyone’s feet were secured to the raft by the straps. She mentioned the “drown” word again, and yelled “here we go.” And there they went. It was incredible. Out of nowhere, Dylan and Hope could hear the roar of the once peaceful river just challenging them to try to beat it. The clear stream had changed to white foam as countless rocks jutted into their path.

Petite Nicole, however, managed to drown out the river’s roar whenever issued an order. She was a fearless leader with a set of lungs and vocal chords perfectly suited for her chosen profession. She never missed a beat, as they dodged boulders and whirlpools, getting drenched all the while by the water cascading into the raft. They were four marines for the moment, and they dutifully obeyed their sergeant’s every directive. Nicole skillfully guided them through waters that would have surely swallowed a lone novice. They passed their first test after ten minutes or so, as they returned to a calm stretch of water.

“Well, you pups did it, I’m proud of you,” Nicole gleamed at them, and the crew gleamed right back.

Dylan felt an adrenaline rush, and suddenly wanted more of the whitewater drug. They all chattered back and forth about the excitement of their first run, reminiscing like old pros.

“Don’t get too cocky, you guys, there’s plenty more ahead. That was just an easy intro.” Nicole got serious on them, and they turned their gazes ahead to see the next stretch of rapids.

The vessel jostled back and forth, up and down, having returned to hostile waters. One second Hope and Dylan were in the front of the boat in their designated positions. Suddenly the current would twist and pull, as they spun around 180 degrees, and they found themselves in the rear looking at the trailing members of the convoy. Nicole would yell, and they’d get things straightened back out. This happened several times, and Nicole’s impatience became evident.

“I can’t steer from the front, you clowns! You’ve got to row when I tell you to, and you’ve got to row hard!”

The second encounter with the rapids ended with a steep change in river grade. Nicole had warned them about this. At the time, Dylan figured she was just teasing, exaggerating, trying to scare them. When they hit it, Dylan thought they had gone down a small waterfall. The raft suddenly went what felt like straight down. Dylan’s eyes opened wide, and he looked behind to see the rear of the raft about five feet higher in the air as they finished the nose dive. Hope and Dylan took the brunt of the water, and any dry spot left on their bodies was drenched after that episode. The rear came down with a smack on the water, like a giant whale banging its tail fin.

By then, Dylan’s arms ached from using muscles that he didn’t even know that he had. Nicole scolded them, and warned that slacking off would only get them drowned.

“Yikes, I had forgotten about that ‘D’ word,” Dylan observed. “Here I am having the time of my life, and Nicole has to once again remind us about dying.”

Hope was beaming. She wasn’t fazed by Nicole’s admonitions. “Isn’t this wonderful, Dylan?”

Dylan had to agree, and nodded his head enthusiastically.

The current became tame again, and they had a chance to relax. Nicole steered them to the shoreline where the first boat was already waiting. The other three joined in, as they climbed across countless slippery rocks to once again stand on dry land. The guides passed out some granola bars, which everyone devoured. While it was nice to stretch, Dylan remarked that it was rather unpleasant to feel his clothes slowly drying out. Hope agreed. They got kind of itchy and chilled, as the wind blew by, and yearned to return to the water exploit soon. There was a problem though.

One of the rafters in the lead boat wasn’t quite as thrilled about her experience as Hope and Dylan. She was nauseous, apparently seasick. Or maybe she couldn’t handle the stress of it all. Any doubt that she was exaggerating her symptoms was quelled when she vomited her granola bar back up for all to see. One of the guides had a walkie-talkie, and radioed someone for assistance. A short while later, the two multi-colored buses appeared on the highway up above the riverbank. Until then, Dylan and Hope hadn’t even realized that the highway was so close.

The ailing rafter sobbed quietly as she was escorted through the thicket to the highway. When all were back to shore, the guides huddled for a moment. Then the announcement came. “Folks, we’ve got a small problem. Our lead boat only had three oarsmen. All of the rest had four. We’ve only got two now, so we need a volunteer to round this boat out to a threesome.”

No one volunteered. Of course, everyone came with friends or family, and wanted to stick together.

“Come on, folks, we don’t want to have to pick someone. It would make it a whole lot easier on everyone if one of you would just volunteer.”

Hope looked at Dylan with her eyebrows raised, and he knew that she would be the one to make it easier on everyone else. That was just her style. She always liked to help out.

“Heck,” Dylan thought, “she’ll be bosom buddies with everyone on the lead raft before they even leave the shoreline.” Dylan shrugged his shoulders, nodded affirmatively, a Hope waived her arms.

“I’ll switch. No need to draft your volunteer.” She smiled at Dylan, grabbed her lifejacket from the raft, gave Dylan a kiss, and took off for the lead raft.
Dylan turned around, and saw what was left of his crew - two little boys and diminutive Nicole.

“Oh well,” he thought, “we made it this far. And Nicole really seems to know what she’s doing. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He would miss having Hope in his raft, though – she certainly livened up things. At least he could see her ahead. He did enjoy seeing her have a good time, and this would be the next best thing to sharing a raft.

They boarded the vessels, and pushed off from the shore. Dylan could see Hope ahead in the “Edmund Fitzgerald” laughing and joking with her mates, three other women and a middle-aged, somewhat paunchy guide. As they drifted down the relatively calm waters, Hope’s boat slowed and pulled to the right. Dylan’s raft gained on them, pulling along their left side about ten to fifteen feet away.

“Everything okay?” Nicole hollered.

Without warning, they were ambushed. Everyone in Hope’s boat began slapping water off the surface of the river at Dylan’s raft with their oars. Dylan and his boat mates were soaking wet in seconds, and retaliated in kind. Hope’s crew slowed their raft with their oars, though, so Dylan’s group did little damage as they drifted further ahead. Hope laughed and waved.

“You instigated this, didn’t you?” Dylan yelled back. Hope just smiled and blew a kiss in his direction.

Dylan’s was now the lead boat. He started to get chilled from the dousing, but with another set of rapids approaching, Dylan had little time for shivering. Nicole barked out rowing commands, warning them that this segment would probably be the most challenging of the day. Fearing the worst, Dylan pushed his feet as far as they would go into the floor straps. If he had pushed any harder, he would have ripped the straps right off of the boat. He was alone in the front now, and was the first to pass over the white foam of the turbulent current. Dylan looked back to Hope, gave a quick wave, then focused his attention on the task ahead.

The raft bounced up and down as they entered the cascading flow. From the onset, it was clear that this portion of the journey would indeed be the most difficult and strenuous, and likely the most memorable. The raft was jostled to and fro, as Nicole yelled out instructions and orders. As before, her crew dutifully obeyed, and did their best to follow her lead. It was noticeably harder to maneuver the raft without Hope’s assistance, however.

Sometimes, Nicole would order a hard left, which meant that rowers on the right side paddled while those on the left sat tight. This was designed to turn the boat toward the left. The problem was that, with Hope’s absence, there was only one teen-aged boy on the right to do the work of two. He struggled admirably, but was often unable to fully accomplish the needed maneuver. As a result, the rafters tended to find themselves turning in circles as they pushed and shoved downriver.

It seemed like they were rushing down the river at a hundred miles an hour when they entered the most difficult stretch. Rocks jutted out all across the river, some five to ten feet high. Dylan scanned the horizon, looking for a passage through, but saw none.

“Where in the world is Nicole going to steer us?” he thought as he was engulfed with panic. “Stay calm; she knows what she’s doing. She’s done this hundreds of times.” That became Dylan’s mantra – stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

Dylan sneaked a quick glance behind, and lost all confidence that he had managed to generate to that point. He saw that Nicole too had a panicked look on her face. In the brief seconds that passed, Dylan surmised that perhaps she had never taken the lead raft on this stretch, and was as confused as he by the scattered boulders and obstacles ahead.

The raft bobbed up and down as they were drenched by the spray. The water didn’t feel cool and refreshing here. It was cold and it stung when it slapped Dylan’s face. Nicole continued to bark out commands, trying to steer them through the rock maze. The boat was thrown up and down, with water pouring in all the while. Suddenly, Nicole’s commands had stopped. Dylan looked behind, and she wasn’t there.

“Where’s Nicole?” Dylan screamed over the water’s roar.

One of the boys yelled over that she had been knocked off the back by a wall of water.

“Oh my God,” Dylan thought. “What am I supposed to do?” A million thoughts raced through his head. He couldn’t stop the raft; he couldn’t go back for Nicole. How was he going to keep the boat afloat? He looked back to make sure the two boys were still aboard.

Dylan turned around just as they slammed into a jagged boulder the size of a car. They bounced back from the boulder momentarily, as Dylan tried to row them around it. The water slammed them right back into it, then pushed the raft up over the rock and across its top. They were verging toward the opposite edge, and could do nothing to stop their progression.

Dylan yelled back to the boys, “hold on tight! There’s a huge drop coming!”
He could see that the drop on the far side of the boulder was several feet higher than that of the approach. The current pushed them hard. When they reached the far edge of the boulder, Dylan went over first. There wasn’t enough weight in the rear, and the unrelenting river flipped the raft. Dylan heard the boys’ cries for help as they flew over his head, and the threesome was submerged in the icy depths.

Dylan entered the water with a terrible shock. The cold ice water sucked the air right out of his lungs. He opened his eyes, desperately trying to find the surface and the two young boys. Dylan couldn’t make any sense out of the helter skelter world that met his eyes – he couldn’t tell what was up or what was down. There were bubbles everywhere from the churning current. He tried to swim, he tried to resist the current’s tug, but it was no use as his body helplessly followed the course ordained by the mighty river, like a limp doll discarded into the agitated flow.

There was so much confusion as the world spun around Dylan like the interior of a clothes washer, that he didn’t even notice the lack of oxygen at first. After a minute of tossing and turning, though, his body told him that he needed air. Dylan panicked, but resisted the temptation to inhale. He focused on trying to find the surface, and headed toward what appeared to be daylight. Dylan burst through the plane of water into the atmosphere, and gasped for air with all his might. But before he could complete his breath, or utter a cry for help, he was sucked back down, still wanting and needing more air.

Suddenly, Dylan was heaved by the turmoil against a giant crag and to the surface. Dylan swallowed several gulps of air, and frantically tried to grab hold of the jagged stone, but his hands simply slid along its slimy, slippery surface. He glimpsed around at his surroundings, but saw no one and could not tell where he was. As he felt the current pulling him under again, Dylan strained his neck to gasp one last breath. Immersed against he will, he thought, or perhaps imagined, that he saw Hope on the surface above extending an oar. He thrust my arms overhead, but sensed nothing but the icy stew.

This time Dylan was sucked deep into the darkness. He was too tired to fight, too tired to struggle or swim. The river had beaten him, and, exhausted, he had conceded defeat. As Dylan sank deeper, he could hold his breath no longer. His body’s desire to breathe won over, and Dylan unwillingly inhaled. As the cold liquid filled his lungs, he was surprisingly at ease. He felt lightheaded and numb, as he slipped into unconsciousness, never again expecting to see the light of day.

Chapter 12 - An Unwelcome Surprise

2008-01-14T19:12:00.000-08:00

It was not until some days later that Shelly McCarthy returned to foraging through the boxes of mundane papers. Her re-acquaintance with her old friend reminded Shelly how good it was to have companionship. So Shelly had made it a point to renew old friendships and get out on the town. She still ached inside, but the pain eased somewhat with the opportunity to laugh and frolic.

Her brief intermission was interrupted, though, when the attorney called to check on the status of her work. The call came on a Thursday, and Shelly promised that she would complete her work by Monday. Shelly then procrastinated until it could wait no longer. She woke up on a glorious sunny Sunday morning wishing she could do anything else – but Shelly had to return to the dark dingy basement.

Shelly started digging through boxes where she had left off. Nothing of significance, as far as she was concerned - mostly textbooks, school papers, work-related documents. There was nothing that she cared about and nothing that she cared to save. After several more hours in the basement, with the clock ticking away on a beautiful day, Shelly was about to call it quits.

However, Shelly felt a sense of obligation to complete her assigned task. To make things a little more interesting, Shelly decided to play a little game. She would randomly select the next box to inspect by luck of the draw. Shelly waved her hand around with her finger pointed. She closed her eyes, waived her finger around some more, stopped, selected, and opened her eyes.

“Figures,” she said with a frown. She had selected one of the least accessible boxes, trapped below the remaining ones. “Oh well,” she muttered as she pulled the other boxes away.

“This one looks promising, after all.” On top of the box was the label, “HONEYMOON” in big black letters. Shelly opened it up and found nothing but more disappointment.

“Unbelievable! More text books. Well, at least they stuck them down in the basement, instead of reading them all the time!” Whatever honeymoon souvenirs there may have been had apparently been moved elsewhere. “Or mom and dad had the most boring honeymoon in history,” she chuckled.

Shelly continued searching the box. She dumped the books on the floor, only to find a folder containing papers beneath.

“What have we here? ‘Adoption’? Now, that’s intriguing….” Shelly had found a yellowed old folder with the words “adoption” and “confidential” scrawled across it in faded red pencil. It was bound in old rubber bands that disintegrated as she pulled them off of the folder. Shelly’s heart raced. She had no idea what this folder would reveal. Was one of her parents adopted? Had they tried to adopt some other child? Did she have a long lost adopted brother or sister?

Shelly’s mouth dropped open wide as she perused the papers. Her parents had adopted a little girl shortly after birth; weight 8 pounds, 10 ounces. Then the papers fell to the floor and scattered, as Shelly stood up, dumbfounded. The little girl’s birth date was March 27, the same as hers.

“Oh, my god,” Shelly exclaimed out loud, “I’m the adopted one?” Shelly was overwhelmed with feelings of confusion, anger, and panic. She scrambled across the floor, frantically reviewing the scattered documents, trying to uncover more about this mystery.

“How can this be?” she thought. “Surely, this can’t be. Why would they have kept me in the dark all of these years?”

Ravaging through the papers, it was evident that she was indeed adopted. It was all beginning to make sense too. Whenever Shelly had asked in the past about her birth, her Charles and Beth had very little to say. And there were no photos from the hospital. Whenever she had asked about her birth certificate, it had always been “misplaced” or “mixed up with a bunch of other papers.” Shelly recalled that her parents seemed so uncomfortable talking about the subject that she never brought it up again.

But she never in her wildest dreams imagined that she was adopted. People always said, “You have your mother’s eyes,” or “you act just like your father.” Both of Shelly’s parents were great athletes, and she had always done well in sports too. It always seemed so natural with them in everything that they did.

“I am their daughter, damn it! This can’t be. How could they not be my parents?” Shelly angered, and rationalized that it was all a big mistake. She sat down on the floor, surrounded only by papers and boxes that could not speak to her. She began to sob. “How will I ever know the truth?”

Chapter 11 - High Altitude Havoc

2008-01-14T19:07:00.000-08:00

The Colorado border was somewhat of a disappointment for Hope and Dylan. Having only flown to Colorado in the past, they weren’t sure what to expect. But they both assumed that they would enter the Rocky Mountain state, instantaneously confronting the purple mountains in their entire splendor. No such luck – the terrain was still Nebraska, as far as they were concerned, for at least an hour or so.

Then, they crossed a small desert. Cacti all over the place were an unexpected treat. “Wow, can you believe this, Hope? It reminds me of the set for an old western movie.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I can just imagine Tonto and the Lone Ranger riding right along beside us. Do you think they could keep up with our cruiser?”

As they approached Denver, the mountains slowly protruded from the hazy blanket hiding them from view. The couple’s disappointment in not seeing the vast mountain range as they crossed the Colorado border turned to awe and amazement the closer they got to the great rock crags.

“Gosh, Hope, just think back to the settlers of a hundred or so years ago. They must have trembled in fear as these giant mountains loomed on the horizon ahead of them for days. Can you imagine trying to cross through this area with just a horse and wagon?”

“No thank you, Dylan! I feel very grateful to have this truck and paved roads ahead,” Hope offered. “I a little nervous about driving through the mountains – I’m very happy that someone else blazed the trail through years ago.”

They could begin to see snow-covered caps as they turned north toward the pass that would lead them to Estes Park, their next destination. It was a winding asphalt ribbon that slowly took them higher and higher into the depths of the great Rockies. When they reached Estes Park, despite the fact that they had entered a community of several thousand, Dylan and Hope were both struck by a peaceful solitude and a feeling of isolation. They were surrounded by glorious mountain tops as the last remnants of the day’s sun shown on the small burgh.

“You know, Hope, we’ve hardly spent any money on this trip so far. We’re surely earning more in dividends on our money than we have even spent up to the point.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Dylan – more money to spend on other things!”

But Dylan wanted Hope’s last days to be special, even opulent if necessary. It was a delicate subject, though, because he didn’t want to point out that she didn’t have much time left to spend the money on other things.

“Yes, I agree,” Dylan said. “I guess after sleeping outside last night, though, I kind of feel like living it up a little tonight. There’s a pretty fancy hotel here in town, and I was wondering if you would mind staying there.”

“Fine by me, Dylan. Just point me in the right direction.”

So, they pulled into the Stanley Hotel, which had to be one of the swankiest hotels in the entire Rocky Mountain Range. The lodging was beautiful and glamorous. Dylan thought it would be fun to live out a fantasy of being wealthy, to be treated as one of the elite. He couldn’t even imagine having such luxuries on a daily basis, but it was a treat to be pampered while it lasted.

There was a valet to park the truck. There were doormen to open the door when they entered the hotel. There were busboys to carry the luggage, and a concierge to tell the busboys to carry the luggage. They got a tour of their suite before they made it home for the next several days. The suite was adorned with flowers, lace, rich mahogany, and a breathtaking view of Long’s Peak, in the midst of the Rocky Mountain National Park, off in the distance. A complimentary bottle of champagne with various sweet treats arrived at their door shortly after check-in.

Hope dove onto the large feather bed as soon as the busboy left them alone. She had a huge smile on her face, remarking, “Ah, this is the life!” Dylan was glad that they had spent the money on such a glamorous suite.

“So, what should we do while we’re here in the mountains?” Hope asked. Dylan laid beside her as they made plans for the next several days in the Rockies.

“Well, I’d love to go whitewater rafting,” Dylan suggested.

“Oh, yes, very cool,” Hope agreed. “And, I’ve always wanted to go horseback riding in the mountains.”

“Then it’s a done deal,” Dylan proclaimed. “How about if we go horseback riding tomorrow, and then we can gather some information on rafting afterwards? I was thinking it would be fun to do an overnight trip – are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that sounds great, Dylan! This is going to be a fun time – I can hardly wait!”

The excitement on Hope’s face was evident, and Dylan could see that she didn’t have any interest in lying around with the prospect of two big adventures in their future. After they relaxed for a few short minutes more, Hope and Dylan got the bikes down from the truck, and cruised around downtown Estes Park. They found a quiet Italian restaurant, right downtown, but nestled off the beaten path, and enjoyed a relaxing dinner with a glass of wine. They headed back to the hotel shortly after dinner, and retired early for the evening.

Dylan and Hope woke up early the next morning, rearing to ride horseback, but low clouds and rain foiled their plans. They spoke with some cowboys at the livery stable, who said they would gladly take the couple out for a ride, but they wouldn’t see a “darn thing” up in the clouds. They suggested a return on a sunny day to get their money’s worth.

It rained off and on all day. Hope and Dylan drove toward the highest point in the local mountains, but turned around before they reached the summit. It was clear that the cowboys were right. They couldn’t see a darn thing up in the clouds, and could see no reason to go any higher. They went back to the hotel, somewhat dejected, and relaxed for the rest of the day.
Returning to the hotel, they splurged on massages, then took a sauna and sat in the whirlpool. Dylan and Hope played handball, ping pong, and shuffleboard. While the day hadn’t turned out like they planned, it was fun nonetheless.

The next day, they were greeted with more rain and low clouds. Dylan became frustrated and anxious. “This is really pissing me off, Hope,” Dylan grumbled. “When is it going to get nice around here.”

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m having a great time with you. Aren’t you having fun?”

Dylan had to admit that they were have having a wonderful time. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll try not to let the weather bother me.” It was hard for Dylan, though, even though Hope was clearly enjoying herself, just taking it easy. But he knew her days were so numbered. “I just feel like a day lounging around the hotel is a wasted one for you, honey.”

Hope just laughed. “Aw, honey, I’m just happy to be alive, just happy to be with you. I don’t need anything else.” Dylan smiled, tried to relax, but felt frustrated anyway. He just couldn’t accept the fact that they would spend another day trapped in the hotel. He tried to make the best of it, though, as they made the rounds from massage to ping pong just like the day before. They ended the day with an in-room movie and room service for dinner.

Dylan didn’t sleep well that night, letting himself get all worked up about the weather. He probably would have screamed at the top of his lungs had he awoke the next day to another rainy morn. Fortunately for the guests in the adjoining rooms, Dylan drew the blinds open the next day to a gloriously sunny day. The sky was the bluest blue, posing a sharp contrast to the snowy peaks in the distance. He jumped for joy and woke Hope up right away. “It sure looks like a grand day for a horseback ride,” he said with a capricious smile. Hope beamed back, “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

They arrived at the stable an hour or so later, just as the sun flooded the dew-covered valley. Hope arranged for an eight-hour tour, just the two of them with a guide. Their guide was a jocular old cowhand, named Coyote Pete. He was somewhat stout, but not really overweight. Coyote Pete looked like someone who had worked hard for many years, and had developed a hearty physique for cattle roping and wrestling. It was clear that he enjoyed his current position in life, though, which was probably a tad more relaxing than chasing errant cattle across some great thorn-covered range.

“I’m gonna show you folks the time of yer lives,” Pete chuckled. “Some of them cliffs up there will ‘bout take yer breath away, I promise ya. Some folks git pretty near scared to death up there - always gives me a chuckle.” Dylan wanted an adventure, for sure, but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of looking death in the eye.

Dylan whispered to Hope, “I can see why this guy’s so happy. I think he gets his kicks scaring the pants off of city people like you and me.”

Hope whispered back, “Yeah, I bet the cowboys have a grand old time every night laughing around the campfire, talking about scaredy-cat city slickers like us!”

“Well, I’ll show him,” Dylan thought. “No matter what, I will not get scared today. I will not show fear,” he vowed to himself. Dylan figured Coyote Pete could laugh about some other sap, but he wouldn’t have any tall tales to tell about him around the campfire that night.

Dylan’s initial disdain for Coyote Pete slowly changed to respect and admiration as they meandered their way back and forth up the mountain side. There was hardly a path to speak of - only a narrow trail of dirt and rock - yet Pete maneuvered himself and the horses up the hillside with the greatest of ease. For all he cared, they could have been riding across a flat green pasture. But they were not, by any means – they were climbing straight up a mountain, a mountain on which no car or truck could traverse. The only way any person could mount that peak was by foot or on the back of a horse.

After they rode for a couple of hours, the vegetation began to thin, and the view expanded. They were climbing higher than Dylan imagined possible by horseback. The terrain got steeper, and his palms began to sweat as he held on tight to the reins.

“You know, Hope, it occurs to me that there is nothing holding me to my horse!”

“Ha ha, Dylan,” she laughed, “you’re in prime condition to be launched out into the great wide open. You better not make your horse angry!”

Dylan looked down as they traversed a particularly rocky part of the trail. The rocks kicked up by the horses tumbled down, down the mountain side, out of sight. “I can just see my body bouncing down – just like these rocks the horses keep kicking up. Man, it looks like miles to the bottom.”

“Lunch time,” Coyote Pete yelled. “And, by the way, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

“Lunch? It’s only 9:40,” Hope protested.

“Well, here in the mountains, we’re up before the crack of dawn. I had just a few vittles for breakfast almost five hours ago, and I say it’s time for lunch,” Pete bellowed with an ear to ear semi-toothless grin.

“Another one of his tricks,” Dylan figured. “He probably gets people sitting down for lunch when they’re not even hungry. Then they don’t eat much of anything. And they’re starving and vulnerable about the time a civilized lunch hour approaches.”

Coyote Pete halted the small caravan right there on the side of a cliff. There was barely enough room for the horses along the narrow ledge, but the view was spectacular.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Dylan exclaimed. Hope, always in good spirits, yelled out, “isn’t this wild, Dylan?” She hopped off of her horse, and sat along the trail with her legs dangling down, banging back-and-forth against the cliff like an exuberant kindergartener sitting on a brick wall. With great trepidation, Dylan cautiously dismounted his staid stallion. Hugging the mountain side, he slid his feet along the trail to Hope’s perch.

As Dylan sat beside Hope, his heartbeat slowly returned to normal. No longer preoccupied with the thought of an early lunch hour, and no longer fearful of plunging to the depths below, Dylan fixed his gaze out away from the mountain. It was a breathtaking, awe-inspiring view. They had nearly reached the tree-line. All around them, separated by nothing but the purest air in the world, were jutting peaks blanketed with snow, with an occasional rocky crag piercing the icy veil. No one said a word. There was pure and clean silence, other than the gentle breeze whisking by that rocked scattered tree branches. Dylan could see then why Coyote Pete stopped there for lunch, and was grateful to have his perspective of the world, if only for that moment. The world up there was beautiful and uncomplicated.

When they remounted the horses, Pete advised that they were approaching 12,000 feet in altitude. They climbed further, past the last of the trees, to the place in the world where only lichens and small bushes can survive. This was a barren land, exposed to the sun only two to three months of the year, otherwise hidden by a thick blanket of snow and ice.

The air became noticeably thinner, and Dylan realized that his breathing was laborious. He became more conscious of his breathing, actually forcefully sucking in air to get enough. He felt lightheaded, as he turned around to check on Hope. She was gasping for air with a panicked look on her face. Until then, Dylan had forgotten about her fragile lungs. The cancer had made progress in its digestion of Hope’s lungs, and she was feeling the first effects there up high in the Rockies.

Dylan yelled to Coyote Pete, “We’ve got to turn back! Hope can’t breath. Hurry!”

Pete was puzzled at first until Dylan explained the predicament. “You rummies, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Pete, the thought never even crossed our minds,” Dylan replied. Dylan was only half right, though. Hope later acknowledged that the thought had crossed her mind, but she brushed it aside at the thought of losing out on such an exciting escapade.

Hope slouched over for a second, and Dylan’s heart nearly stopped. Then, to his relief, she began to cough. Dylan could hear her straining and gasping with all of her might for oxygen. Dylan began to tremble as they hurried down the path that they had just climbed. Hope couldn’t respond to any questions, and Dylan feared that they would lose her right then and there. The going was slow on the rocky trail, with the horses slipping and sliding more than once. Dylan would have been afraid of the ride under different circumstances, but all he could think of then was that they needed to go faster.

As they returned below the tree line, Hope’s breathing eased and her coughing stopped. She took several deep breaths, turned to Dylan with a meek smile. “I’ll be okay, dear. That was a little stressful, huh?”

Dylan wiped the sweat from his brow, grateful that Hope had survived that brush with death. His heart saddened, though, at the thought that some day, probably some day soon, Hope would be gasping for air, and a change in altitude wouldn’t save her. A tear ran down his cheek as they continued down the path. Other than Pete’s occasional grumbling, no one said another word until they reached the stable several hours later.

When they reached the bottom, Hope and Dylan said their good-byes to Coyote Pete and their horses, checked out of our hotel, and then proceeded to drive directly to nearest hospital. They agreed that Hope should see a doctor. The somber drive to Fort Collins took over an hour. As they drove down from the mountains, the canyons grew dark as the afternoon shadows stretched across the highway.

Without Hope’s past medical records, the emergency room could offer little assistance. There was no way to determine if Hope had lost any lung tissue without a baseline for comparison. Nevertheless, the physician concurred that Hope’s encounter was probably due to her limited lung capacity. The physician prescribed oxygen, and provided Hope with a small portable tank and mask in the event of another such emergency.

Hope cried as they left the hospital. Dylan stopped and held her tight. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to lose his Hope. Unspoken as it was, they both knew, though, that the inevitable end was drawing near, maybe months away, but near nevertheless. They were terrified. Hope and Dylan had had a haunting glimpse of what her impending death might be like. They stood there alone on the sidewalk, holding each other tight, as another dusk approached, and another of the handful of their remaining days together came to a close.

Chapter 10 - A Perplexing Letter

2008-01-14T19:04:00.000-08:00

Several months after her parents’ death, Shelly McCarthy still worked at the arduous task of trying to put her life back together. She had decided that she could no longer live in the house that had been her home for most of her life. There were too many painful memories there, too much to remind of her good times had, and of the loving life she had now lost. She missed her parents dearly, and often found herself crying, sitting alone in the living room with the lights out.
Shelly decided that she had to find a way somehow to move on. She had no intentions of forgetting about her past. She only needed to make a future for herself, a future with hopefully many happy memories of the past. The only way that she could do that, she concluded, was to sell the house and move to another city.

Shelly had made many friends growing up, but none of them seemed to matter to her after the death of her parents. She was devastated by the loss. She isolated herself from her friends, and they eventually all gave up attempting to console her. She felt terrible about how she had shut her friends out, but the shock, anger, pain, and grief of losing her only family just hurt too much. She had engulfed herself in mourning, and felt that the only escape from that chasm was to move away, hopefully leaving the pain behind.

Shelly slowly began the difficult task of deciding what to sell or give away of her parents’ possessions, and what to keep. She sorted through her parents’ old clothes, giving most of them to charity. Much of the furniture she simply gave away too. She couldn’t stand the thought of selling off old memories, believing instead that giving the belongings to charity would perhaps permit something good to come from her parents’ demise. To auction off these goods would only permit her to profit even more off of their deaths. Shelly felt uncomfortable with the vast fortune that she had inherited, and she didn’t need any more money.

Her parents’ probate proceedings were in full swing, and the attorney asked Shelly to go through her parents’ old papers to uncover any loose ends that might need to be addressed in court. There was a mountain of boxes in the far corner of her parents’ basement. Shelly knew only that they contained official-type documents, and remembrances of her parents’ lives. She dreaded going through the boxes, as she had never seen anything from them before. She reasoned that her parents would have shown her if there had been anything important in the mass of cardboard. Nevertheless, she obliged the attorney’s request.

One rainy mid-autumn Saturday morning, Shelly McCarthy sat cross-legged on the damp basement floor with a bare light bulb above her head, and began sorting through what must have seemed like several hundred boxes. Shelly was less than enthused as she began. The first box was full of some of her dad’s college text books. There were books about finance, accounting, commercial law, and other business-related studies. They were musty and hadn’t been opened in years. “There’s one for the garbage,” Shelly muttered.

The next box was much more entertaining. It contained various souvenirs from her mother’s childhood. There was a small cloth bag of rocks, probably thought of as “precious jewels” by her mother at a young age. There was a tattered rag doll, with an eye missing and half of the hair torn out. And there were dozens of pictures that her mom had drawn, probably before she could hardly write. Shelly chuckled at the thought of her wise and educated mother drawing those jovial stick figures that barely resembled people. “This box is a definite keeper,” she thought.

Shelly had a run of bad luck with several boxes crammed with old maps, books, and other items that had no value or consequence to her. She was sure that every item in those boxes had some significance, some special meaning, to her parents. And she was saddened at the thought of having lost the opportunity to ever learn the import of these memories of the past. She fought back tears of anger as she tossed several boxes onto the garbage pile.

The next box, having been buried somewhere in the middle of the stack, was intriguing to Shelly. It was full of cards and letters that her father had sent to her mother. There were birthday cards, some romantic, some funny. There were Christmas cards, and there were wedding anniversary cards. Most of the cards were simply signed “Love, Charles,” or “I love you.” But there were letters too – letters that went back to when her parents first met. There she could see on paper the love that her father had for her mother, and the silly antics of a young man in love.

There were also letters from her father when he served in Vietnam. He never liked to talk about the war, and his letters rarely mentioned his day-to-day duties in the heat and humidity of that far-away foreign nation. He mainly professed his undying love for Beth, and counted down the days to their reunion. One would have never guessed that the author was writing them while lying low in some musty bunker in the midst of gunfire, or while standing ankle deep in mud and water in a tropical swamp.

Another letter, with a post mark on the envelope shortly before Shelly’s birth date, caught her eye. It was sent long after her father had served in the war, and had a partially illegible postmark suggesting that it had been mailed from somewhere in Wisconsin. Shelly figured that her father must have been away on business at the time. She opened the envelope, and a tattered, faded business card fell to the floor. The card itself had once gotten wet, smearing the ink, and it was no longer legible. The terse handwritten letter was unharmed, though, and it intrigued Shelly:

“My Dearest Beth,

I love you and miss you very much. I have some leads, but feel like I am making little progress. This is frustrating and tiring work. I will be home as soon as possible.

I am sorry that I cannot give you the thing that is most important to you. We have our careers, but I know that there is more to life than earning money.

I love you. Charles"

Shelly was rather perplexed by the letter. She looked through the others, but couldn’t find anymore from that time period. What could that most important thing have been?

“Maybe he just meant time,” Shelly thought. “Maybe he was just upset about not being together.” That made as much sense as anything to Shelly. She shrugged her shoulders, planning to turn to the next box on the pile, when she was interrupted by a phone call. It was a friend, who she hadn’t seen in months. Shelly accepted a dinner invitation, leaving the remaining boxes for another day.

Chapter 9 - Ample Opportunities for Daydreaming

2008-01-14T18:59:00.000-08:00

It was Dylan’s turn to drive, and he was stuck with the tedious drive across Nebraska. Hope had dozed off, leaving Dylan with ample opportunities for daydreaming. One thought led to another - one can never really quite figure how they’re all connected - and he recalled a time before he and Hope had married.

Dylan’s marriage to Hope was not his first. His first bride, Misty, came to him at an adolescent age, during college. In their naiveté, the couple overlooked their countless differences, and let their puppy love rule the decision to marry early on during their relationship. Struggling through the balance of college together was difficult, but Dylan and Misty survived. At least they had that common bond.

Upon graduation, free time was plentiful. Dylan and Misty had much time together, perhaps too much. Their differences became apparent as they matured, and they grew on each other’s nerves as they came to realize how different their respective personalities were. The biggest crevice between them was work. Misty once said that her career was the most important thing to her – and she meant it. Dylan really couldn’t care less about his job - it was a way to pay the bills; it was a 40-hour per week obligation.

The longer that Dylan and Misty lived together, the less they liked what they saw. Neither person was bad, neither lifestyle was wrong. They were just different – too different – and they drifted apart. Dylan began to find more and more interests outside of the home and marriage. He began to think about divorce.

Dylan’s regrets center on what happened only several years into his marriage with Misty. Dylan had known Hope before he met Misty. Actually, Hope and Dylan had dated in high school, and had a hot and heavy relationship. But they parted company at graduation under stressful circumstances, never expecting to see each other again. Dylan certainly knew that Hope’s parents wanted nothing more to do with him.

Hope and Dylan both worked at the large home office of a bank in the same office. They hadn’t kept in contact since high school, and didn’t even realize that they worked together. But one day, Dylan walked into a meeting, and there she was, all cheery and talkative - and so beautiful. The old feelings were re-ignited instantaneously. Dylan knew right then and there – a feeling deep inside his gut – that he needed to be with Hope.

Due to their involvement on the same project team, they became reacquainted. At first, they would just talk at meetings. Then they would run into each other in the halls, and would stop to chat. Soon they were sending emails. They even saw each other on company outings. Conversations initially were business-related, and limited to the mere exchange of customary pleasantries. But over time, there became less “chat” and more substance to their talks. A mutual attraction eventually redeveloped.

On one particular summer company outing, Hope and Dylan both had too much to drink, and eventually found themselves embraced in a kiss. When the spell cast by the alcohol weakened, they immediately felt guilt over their rapture. Dylan was even so bold as to later confess the transgression to Misty, hoping that it would all end there. He promised that nothing more would happen, and that he would never see Hope again. Thinking back, Dylan regretted having ever made the promise he knew he could never keep. His intentions were good, but it only served to needlessly complicate an already disastrous situation. “It would have been better if Misty had never known,” Dylan thought.

After their sultry summer evening encounter, Hope’s and Dylan’s relationship regressed and deteriorated, which seemed to be a good thing at the time. Dylan felt that his marriage perhaps seemed to strengthen. But he couldn’t deny that Hope was still on his mind. At weaker moments, he thought of her, and longed to be with her again. He had tasted her cherry lips, and craved another bite.

And, as Dylan eventually realized, nothing had really changed with his marriage. Misty and he continued to be as incompatible as ever. They tried to spend more time together, and they had some fun. But they were just scratching at the surface. Their efforts at attacking the root of the problem were feeble at best. The more time he spent away from Hope, the more Dylan felt unhappy with his marriage.

“I should have taken the opportunity to divorce during that period,” Dylan contemplatively recalled. “I could have made a clean break, one with honor, dignity, and integrity.” For some reason, those words meant a lot to Dylan. It wasn’t just idle chatter – he really wanted to live up to an idea. “But my fears and worries held me back. I was not strong enough to act as I should have. I continued to live the lie….”

Suddenly, the car jerked Dylan back to the present with a start. He had started to doze off without even realizing it. Hope jumped up, and Dylan pulled the car back from the gravel shoulder onto the pavement.

“Sorry, honey.”

“What happened? Where are we?” Hope was disoriented and confused.

“I guess I started to doze off. Maybe it’s time to pull over and switch seats.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Dylan,” Hope said. “I’m starting to get hungry for lunch anyway, and I want to do my fair share of the driving. How about if you pull off at the next exit, and we can get a bite to eat.”

Returning back to the truck after lunch, Dylan felt more awake and refreshed. “Why don’t you try to nap, sweetie,” Hope suggested. “We’ve still got a long day of driving ahead of us if we want to make Colorado today.”

Dylan complied, and laid his seat back to try to rest. But his mind wandered back to years earlier when he and Hope had renewed their relationship after a temporary break. Hope and Dylan ran into each other at a late afternoon office function in the fall, after a month or two apart from each other. Once again they had both had a little too much to drink.

“I think I drank because I was depressed – that was a difficult period in my life,” Dylan thought to himself. “Misty was out of town on business, not expecting to return until the next day. Hope and I began to talk, feeling rather relaxed by the alcohol. We left the office party, and found a small local bar to share a bottle of wine and talk. We talked and talked, and it was wonderful.”

As the afternoon turned to evening, Hope and Dylan finished their second bottle of wine. Dylan’s normally good judgment turned to bad, and he invited Hope to his house. She wisely declined at first, but Dylan persisted. She shortly gave in to his coaxing.

“Why did I have to push so hard? Dylan thought, “Why did I have to be so damn persistent?” They took a cab to his house, leaving their cars behind. Dylan didn’t even think to worry about how he would explain that his car was miles away the next day. It was nearly midnight as the cab pulled up to the house.

The house was dark as they entered through the front door, laughing and giggling. Ample kissing that began in the back of that cab continued as they crossed the threshold of Dylan’s house. As Dylan thought back to that fateful evening, he knew it was unfortunate that he did not drive home. For if he had, he would have discovered Misty’s car in the garage.

Misty’s work had ended early that weekend, and she had caught a return flight back to surprise Dylan. How surprised she must have been to come home to an empty house that evening. And how surprised Hope and Dylan were when they were confronted as they stood arm in arm, embraced in a kiss in the front foyer.

Dylan heard a blood curdling scream as he drew away from Hope. Dylan looked away from Hope and into eyes filled with rage and anger.

“You son of a bitch!” Misty slapped Dylan and pounded on his chest with her fists, as she collapsed on the floor in a sobbing mass. He didn’t even see Hope leave the house, as Misty moaned.

“Why, why, why? How could you?” Misty repeated over and over again. Dylan was in a state of shock, not knowing how or whether to respond. He crouched down to hug Misty, to try to console her, and she began thrashing and wailing again.

“I’m sorry, Misty. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Just shut up, you jerk!” was Misty’s only reply.

Dylan realized that his efforts at consolation and conciliation would accomplish nothing that night, so he decided to leave.

“Yeah, you get out of here you asshole! And don’t you ever, ever show your face here again! I hate you, you son of a bitch!” Dylan could still hear Misty sobbing as he walked toward the street.

A light rain fell as Dylan roamed the streets of his neighborhood. He was still too lightheaded from the alcohol to drive, it was too late to impose upon a neighbor, and he couldn’t find a pay phone anywhere to call a cab. Dylan cried some himself as he began to wallow in self-pity.

By 2:00 a.m., Dylan was soaking wet. He had grown very tired of walking the streets, and headed back home. “Maybe Misty would be calmed down,” he thought, “maybe we could talk.” Dylan was weary, though. He couldn’t stand the thought of any more crying. What he really wanted was to fall asleep in a warm bed and just forget about the past few hours.

“God, I wish this were all a bad dream,” he thought.

Dylan sheepishly climbed the front staircase to the porch, and unlocked the door. All was quiet as he entered the house. Maybe there was hope for some sleep after all. He planned to sleep on the living room couch, but thought best to make sure first that Misty was receptive to the idea, or at least asleep.

As he walked upstairs, the silence Dylan encountered was at once a relief and confusing. “Maybe she left,” Dylan thought. “Maybe it was all just a bad dream.” But the nightmare was only beginning.

Dylan looked into the bedroom - nothing. Then he realized that a light was on behind the closed bathroom door. He gently tapped on the door – nothing. He knocked a little harder – still nothing.

“Misty?” “Misty, are you in there?” He knocked again. Dylan tried the door, but it was locked. He spoke her name again, but still no answer. He didn’t know if she was in there hiding from him, or if the door had simply somehow been locked from the inside by accident.

Dylan felt so very tired, and nauseous from the evening’s events. As the last of the alcohol withdrew from his system, Dylan collapsed on the bed. He had planned to rest only a short while before trying the door again. Instead, he slept until mid-morning. The earlier light rain had turned to a steady downpour when he woke with a start from his deep sleep.

“Oh my gosh, the bathroom,” he said out loud. “Misty,” he called timidly. “Misty are you in there?” No response.

“Misty,” he yelled, “Are you home?” No response from anywhere in the house.

The bathroom door was still locked and the light was still on. Dylan knocked again, but still no reply. He banged against the door with his body several times to no avail. Then, Dylan ran to the basement to grab a crowbar. He cranked hard on the area where the latch was engaged, and pried the door away from the frame. As the door slowly swung open, Dylan half expected Misty to take another swing at him. He grimaced, and lowered his gaze as he slowly stuck his head in. Dylan was aghast at what his eyes encountered.

There Misty was, lying in a half-full bathtub, in a pool of blood. She had slit her wrists, and let the life run right out of her. A panic came over Dylan. He went to her first, then backed off, running to the phone instead. Then, he ran back to Misty, checking for signs of life – she was dead.

He called 911 for assistance. Dylan could barely dial the phone as his body shook and his fingers trembled. Tears ran down his face, as he struggled to ask for an ambulance.

“Hello – my wife, I think she’s dead. I don’t know how long. Just please hurry – maybe there’s hope.” Dylan spoke frantically. “Please hurry.” He dropped the phone on the floor after he disconnected. After the call, he couldn’t face the prospect of returning to the bloody bathroom coffin. He momentarily sat on the bed in a state of shock.

When Dylan got the nerve to return to the bathroom, he realized that Misty had been dead for quite some time. Her cold and lifeless body was ghost-white. She must have been dead for hours. But whether she was dead when he had first returned to the house some hours earlier would be an unanswered question that would haunt Dylan for the rest of his life.

Dylan’s life was forever changed by that night. He sold the house soon after the suicide, unable to bear the thought of living there. He walked around in a daze for weeks, wondering if the appropriate punishment for him would be to take his own life too. The guilt was overwhelming at times. Misty’s family refused to talk with Dylan, blaming him for their loved one’s death. And he had no further contact with Hope for months after that.

Hope took the courageous step of asking for a divorce. After it was final, she contacted Dylan, and they began to date. They eventually stopped talking about their tumultuous and turbulent origins. But it was always in the back of Dylan’s mind. And no one in Dylan’s family - actually no one else in the world - knew that Hope was present on the eve of his first wife’s death. They both hid the fact, too ashamed to acknowledge the scandal that made their marriage possible.

Dylan realized as he dozed off in the truck that he continued to punish himself for Misty’s death. “And sometimes I think Misty’s death is the reason for Hope’s cancer, as irrational as that may be. I have found the woman of my dreams, only to have her taken away from me by a disease without a cure.” A tear ran down his cheek as they continued the drive across western Nebraska. Hope hummed along to a song on the radio, unaware of the tragedy that Dylan relived right beside her.

Chapter 8 - Not a Cloud in the Sky

2008-01-14T18:54:00.000-08:00

The road to Colorado was long and flat. One might think it boring, but Hope and Dylan were fascinated by the wide open expanse. They had left Des Moines after lunch, crossing Iowa toward Nebraska. Murdock, Nebraska, along I-80, is a sleepy little farming community of several hundred people. They arrived in town at dinner time, deciding then that they could not handle anymore driving for one day.

“Dylan, how about if I pull into this gas station to see if we can get some information on a place to spend the night.”

“Gosh, I suppose, honey,” Dylan said. “This place looks pretty desolate, though. I’m wondering if we might be better off just driving on to a bigger city.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Maybe we could just camp somewhere in the area – maybe we could pitch the tent in some unplowed field.”

Dylan hesitated. “That fancy hotel last night sure was nice…. But I suppose I could handle a night of camping.” Dylan hardly ever stood in the way of Hope’s wishes, and that night would be no different.

“I’ll tell you what,” Hope proposed. “How about if we camp tonight, and then we can stay in a nice place tomorrow night when we reach Colorado.”

“I can handle that,” Dylan said. “But don’t you try to weasel out of this deal tomorrow night!”

The gas station turned out to be a full service station, so Hope and Dylan waited by the pump. The oily attendant emerged, clearly unwilling to provide service with a smile, moping slothfully toward the truck with little concern for Hope and Dylan’s presence. He was a short, stocky, older man, at least 60, with gray wiry hair, and an unshaven face sprouting 2 to 3 days growth. He wore a one-piece mechanics jumpsuit, soiled with decades of grease, grit, and grime, ornamented by a filthy red bandanna that hung from his right rear pocket. Barely legible on his chest was a soiled name tag, reading only “Shorty.”

Shorty’s only response to Hope’s greeting was a muffled grunt. Hope didn’t give up, she never gave up. “Mind if I call you Shorty?”

Another grunt.

“Well, Shorty, my husband and I are looking for a place to spend the night, and we don’t see any motels in these parts. You know of any place to camp around here?”
Shorty emitted another longer grunt, as if he were thinking, followed by, “no campgrounds ‘round here.”

“Ah, I see,” Hope said, sounding sincerely interested in Shorty’s limited conversational abilities. Hope always managed to get people to open up to her, but it looked like Shorty might be an impossible nut to crack.

“Say, Shorty, our engine seems to be running kind of rough. You think it might be the idle? Could you take a look at it for us?” Actually, the truck’s engine had been giving them some problems, but Shorty was the last person that Dylan would have invited to take a look. Dylan cringed in disbelief at Hope’s questions.

“Pop the hood!” Shorty barked out. Hope readily obeyed.

“These goddamn new-fangled contraptions,” he muttered. “I don’t know how the hell anyone is supposed to know what to do when they stick these confounded computers in there with the engine. He pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket, turned a few screws, and slammed the hood shut.

“That should fix it for you ma’am. Those folks in Detroit just don’t know how to build an engine anymore - they’re not just machines that some computer can run. They’re like a lady, and they need TLC – that’s what my daddy always said, anyway.”

“Yeah, right,” Dylan thought. Who was this guy, anyway?

But just like Cupid, Hope had softened her human obstacle with a shot directly to the heart. She got Shorty to talking about what he loved most, engines, and then it seemed that he might never shut up. Hope knew that, given a chance, most people love to talk about themselves or what they love most – and Shorty, even with his crusty manners, was no different.

Hope let Shorty blab on and on about cars, trucks, engines, politely and attentively listening. Dylan didn’t have the patience for that, and slouched back in his seat, pulling his cap over his eyes. Dylan wondered whether they may have been the first people who Shorty had to talk to in days, heck maybe weeks or months.

“If only I could plug my ears,” Dylan thought. The blithering and blathering went on for so long that even Hope began to squirm a little in her seat. At the opportune moment, she finally re-interjected herself in to the rather one-sided conversation.

“Hey, Shorty, there must be some place to camp around here, isn’t there? We don’t even need a campground, just a field will do. You know of any farmer who wouldn’t mind us spending the night? We’re good folks, and we won’t make a mess or nothing.”

Shorty put his hands up on the roof of the truck right by Hope’s window. Dylan was grateful that she was there and he was on the other side of the truck. He imagined the pungent odor that must have been wafting toward Hope from Shorty’s sweaty armpits. If she was in distress from the odor, she didn’t let on, as Shorty contemplated the camping dilemma.

“Well, heck, I own 40 acres just down the road. It’s just farm acreage, no trees, nothin’ special. But I reckon that would do for a night. It ain’t even plowed ‘cause Uncle Sam’s payin’ me to leave it barren. Why don’t you folks camp out there?”

“My God,” Dylan thought, “we can’t spend an entire night around this guy. It’ll drive me nuts.” He tried to get Hope’s attention, but Shorty’s continued blathering kept her distracted from him.

“Now, you know, I don’t live out there. I live here in town, so you folks will be on your own out there, but you’re welcome to use it. I just don’t want no campfires on my property. It’s been dry around here, and I don’t want to see the whole thing go up in smoke - what there is of it anyway. It’s mainly just a lot of grass, but it’s about all I got, ‘cepting this fillin’ station, I guess, and my house. My wife died years ago givin’ birth, and the child went with her. I’ve been alone for quite some time.”

Hope paused for a second, debating whether to express condolences concerning Shorty’s wife and child, but realized that Dylan was getting antsy. “Well, thank you very much for the offer, Shorty!” Hope turned to Dylan, all bright-eyed and excited. “What do you think, honey?”

Dylan just smiled, kind of winked, and pulled his cap back over his eyes. Hope understood. Dylan had conceded defeat. “We’ll take you up on that offer, Shorty. It’s very kind of you. So how do we get to your acreage?”

Shorty then proceeded, in exceedingly painful detail to describe every minute aspect of and landmark along the route from his station to his plot of land. One would have thought that Hope and Dylan were delving deep into unknown territories by his description. As it turns out, they drove straight down the road a mile or two, and hung a right at the only oak tree in sight.

It was a beautiful plot of land, essentially open prairie, with tall grass blowing gently in the wind. “So this is ‘amber waves of grain,’” Dylan thought out loud, not expecting a reply from Hope. Birds were chirping all around, but there appeared to be few if any bugs or other pests. The sun was getting low on the horizon, so Dylan remarked, “we better get the tent set up before dark.”

“You know what I was hoping?” Hope offered. “I was wondering if you would mind sleeping under the stars. I’ve always wanted to do that, and we might never have a better opportunity.”

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, or a bug in the air, so how could Dylan disagree. “Sure thing, Honey, that sounds like a nice idea. And then we don’t need to worry about that stupid tent anyway.”

They grabbed their sleeping bags, a lantern, and a tarp, and walked out toward the center of the ocean of prairie grass. “Here’s the spot,” Hope proclaimed, and they flattened down a small area of grass with their shoes, then laid down the tarp. They had just unfurled the sleeping bags, as the first sign of the night chill approached. Perhaps the most beautiful sunset ever seen followed shortly thereafter.

The entire sky was full of pinks and purples, as the fiery ball of sun lay down to welcome the first stars of night. “You know, Dylan, all of those stars are suns somewhere else. I wonder how you tell when the sunlight ends, and the starlight begins.”

Dylan’s only reply was a gentle “I don’t know.” He knew that Hope wasn’t really expecting an answer from him anyway. She often raised those rhetorical questions that didn’t really have an answer, and that was usually his reply. Sometimes when he was more energetic, he would get into a discussion on the question, but Dylan was way too tired that night.

Hope and Dylan lay in their sleeping bags, gazing up at the bold hues of color brushed across the sky. The lower the sun got the more brilliant the colors appeared. Hope and Dylan giggled and reminisced about fun times, about how they first met, about silly things that they had done in college, and about the wonderful time they had at the amusement park only several days earlier. The couple didn’t have a care in the world as they lay exposed to the elements that night. They weren’t tied down to any calendars, clocks, or schedules. They had no obligations. They were free, truly free. And it was a wonderful serene feeling.

As the stars lit the evening sky one-by-one, Hope and Dylan were serenaded by a symphony of cricket music, a song passed on from generation to generation. They had an entire sky above them, with no obstacles or obstructions to view, and no lights to hide the stars above. A sliver of a crescent moon rose to their left, as they gazed at countless stars overhead.

Having lived his life in the city, Dylan muttered, “I had no idea that there were so many, many stars in the sky.” His street-light existence had deprived him of the chance to see a zillion sparkling diamonds dancing in the heavens above. Only the brightest stars shown in the city, but there were so many countless more to be seen.

Hope whispered that it was a wonderful day, and drifted off to sleep. Dylan outlasted her by only several minutes, listening as the cricket sonata was accompanied by a bass line of courting bull frogs. The only human-made sound anywhere was Hope’s rhythmic breathing beside him. Soon Dylan too was asleep in the chilled evening air.

Years later Dylan would think back to that night when he peacefully dozed off, momentarily without a care in the world, realizing that he probably never slept so soundly at any other time in his life. For that night, Hope and Dylan were offered a slice of heaven for the taking, and they devoured every morsel of it.

They awoke simultaneously just before dawn to the cacophony of a dozen or so crows ranting and raving at the invading humans from the nearby lone oak. Hope and Dylan smiled at each other nestled tightly in their sleeping bags. The roaring chatter of the birds in the midst of the otherwise peaceful meadow made them laugh. They could not imagine why the birds appeared to be so annoyed with their presence there that morning.

They got another chuckle when they realized that the sleeping bags and the tarp on which they lay were sopping wet from dew that had accumulated overnight. Dylan felt Hope’s hair and even that was damp. His, on the other hand, was quite dry, probably due to his tendency to bury his head under the covers whenever he slept.

Hope and Dylan were distracted from their waterlogged state, though, when they saw the morning sun rise. Even the crows were silenced in tribute to the glory that unfolded before their eyes. The hues of pinks and purples, even grander than the sunset a day earlier, were accentuated by scattered clouds dotting the sky. It was a beautiful sunrise, as striking as any before it. Alone on the ground with Hope, Dylan imagined that they were the proverbial Adam and Eve seeing the first sunrise lighting the Earth eons earlier. They laid there on their backs, heads propped up by their arms, watching as the sun slowly climbed up into the sky. The mystery of its awakening faded as its brilliance became too bright, and they could no longer gaze in its direction.

Hope and Dylan rolled up the now only slightly damp sleeping bags, and loaded them into the truck. They figured that they would hang them out to dry that night, expecting to find themselves in a motel room, later on down the line. They drove away from their pastoral bedroom, and headed back to Murdock. Hope had planned to thank Shorty for his hospitality. Dylan secretly hoped that Shorty wouldn’t be around.

Much to Dylan’s relief, Shorty’s filling station was dark as they approached it. This did not surprise him so early in such a sleepy little community. Hope rapped at the door, but there was no answer. She grabbed a sheet of paper from the truck, and left a short thank you taped to one of the pumps. While Dylan didn’t care for Shorty’s personality, he agreed that a thank you was more than warranted. They had just shared the best night of their adventure, gazing at the universe above, both day and night, in its entire splendor.

As they left Murdock, Hope said, “It just goes to show that the best things in life really are free.” Dylan couldn’t agree more.

Chapter 7 - All Alone in the World

2008-01-14T18:51:00.000-08:00

There was a deadly accident on the night of the Westfield prom, but it didn’t involve any students. Charles and Beth McCarthy died in a terrible car collision, after a drunk driver careened into their car as they returned from the prom court ceremony. With a blink of an eye, their lone child Shelly had her world turned upside down and inside out. Shelly was a month shy of age 18, when she got the call on her cell phone at a post-prom party.

“Hello?” she said. “What? I can’t hear you. Hey, could someone turn down the music this sounds serious.”

Someone at the party adjusted the stereo, and a hush came over the room.

“Oh, my God, don’t say that! What are you saying? Oh, my God…. Okay, I’ll be there as quick as I can. Someone, please someone let me borrow a car. This is an emergency.” Shelly voice shrieked, reached feverish tones, and then she ran out of the house crying.

Shelly ran to her friend’s car as fast as she could, leaving her date and friends behind. “This can’t be happening,” she sobbed as she fumbled to get her key into the ignition. The police told her that Beth had died on impact, but Charles was still alive. He was in critical condition at the local hospital. The tires squealed as Shelly took off to see her dad. She arrived at the hospital’s emergency room moments later.

“I’m looking for Charles McCarthy,” she cried as she ran toward the admissions desk.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t see him now.”

“But I have to, I have to see him,” Shelly pleaded with the nurse.

“Rules are rules, ma’am. You can see the patient when he stabilizes.

Shelly was so scared and upset, but she didn’t know what to do or where to go. She gave up, and walked toward the lounge area. “Please let me know right away when I can see him. I’ll be over here.”

One of the ER physicians happened to hear the dialogue between Shelly and the nurse. She approached Shelly before she took a seat.

“Are you related to Mr. McCarthy?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” Shelly said sobbing, “he’s my dad.”

“Come this way.” As they walked briskly down the hallway, the doctor added, “I need to warn you that your father is in critical condition. We don’t expect him to make it much longer.”

Shelly began crying frantically. “What’s wrong with him? Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“He’s suffered massive internal and head injuries. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for him. He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness. I know you would like to see him.”

The doctor opened the door, and Charles lay on a bed surrounded by tubes and monitors. His face was badly injured and Shelly didn’t recognize him at first.
“Oh, daddy!” she cried and ran to his side. Charles lay there unable to breath on his own. “Daddy, I’m here,” Shelly said.

Shelly’s voice triggered some reflex deep in Charles’ consciousness. His fingers twitched, and he opened his eyes. Shelly could see by the look in his eyes that he had been through hell.

“Daddy, I’m here for you. Don’t give up, you can pull through. I love you.”

Charles couldn’t speak, but he mustered the strength to hold Shelly’s hand. He smiled at her, and squeezed tight as the life left his body. The heart rate monitor flat-lined, and Shelly was whisked out of the room as she cried, “Daddy, daddy!” The doctors couldn’t revive Mr. McCarthy.

Shelly McCarthy was an only child of parents who were also only children. Charles and Beth McCarthy were in their early 60’s on the night of the prom. Shelly’s grandparents had all died years earlier, before she reached high school. Shelly had no one to turn to, no where to go. Her life had seemed like a fairytale, and now it became a nightmare. Shelly was all alone in the world.
Shelly was a month away from age 18 when her parents died. Without any next of kin, she was relegated to a foster home for the last month of her innocent childhood. When Shelly became an adult, she felt like a woman released from prison. She had just lived out the most miserable month of her short existence, and was grateful to return to the house in which she had lived for her entire life. Virtually nothing had been done concerning her parents’ death at that time, and the estate had not yet even been established in probate.

Shelly undertook the task of putting her parents’ affairs in order. As she began the task of organizing their papers, and hiring an attorney, she had little notion of what she would uncover. Shelly found the wills. Of course, everything was left to her. She would have gladly traded it all, whatever that might be, just to have her parents back.

She ached inside, still feeling the stinging pain of her parents’ death, as she pulled the various papers from the files, bank accounts, stock portfolios, savings bonds, and on and on. She occasionally sobbed, and would pause to think back to some loving moment with mom or dad. The emotional pain of their deaths was so strong it sometimes felt like physical pain.

Reviewing the records, it didn’t take Shelly long to piece together the fact that her parents had amassed a fortune. Now she understood how they could go on year after year without working. Whenever she had asked in the past, “Mom and Dad, why don’t you have jobs?” or “why don’t you work,” they had always replied that it was because they loved her so much and wanted to spend their time with her. Shelly always smiled, maybe even blushed sometimes, but never thought much more of it. It was all beginning to make sense to her now.

And it didn’t stop there. Charles and Beth had purchased enormous life insurance policies naming Shelly as the beneficiary. And she received a generous settlement from the insurance company of the driver of the other car who had had a most profound impact on her life. None of that mattered to Shelly. It was evident that she, too, like her parents before her, had the resources to live out her life without ever working again. But all she really wanted was her mom and dad back. The money was meaningless.

Chapter 6 - Westward Bound

2008-01-14T16:47:00.000-08:00

Hope cried as they pulled from the driveway. She didn’t want to say good-bye to Bill, but it was time that they moved on from Chicago.

“I’m okay, Dylan. I had a wonderful time. I’m really grateful to have had the chance to relive so many precious moments with him.”

Dylan too enjoyed hearing the same old stories that he had heard time and time again. They were truly precious moments; like gems in a box. And they didn’t do anybody any good unless they were brought out into the light every once in awhile.

“It sure was a nice visit,” Dylan said. “I’m glad we stopped. It will be nice to get on the road, though, too – don’t you think?”

Hope pointed the truck west. “Yes, I agree, Dylan. It’s time to move along. It will be fun to explore the Wild West.”

“Yes, I am really looking forward to the Colorado Rockies.”

As Hope drove across northern Illinois, Dylan thought back to their time with Bill, and an adventurous day that Hope and Dylan had in Chicago’s Loop. Their first stop was a visit to the top of the Sears Tower. The day began with thunder and lightning. But by the time they reached downtown, the sky overhead had turned bright blue, as the last of the storm clouds migrated toward Lake Michigan.

“We’re on top of the world, Dylan!” Hope was enthralled with the view, and repeated the statement over and over again in her excitement.

“This view is awe-inspiring – it’s simply magnificent,” Dylan said. “It really makes a person feel insignificant, don’t you think, Hope? I mean, we’re so small – just in comparison to even the city of Chicago. Imagine what tiny specks we are on the face of the earth.”

“It really makes you wonder,” Hope whispered. “What’s it all about….” To the east, they could see the remnants of the early morning storm as it hovered over the lake. An occasional lightning flash or strike escaping from the clouds drew many “oo’s” and “ah’s” from the viewers on the sky deck.

“It is truly remarkable to see all of this at our feet,” Hope exclaimed. “This is just amazing. What blows me away is that several hundred years ago this entire are was just woods and fields.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Dylan hardly said a word as he stared out in amazement at the metropolis lying beneath their feet.

“You know, that makes me kind of sad, Dylan.”

“How so?”

“There are miles and miles of earth that are just suffocating under all that asphalt and concrete. That’s rather depressing. How can the earth even breath?”

Dylan could see Hope slowly slipping into a funk, so he suggested that they cut their visit short. After they scurried down the elevator, they headed to the art museum along the lakeshore. They headed straight for the impressionistic paintings, as they were Hope’s favorite.

Standing in a room of Van Goghs, Hope pondered, “I wonder if he really had any special talent, or was the guy just nearsighted. You know, this is just how everything looks to me when I’m not wearing my contacts!”

Dylan chuckled at the thought of the great master simply having poor eyesight, instead of talent. “He sure had the last laugh if that’s the case!”

As they paused in front of a seventeenth century painting, Dylan pretended to remove a large hat from his head, bowing gracefully like a musketeer before a rescued damsel. “Your wish is my command. May I escort you to the carriage?”

Hope chuckled, and began to skip toward the exit, with Dylan right behind.

“How about if we do some shopping this afternoon,” Hope suggested. They had always loved shopping together, and Dylan jumped at the opportunity. The duo made plans to stroll down Michigan Avenue, checking out all of the shops along the way. On past vacations, Hope and Dylan had enjoyed browsing for knickknacks and unique eye-catching items. It was always a treat for guests to see their numerous souvenirs displayed throughout the house with great care.

Over the years, they had centered their souvenir collection on cat statues. First, a wooden cat from Jamaica, and then a porcelain one from Chinatown in New York. Next they found an iron cat while on a journey to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. And the list went on and on. Hope could always look at a cat, remember where they had bought it, and then think about something special or funny about the trip. The feline statues were pleasant memory joggers and conversation pieces.

They had planned to search for another cat in Chicago. But after they hit the first few stores, they began to realize that this journey was nothing like the others that had preceded it.

“This just isn’t the same anymore, Dylan,” Hope exclaimed. “This is pointless. We don’t have a house. There’s no place to display anything we buy. I’m not even going to be around to enjoy this stuff anyway….”

It was a depressing realization. Dylan tried to cheer Hope up by proposing that they shop for clothes, or perhaps books to read. Hope wasn’t in the mood.

“I understand, honey. Why don’t we go get some dinner before the show. Maybe we’ll feel better with some food in our stomachs.” Dylan put his arm around Hope’s waist and pulled her in tight. Hope laid her head on his shoulder as they walked along the street.

Hope was solemn as they slowly meandered toward a restaurant in the Theater District. “This is all my fault, Dylan. Why did I have to go and get cancer, and mess up our lives anyway? Everything is such a mess.”

“Hope, don’t even say such silly things. What happened to you was out of your control. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Well, if this hadn’t happened to me, or if you had been married to some other woman, your life wouldn’t have been such a disaster, Dylan. Look at us – we don’t even have a house.”

“I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, anywhere else, Hope. I’m here for you and will always be here for you. Please don’t forget that. And I don’t care about our house. What’s important is that we have a home – and home right now is in each other’s arms.”

As the truck plodded along into Iowa, Dylan was beginning to have his own doubts about their big trip. “Maybe Hope is right about the house thing. Maybe things would have been better for her if we had just stayed put,” he thought, “as if nothing had changed. But would it really have been any different? The cancer would have still been there – she would have had her good days and bad days in Madison too.” With that, he resolved to try to make the best of things whenever he could. “I’ll be strong and positive for Hope’s sake.”

Thinking back to the show in Chicago, though, Dylan realized that it wouldn’t always be easy to think positive – but he also saw that Hope had a good perspective on their situation. After their dinner, they saw that evening’s “Cats” performance at the Schubert. Hope was quite excited about seeing a Broadway show, and Dylan thought that it was nice to see her cheer up from the afternoon’s disappointment. But that all changed when a dying cat on stage sang “Memory,” a song about remembering the dead and gone. Hope and Dylan both got quite choked up at the beautiful emotion-filled rendition of the song.

After the show, Hope, still teary-eyed, turned to Dylan, and whispered, “Please remember me.” He hugged her tight, with all of his might, and vowed that he would never forget her. Dylan held his beautiful wife and loving friend firmly while the theater slowly emptied around them.

As they left the theater, Hope was philosophical. “My death is imminent, and no vacation - no matter how fun - is going to make me – or either one of us for that matter - forget about it. We need to realize that we cannot use this trip to hide from the truth, which will always be looming out there.”

“Yes,” Dylan agreed, “there will surely be other sad times ahead, and maybe the best that we can do is to be here to comfort each other. We just need to accept that.”

“This is a chance for us to spend a lot of time together – an opportunity that many couples never have, whether one of them is ill or not,” Hope observed. “At least we can share some special times, and have some memorable adventures. We can be side-by-side, during my last days, which is surely the most important thing of all.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Hope.”

As they approached Des Moines, they agreed to stop there for the day. “Hey, honey,” Dylan said, “since we didn’t spend much money staying at your brother’s, how about if we splurge tonight.”

Hope liked that idea. “Let’s find the best place in town, and stay there for the night!”

They found an opulent hotel in Des Moines, and booked a room for the night. One night’s stay didn’t come cheap, but they both agreed that it was worth every cent. The room was decked out in rich mahogany, with a large brass bed. The headboard was set below windows that faced out onto the downtown skyline. As dusk approached, the lights of the city blinked on and off like fireflies dancing in the cool evening air.

“It’s been a long day, Dylan, how about if we order room service for dinner?”

Dylan had already planted himself on the bed with TV remote in hand, and had no objection. “Oh, it feels soooo good to be out of the truck. That’s a great idea!”

“Well, I see that they have prime rib with fries, so that’s my choice!” That was one of Hope’s favorites.

“Count me in on that,” Dylan chimed in.

Hope dialed room service. “Hey, do you want any dessert?”

“Oh there are so many good choices,” Dylan noted as he scanned the menu.

“No one said we could only get one – let’s pick several!”

So with Hope on the phone, Dylan pointed to three different desserts, which all met with Hope’s nodding approval. She ordered away, and they shared them each after they were stuffed on meat and potatoes. Hope was so full that she could only sample a little of each, but Dylan made a pig of himself, eating the better part of all three desserts.

“I am so full that I feel sick,” were his only words, moaned painfully as he slowly lay back down on the bed.

Hope shared his sentiments. “I feel like my stomach is going to burst.”
Joining Dylan on the bed, the two dozed off for a brief nap. Dylan awoke first about 20 minutes later, and nudged Hope. “Hey, sleepy head, we can’t sleep away our night in all of this splendor.”

Hope agreed. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep.” She looked around the room, and a sly smile appeared on her lips. “Hey, mister, how about joining me for a dip in the whirlpool?”

Always the romantic, Hope dimmed the lights in the bathroom, and lit some small candles that had somehow found their way into her luggage. They shared a bottle of champagne, as they lounged about in the huge double-sized tub. They giggled and chatted about the day’s adventures, then retired to the king-sized bed. With full stomachs and a dash of champagne in their heads, the warmth of the bath accentuated their weariness. Both of the tired travelers were fast asleep as their heads landed on the bed’s fluffy down pillows.

The Robertsons slept in the next day. Dylan awoke to the mid-morning sun peaking through the curtains onto Hope’s angelic face. Hope woke up shortly thereafter. Her eyes looked bright and full of energy as she turned over on to her back. It was incomprehensible to Dylan that a deadly killer was ravaging away at the inside of her body. She smiled at Dylan, and he grinned back. He leaned over to kiss Hope, and she grabbed him tight with her arms. In their embrace, Dylan’s peck evolved into a long, passionate kiss, which then evolved into much more.

Sometime later, Hope plopped down on her back, gazing at the gold leaf ceiling above. “What a wonderful way to begin the day.”

“Yes,” Dylan grinned, “it makes me wonder if we should sleep in more often!”

“Now that’s the way to spend a vacation,” Hope beamed back. She laid her head back, and her mind wandered. With a sigh, Hope added, “I sure wish I hadn’t gotten pregnant when I was so young, Dylan.”

“Yes, that was a difficult time.”

“It would have been so nice to raise my little girl. There’s no way I could have handled that then, though. I was so young.”

“No, that would have been next to impossible. It was the right thing to put her up for adoption, Hope. There wasn’t any other way.”

Right now, I’d just settle for seeing my little baby all grown up…, but I guess that will never happen…. I think about her often. I wonder what she’s like, how she looks, what she likes to do.”

“I wonder too, Hope, but I guess it will always remain a mystery.”

Chapter 5 - Look at the Glamour Queen!

2008-01-14T16:43:00.000-08:00

The big day of the Westfield senior prom started out with a bang – a bang of thunder. It began pouring shortly before dawn, waking Charles and Beth. Another crash of thunder got Shelly out of bed much earlier than planned. They all met in the hallway.

“Wow, that sure was loud!” Shelly said, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know how I am going to make it through prom tonight after waking up so early.”

“Honey, why don’t you try to get back to sleep,” Beth said as she escorted her back to her room.
“Yes, you need your rest. It’s going to be a long night,” Charles added.
Shelly crawled back into bed, but now felt wide awake. The lightning flashed and the thunder clapped as the wind blew past the house. Shelly tried to fall asleep, but she now had so much on her mind.

“Okay,” she thought, “10:30 is my nails appointment. Then I’ve got my hair at 3. Oh, and I can’t forget to pick up the corsage.” She pulled the pillow on top of her head, and tossed and turned. She gave up trying to sleep when one of the family’s cats climbed up beside her, meowing and then purring.

“Oh, what’s the use,” Shelly said flinging the sheet away, and jumping up. She was feeling tired and grouchy. “What a way to start the day,” she grumbled.
Shelly walked downstairs to find Charles and Beth sipping coffee at the kitchen table. Charles peered over the paper.

“Whoa, what are you doing down here?”

“I give up! I couldn’t sleep. This is going to be an awful day, I can just tell.” Shelly sat down at the table, and put her head down on the surface with her hands on top.

“Oh, there, there,” Beth said. “Don’t think that way. Everything will be fine.”

“But I’m so tired!” Shelly whined.

“Maybe you’ll find time for a nap later,” Charles said.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Shelly moaned. She sat for awhile, and then got restless again.

“Well, I guess I’m going to get my shower. Maybe that will make me feel better.” As she got up from the table, she stubbed her toe. “Oh, my God, what next?” She marched away upstairs.

Shelly’s demeanor had improved by the time her friends stopped by for the nails appointment. The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking through the clouds. A bunch of the girls got together for lunch at a sidewalk cafe, and then went to their hair appointments altogether. Shelly was back home shortly before dinner time.

“Wow, look at the glamour queen!” Charles yelled from the porch as Shelly walked toward the house. “Beth, come look,” he yelled in through the screen door. Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

“Oh my, Shelly, you could be on the cover of a fashion magazine!” Beth chirped.

“Oh, you guys, I’m not beautiful. You should see the other girls.”

“I’m sure you’re the prettiest one of all,” Charles said, and Beth agreed.
Shelly ran upstairs to put her dress on. She was still upstairs an hour later when her date arrived.

“Shelly!” Charles yelled up the staircase. “There’s a handsome young prince here to sweep you off your feet.” Charles turned back and winked at the nervous young man.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing me,” Shelly yelled back as she walked toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll be down in a minute. Can you please send mom up here? I need her right away.”

“What do you need, dear?” Beth said as she climbed the stairs.

Shelly was frustrated. “My zipper is stuck,” she grunted, while struggling to tug at it with her hands over her shoulders. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I wish I had taken a nap today….”

“Just take a deep breath and relax, honey. It will be okay.” Beth tugged at the zipper a couple of times, and it released. Then she zipped Shelly into her gown, and patted her on the shoulder. “There you go!”

“Thanks, mom. I hope dad isn’t embarrassing me down there.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say. Why do you think he’d do that, Shelly?”

“Oh, not on purpose, mom.”

As they approached the family room, Charles was nearly through a story about Shelly’s first Halloween trick-or-treating experience. “She was so scared, she nearly wet her pants! Actually, come to think of it, I think she did.”
“Daddy!” Shelly shrieked.

“”There, there,” Beth consoled Shelly. “Okay, how about you two stand by the fireplace for some photos.”

“Mom, do we have to? We’re running late.”

“Oh, just a few, you guys.” Charles said. “Let me grab the camera, and we’ll be done in no time.”

After several photos, Shelly’s patience had been exhausted. “Okay, dad, is that good enough? We really need to get going. Our dinner reservation is 20 minutes from now.”

“Sure, thing. Just one more.” Shelly had to force a smile for the last photo. “Okay, off you go.”

Shelly and her date scurried off to the car, as Beth and Charles watched from the porch. Shelly’s date was driving an old Camaro, with a body made up of more rust than metal. As Shelly’s door closed, Beth and Charles could hear the sound of metal on metal as it was forced shut.

“That sure is a rust-bucket,” Charles whispered to Beth.

“Shhh,” she replied.

“Oh, they can’t hear me, dear. And, besides, it’s true.”

While Beth and Charles exchanged words, the Camaro’s starter ground and ground, but the engine wouldn’t turn over.

“He better give up, or he’s going to drain the battery,” Charles said.
No sooner than the words left his lips, than there was nothing but a click, as the battery had indeed lost its charge.

Shelly rolled the window down. “Dad, can we use the car?”

“Well, I wish you could, honey, but your mother and I need it to attend the Grand March tonight. We wouldn’t want to miss that for anything.”

“What are we going to do? The car won’t start.”

“I could take you guys, if you’d like.”

Shelly was none too happy about being chauffeured around by her dad on the big night. But she saw little choice. “It can’t get any worse than this,” she mumbled as she climbed into the back seat with her date.

“Charles, now you behave when you drive those guys around. You don’t need to be embarrassing Shelly. She’s had a rough day so far.”

“What makes you think I would embarrass her, dear?”

“You know what I’m talking about – Shelly and her date don’t need to hear any more of your stories.”

“I hear and obey,” Charles said in a monotonous robot voice, as he walked to the car. He smiled and saluted to Beth as he drove away.

Charles didn’t say a word as he drove the couple to their dinner reservation. He turned the radio on, and left them alone. He dropped them off at the restaurant, and Shelly said they could catch a ride to the prom with one of the other couples. Before Charles pulled away, Shelly made her way to the front door and gestured for Charles to role the window down. Charles obliged.

“Thank you, dad, for being so understanding,” she whispered. “And thanks for driving us here. I love you.”

“And I love you too,” he whispered back. Charles then drove off into the night, as Shelly entered the restaurant.

Much to Shelly’s relief, dinner went on without a hitch. The service was great, and the food was delicious. No one spilled anything on their clothes. They actually made it to the prom on time. And a lot of people told Shelly that she was sure to be elected prom queen. Shelly began to think her run of bad luck for the day had finally ended.

After an hour or so of dancing, the evening’s emcee announced that the Grand March would be starting soon. Shelly looked around, and spotted Charles and Beth in the area reserved for parents. She gave them an awkward little wave, and they proudly waved back with their arms high in the air. Shelly blushed, even though no one else had even seen the display of affection.

It was Shelly and her date’s turn to walk to the stage through the throng of students. The applause was loud as the emcee announced their names. Based on the volume of the clapping and whooping, Beth and Charles thought she was a shoe-in for queen.

“She sure would like to win this,” Beth whispered to Charles.

“Yes, I know. I’m not sure I understand why, but she does want this pretty badly.”

“Oh, I guess it’s kind of a girl thing,” Beth said. “I think every girl dreams of being a queen or princess at some point in her life. But about the closest any of us can ever come to that is queen of the prom. And, then of course, every woman feels like a princess on her wedding day.”

“Whoa, there Beth!” Charles said. “No need to rush things. We don’t need to marry our little girl off before she even graduates from high school!”

“Oh, Charles, sometimes you can be so goofy.”

As Beth spoke, she looked toward the stage, and saw Shelly losing her footing. Shelly wasn’t accustomed to wearing high heals, preferring to wear running shoes as a general rule. Taking the step onto the stage, Shelly tripped and tumbled to the floor. Amidst the crowd, the reactions ranged from gasps to giggles to outright laughter. Shelly reacted with grace, though, picked herself up, and turned around to smile at the crowd.

“Can this night get any worse?” she said through gritted teeth.

Shelly and her date made their way to the stage with the other couples. The emcee said a few words, and announced the year’s king and queen. “And this year’s king and queen are Tom Clingman and Shauna Markson!”

“I should have known,” Shelly mumbled while she politely clapped for Tom and Shauna. She tried to hide her disappointment, but she felt like crying. She was so tired. And the day just never got on track for her, from bad to worse.

Beth and Charles came up to give their daughter a hug before heading home for the night. “We’re very proud of you, Shelly,” they said in unison. “It’s an honor just to be on the court. Don’t feel bad.”

“I’m okay,” Shelly said, “I’m bound to have a good time for the rest of the night. It surely can’t get any worse than this.”

Chapter 4 - A Necesssary Conversation

2008-01-14T15:11:00.000-08:00

Dylan awoke early the next morning to the crash of thunder from an approaching storm. The wind blew the curtains and whistled through the window screens, whisking in dark and ominous clouds. The snap of thunder, like a huge bull whip in the sky startled Dylan, and he moved to the center of the bed to cuddle with Hope. But she wasn’t there. The clock glowed 5:15 in the grayness of the dawn, and, with a groan, Dylan lethargically dragged his stiffened muscles out of bed to find Hope.

Dylan quietly tiptoed down the creaky wooden staircase for fear that he might wake Bill, assuming he was even home by then. There was a light on in the kitchen, and Dylan heard sobbing as he approached the doorway. Hope sat at the table with her head in her hands. Dylan came up behind and hugged her. He had been through this with Hope many times, and still didn’t have a clue how to handle it. All he could do was hug and listen, which never seemed adequate.

“I don’t want to die,” Hope sobbed. “Why did this happen to me?”
“I know, dear,” he whispered. “I feel so helpless, so powerless. I wish there was something I could do to help.” He continued to hug her until her sobbing stopped.

“Sometimes I wish we still went to church. You know, I went to Sunday school and church all of the time as a kid. And then I grew out of it.”

“Yes, same for me,” Dylan realized. “It just became irrelevant, I guess, when I we got older.”

“I worry what’s going to happen to me, Dylan. I worry that I’m going to get punished for not attending church anymore. But, I don’t even know if I still believe in God or heaven, or hell. Hell worries me more….” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the thunderstorm.

“I get so angry sometimes, Hope, about all of pain, torture, and angst that you’ve had to endure for the past few years. There have been times that it’s filled me with such resentment and anger that I’ve developed serious doubts about the existence of God.” Dylan stood up. Feeling agitated by his thoughts, he paced around the kitchen.

“I guess I just wish I blindly accepted the idea of God,” Hope said. “Sometimes I think this would be easier if I did, and if I worshiped God regularly. Just think how much easier this might be if I just knew in my heart that I was going to heaven. But the uncertainty makes me very uneasy.”

Dylan was still agitated. “You know, I’d like to think that there’s a place called Heaven, but I have a hard time convincing myself. After seeing your suffering over the years, I’ve come to wonder if this is Hell.”

“I know it’s been bad at times, Dylan, but I’d never be so lucky as to have someone like you in Hell with me.” Hope cracked a small smile, and Dylan gave her a hug. They sat and watched the storm for awhile.

“You know, Dylan, I sometimes hope that I don’t even know it when I die. Maybe it all happens so fast when you’re sucked up in the moment that you’re not even aware of your passing. But if that happens, I won’t remember you anymore. But I want to remember you. If I don’t remember you, if you don’t remember me, it’s like we never happened. I’d rather spend eternity in Hell with the memory of you than have my life, existence, and memories just end. Oh, who the heck knows….”

“I wish I had answers for you, Hope. Sometimes I get so angry at people who feel so confident about heaven and hell’s existence. How can they be so stupid, so naïve? No one knows a goddamn thing - not even the most devout religious person really knows if they’re truly honest with themselves. So, in the end, Hope, I don’t think it’s really any easier for anyone. It’s just all the great unknown.”

Hope sighed. “You know another thing I worry about is the pain. It might at least be some consolation if I at least knew that it won’t hurt when I die. I worry about the pain too. Will it hurt? Or will it be peaceful?”

“I guess your questions are all ones that people have been asking for eons. Funny thing, Hope, but I guess they all ‘know’ the answer now….”

“Yes, that is kind of funny. And soon I’ll ‘know.’ I sure wish there was a way that I could tell you what I find out.” Hope’s voice cracked as she struggled to finish her sentence. “I’m glad we’re having this conversation,” she continued. “It gives me some comfort just to talk about this even if there are no answers. I am so scared, though.” Hope broke down in tears again.

Hope was a loving, giving person, and through it all, she always found time to worry about Dylan too. “What are you going to do when I’m gone, Dylan? Who’s going to make sure that you eat right?”

“Don’t you worry about that, Hope. I’ll survive,” he whispered while he patted her back. It was a white lie, though. As the fury of the thundering storm roared overhead, Dylan was scared and angry. He didn’t want to lose Hope, and he didn’t want to be alone. He felt selfish, but he didn’t want to start his life all over again. He was very happy with the life he had with Hope. He really didn’t know how he would survive.

“I wish I could have found my daughter. If only I had more time.” Hope’s voice drifted off as she stared out the kitchen window. “It would have meant so much to see her again, to see her with you. Maybe we could have been a family for awhile, and the two of you could have carried on after I’m gone. You’d be a good father, Dylan.” Her voice trailed off again. More tears ran down her cheek as Dylan squeezed her tight. There was a story to tell behind Hope’s troubled wish.

Hope was a junior in high school. She lost her virginity in the back of her parents’ station wagon, on the outskirts of town by the twinkling lights of the airport. She wound up pregnant, and she wouldn’t even consider an abortion. Hope, never the coward, presented the situation to her parents, unashamed and standing straight and tall. Hope always believed in herself, and surely believed that something good would come from the pregnancy. Vern and Ida weren’t about to force an abortion on Hope, but they convinced her to give the child up for adoption as soon as it was born.

Hope continued with high school as long as she could, until it became obvious that she was pregnant. The principal called her into his office one day, and told Hope that she would have to stop attending school until the baby was born. He said her appearance was “disruptive.” Neither Hope nor her parents challenged the principal, and she finished out her junior year at home. Her friends brought her assignments home, then took the finished product back to school the next day. The beautiful baby girl was born two weeks before the end of school, and Hope was able to return in time for final exams.

The little girl never got a name from Hope, and Hope only held her once, for what seemed like an all too brief moment. An adoption had been arranged with a family, and they were present at the hospital for the delivery. No sooner than the baby was born, she was swept away into the arms of her waiting parents, and whisked off to some unknown destination. Hope didn’t know the identity of the parents, and only knew that they lived “out east.” Hope cried and cried when her daughter was born. She wanted so badly to keep her, but knew that she couldn’t provide for her as the new parents could. And Hope knew that she still had four years of college ahead of her, something she could never handle while trying to raise a child.

College was a huge distraction for Hope. While she often thought of her baby, she was content to live out her separate existence. When Hope graduated, however, she began to yearn to see the daughter she never knew. She soon learned, though, that the adoption agency was neither willing nor able to provide the name of the parents who adopted her little girl. While she tried every possible avenue, Hope learned that she would never have cooperation in locating her daughter.

Hope’s sobbing continued in Bill’s kitchen. Her frustrations and unanswered questions were getting the best of her that morning. Just then, Bill walked in the door, sopping wet. He had just finished his work day, having tended bar until closing time; then doing his regular clean-up.

“Whoa, what’s going on? What are you guys doing up so early on such a gloomy day?” Bill exclaimed.

Hope sprang up, ran over to him, and gave him a hug. He understood without another uttered word. A tear ran down his cheek. Hope and Bill stood there hugging as the thunder and lightning crashed above. Hope sobbed. They both knew that this could very well be the last time that they saw each other.

At long last, Hope took a deep breath, tried to compose herself, and gently broke away from Bill’s grasp. She sat back at the kitchen table and feigned a smile. Dylan grabbed her hand.

“Hey, how ‘bout if I go buy us some big creamy doughnuts for breakfast? That’ll solve all of the world’s problems, eh?” Bill continued his pitch. “Hope, I know you have a weak spot for chocolate cream-filled long johns. I bet some morning sweets might cheer her up.”

Hope chuckled at the thought that a simple doughnut could solve her problems, but graciously accepted Bill’s offer. He was out the door and back at the speed of light. Bill returned with an immense box of doughnuts from a nearby bakery. He had chocolate cream-filled doughnuts, sugar jelly-filled doughnuts, frosted cake doughnuts with sprinkles, crullers, nutty Danish, and about every other kind of doughnut the bakery offered. Plus, he brought along a gallon jug of chocolate milk, another one of Hope’s favorites.

Hope‘s eyes opened wide and she squealed with delight. “Bill, remember when dad used to treat us for breakfast on our birthdays with doughnuts and chocolate milk? You’ve got a spread here just like I remember.”

For that moment, anyway, Bill, his doughnuts, and the delight of cold chocolate milk had actually solved Hope’s problems. Her mind was distracted from her cancer, and she and Bill reminisced about old times again, just like the afternoon before. It was fun to sit around the table, Hope smiling and laughing, and Bill teasing her. Dylan sat back, smiled, listened, laughed, and savored the memories of his wife’s childhood. It was nice to see the joy on Hope’s face. For that morning, she relived the best times of her childhood, and nothing could take that away from her

Chapter 3 - Never A Dull Moment

2008-01-14T15:06:00.000-08:00

The Robertsons’ new life on the road had begun with a resounding ring when the alarm sounded at 5:00 a.m. on that stormy late spring morning. Once Hope and Dylan were on their way, it wasn't long before they reached Illinois. As they crossed the border, Hope had already dosed off. Dylan was also growing tired as the truck rolled along in a southerly direction. He hadn’t slept well for the past several nights, and it was already catching up to him after only a couple of hours on the road. The drone of the tires on the pavement had a relaxing, hypnotizing effect.

Family, friends, and former co-workers had thrown Hope and Dylan a surprise bon voyage party the night before. The Robertsons had planned a relaxing dinner with Vern and Ida in anticipation of an early departure the next day. Little did they know that they would be up half the night instead. Hope and Dylan had planned to quietly sneak away from their former existence. With Hope’s condition, they feared that good-byes would feel too permanent, and that it would be a painfully sad experience.

They had met Vern and Ida at Namio’s Italian Restaurant, but when they arrived, it appeared to be closed for the evening. Hope’s parents put on a good act.

“I sure feel stupid suggesting Namio’s for dinner, you guys,” Vern said. He added quite convincingly, “I totally forgot that this place is closed on Mondays.”

As Vern spoke, Ida pulled on the restaurant’s front door, which was unlocked. “Look at this,” Ida said. “The door’s open. Why don’t we go inside and see if anyone’s around? I think that I see a light on in the back.”

“Mom, what in the world are you talking about? Are you crazy? We can’t go in there!” Hope looked at Dylan, and they shrugged their shoulders, following like innocent lambs to the slaughter. They carefully trod into the dark lobby, halfway expecting the police to come arrest them any moment. Instead, they were greeted by a sudden flick of the lights and “SURPRISE!”

Hope and Dylan both leapt about two feet in the air, landing with enormous grins on their faces. Hope, always the kidder, exclaimed, “Oh my God, are you guys trying to send me to an early grave?” That brought out a big guffaw from the crowd, which then encircled the guests of honor to welcome them to their banquet.

All of the Robertsons and Quinlans were there, along with all of their friends. It was a real tribute to Hope to see all of the love and friendship that she had generated in her short lifetime. And, contrary to Hope’s fears, it was a happy occasion. It was indeed hard to say good-bye when the gathering was over, and Hope, Dylan, and many others shed more than just a few tears. But it was an extraordinary evening; one that Dylan remarked to the crowd he would never forget. “This night has shown me once and for all that friends and family, and life itself, are so much more valuable than all of the money a person could accumulate in a lifetime.”

“What a wonderful night,” Dylan thought, as he approached a tollbooth along the Illinois expressway. Hope awoke with the clank of the change. Soon enough, they hit their first fork in the road. They hadn’t made any specific plans on where to go, and had hoped to let the road be their guide. Their choices – follow the Interstate to the south, deep into the Land of Lincoln, or veer east toward windy Chicago.

“It’s our first big choice, honey. Which way would you like to go? I really don’t care,” Dylan said. “I’m flexible!”

Without hesitation, Hope blurted out, “I want to go to Chicago, to spend some time with Bill. I was hoping to get a little farther down the road on our first day out, but it would be nice to see him.”

Bill Quinlan was Hope’s oldest brother, who was more like a best friend to her. Bill managed a nightclub, and had told Vern and Ida that he was unavailable for the going-away party. Always the character, Bill had arranged for a singing telegram to be delivered during the party, extending his regrets. After the telegram, he popped out, surprising the guests of honor – and everyone else – with his appearance.

“It was such a treat seeing Bill last night, but I didn’t get much time to talk with him. I’d really like to spend a little more time with him.”

“No need to explain, honey. Bill’s place is as good a destination as any. Besides, he’ll get such a kick out a seeing you. It will be our turn to surprise him!” Dylan followed the big curve of the road to the east, and headed toward Chicago.

Along the way, Hope spied a billboard advertising an immense amusement park. She reminisced, “I used to love the carnivals that would come to town when I was a child.” Vern and Ida’s house at the time was near the fairgrounds, so it made for easy and frequent access to the park. The carnival had really been an integral part of Hope’s childhood.

“It was always so magical and exciting. I swear that Bill and I would hang out there from morning ‘til night every day we could. We’d play games, go on ride after ride, and watch all of the shows. And on top of all that, I would eat so much cotton candy and other sweets. Oh, to be young again….”

“Gosh, Hope, what better way to start our trip than with cotton candy, peanuts, hot dogs, and balloons!” Dylan exclaimed. “And what a blast it would be to ride a roller coaster with a stomach full of junk food!” Dylan winked.

They arrived when the park gates opened and stayed the entire daylong. Park security practically had to force them out the door. Dylan and Hope laughed and shrieked as they made it a point to ride every roller coaster in the park. Dylan preferred the tamer, wooden ones with big rises and dips. Hope liked the ones with lots of turns, corkscrews, and upside down action.

As they waltzed through the carnival game area, Dylan decided that he wanted to win a prize for Hope. “Hey, honey, let me try this ring toss, so I can win you something special.”

“That’s really sweet, Dylan. Maybe you could win that big bear for me!”

The ring toss didn’t go so well. “Okay, so I can’t toss rings....”

“Gosh, honey,” Hope chuckled, “you weren’t even close. I don’t know if you could even call that tossing!”

“Oh well, it’s not like they ever had that in gym class when I was growing up. How about if I try basketball?”

And on and on they went. Dylan tried the ring toss, the basketball game, the coin toss, throwing darts at balloons – virtually every game there – before he finally conceded defeat. Some $40.00 or so later, Dylan found himself at the plastic duck game. He deftly picked a duck up from the water to reveal the number written on the duck’s belly.

“It is with great pride, my dear, that I present you, as a symbol of my love, this small, green, fuzzy, alien-type snake wearing a tuxedo.” As Hope received the trinket, a small banner unfurled from around the snake’s neck, displaying “I love you.” The banner widened Hope’s smile, and Dylan came in close for a hug.

“Okay, now you try,” Dylan said.

“Aw, that’s okay, I don’t need to.”

“Oh, you’re so good at this stuff,” Dylan whined. “Don’t you want to win a prize for me, your sweetheart?” Dylan tried to look as innocent and needy as he could by opening his eyes wide and fluttering his eyelids up and down repeatedly.

“Oh, Dylan, you look so pathetic!” Hope giggled. “But if it will make you happy, here I go.” She turned around to the nearest stand, and won a prize for Dylan on her first try, throwing a football through a hole barely bigger than the ball itself. Hope always had been the better athlete of the two.

Actually, Hope was a great athlete, and had excelled in sports all through her life. In high school, she was a standout track and cross country runner, and was captain of the basketball team. In her senior year, she led her basketball team to the state high school finals.

Basketball was fun, but Hope’s real love was running. Whether the weather was nasty or nice, Hope would be out running on a daily basis. Dylan occasionally ran with her, but he generally passed on dreary days when Hope still had the gumption to get out and run. Dylan did enjoy peering out the window as Hope took off on a run. “She runs so gracefully and effortlessly – like a gazelle,” he thought.

“Why do you like to run so much? Dylan once asked her. It was a particularly crappy day, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be outside. To him, running was a chore, and certainly nothing to do on a rainy day.

“Running makes me feel young again,” she said. “Old people sit around; young people run. I just love the feeling of the wind in my face. And I can’t imagine a day without that runner’s ‘high.’”

Even after her cancer diagnosis, Hope continued to run when possible. There were many days, though, when Hope was just too sick or exhausted to run. Those days were particularly difficult for her, feeling that the cancer was really beating her. Hope tried to stay in good physical condition through it all, but it was eventually evident that the disease had taken its toll.

Despite their past troubles, Dylan and Hope managed to spend the better part of the trip’s first day without a care. While they left the amusement park feeling ill from eating too many sweets, they nevertheless felt like it was a day well spent. Things changed when they reached the truck at 10 p.m. that evening.

“Oh-oh, Dylan, it looks like we have a flat tire.”

“It figures it would start raining now too.” Dylan winced as he saw the truck’s left rear wheel resting on the ground.

“What a lousy way to end an otherwise perfect day. I don’t know about you, Dylan, but I’m too tired to deal with this now. What do you think about sleeping in the truck tonight? We can change the tire tomorrow.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Our spare is under all of the crap in the truck, and I sure don’t want to put all of our stuff out in the rain. And who needs to be out in this thunder and lightning to fix a flat!”

Being virtually the last two customers to leave the park, there was no one in sight to offer assistance. It was a cool spring evening, and they found it quite comfortable and cozy sleeping in the reclined front seats. They managed to locate sleeping bags near the top of the jumble of packed supplies, covered themselves, and watched the lightning show through the sunroof, dozing off in a matter of seconds.

Dylan woke several hours later to a rapping noise, thinking at first it was just thunder from the passing storm. Then, still in a daze, he realized that someone was knocking at the window. With a start, he found a bright flashlight glaring in his face through the fogged-up windows.

“You folks can’t stay here. This is private property. You’ll have to move along.” A weary security guard had approached them rather uneasily.

Hope leaned over to the driver’s side, as Dylan lowered the window. “Sir, we’ve got a flat, and it’s raining,” Hope pleaded. “Can’t we at least hang out in the lot until the rain stops?”

“Sorry, ma’am, company policy – you have to leave. I can call a tow truck if you’d like some assistance.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Dylan grumbled, still half asleep. “I can change the tire. I’ll get to it right away.”

“I’ll be back through on my rounds in about 30 minutes, and I need you to be gone by then.” The guard then drove off to another part of the park.

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy, Dylan? What’s the harm in letting us sleep here?”

“I don’t know, but I guess we don’t have a choice. It seems like the rain has slowed a little. Maybe we better go for it now.”

So the Robertsons ran out into the rain, digging through the back of the truck to free up the spare. They changed the flat tire in the rain, by the occasional glimmer of lightning, threw their wet possessions back in the truck, and were again on their way. Hope spied an all-night diner at a truck-stop as they exited the park. They settled into a cozy booth to dry off and warm up.

Hope decided it would be fun to surprise Bill with an early morning visit, and they were back on the road just as the sun popped up over the horizon. After maneuvering through the headaches of morning rush hour traffic, they finally pulled into his driveway. Hope rapped on the door; no one answered. She knocked again and again, but no reply. Hope was sure her brother was not at work, as he tended bar nightly at his midtown nightclub.

“Jeez, I hope he didn’t take off on a vacation or something,” Hope pondered out loud. “Maybe he headed somewhere else after our party, instead of coming back home.”

“Yeah,” Dylan added, “or maybe he just spent the night at some woman’s house. You know he’s probably always meeting women at the club.”

“Yeah, I suppose. It probably would have been better to call ahead, but I really thought Bill would be around.”

“Well, how ‘bout if we hang out on his back porch swing, and wait awhile to see if he shows up?

A gentle wind drifting through the sky, combined with the sounds of chirping birds and an occasional faint bark from a far-away dog, made it a most peaceful experience. It wasn’t long before the hypnotic motion of the porch swing against the backdrop of melodic suburban sounds put Hope and Dylan to sleep. It was easy to nod off after their rough night.

They woke up in unison when they heard a car door close in the driveway. Dylan glanced at his watch, “Holy crap, it’s already past noon!”

As they stood, Hope’s brother rounded the corner from the drive. He was surprised to see visitors on his porch. “Well if it isn’t my little sis’, “Hopeless”! And her hubby too! What the heck are you guys doing here? I never thought I’d see you so soon!”

Hope went running, and jumped into Bill’s outstretched arms, hugging her brother with all her might. “Bill, it’s so good to see you! We hardly had any time to talk the other night.”

Bill invited the weary couple in to his house, and they sat around the table talking for most of the afternoon. Dylan listened intently as Hope and her brother reminisced about their childhood together. Being a big brother, Bill liked to tease Hope, and he brought blushes to her face more than once. It was, “Dylan, you should have seen Hope doing this or that,” or “Dylan, I can’t understand why you married this goofball,” all afternoon. They laughed and giggled for hours, and had a grand old time.

“Well, little sis’, sorry to see this end, but big bro has to earn the dough. I’ve got to get ready for work, and be on my way in a bit.”
Hope was especially sorry to see it end. “Aw, can’t you get someone to fill in for you tonight?” She pleaded to no avail.

“Sorry, no can do. I traded spots with another bartender to show up at the big shindig the other night. But, you know, you guys are welcome to spend the night. Heck, stay as long as you want.”

“Sure, we would love to stay,” Hope and Dylan replied in unison.

“Say, Hope,” Dylan added, “maybe we should go check-up on Bill later at the nightclub. We’ve always wanted to see where he worked.”

“That’s a great idea! Okay with you, Bill?”

“Well, that would be great. I’d love to introduce you to some of my co-workers.”

Hope and Dylan decided it was finally time to get out of their clothes from the day before, and showered in preparation of their big night. The warm water of the shower felt good on their faces, especially after the cool early morning rain. After dining from Bill’s wide selection of canned and frozen foods, the Robertsons took off for Bill’s bar, The Refuge.

From the outside, the Refuge appeared to be as big as a small indoor stadium. But on the inside, with its dark, eerie illumination, it was hard for the naked eye to define its boundaries. Its ceiling was shaped like a huge hemisphere, like something one might encounter in a planetarium. And like a planetarium, the ceiling was covered with stars, planets, galaxies, and other heavenly bodies. Beneath the sky of The Refuge was an assortment of different levels constructed from clear plastic. In the center of it all was a large, circular, rotating dance floor. The music blasted at a deafening level, as laser beams and disco balls shot brilliant sparkles of multicolored light in every direction.

The club had several different bars, and it took them awhile to locate Bill. Bill was standing behind his bar with a big goofy smile on his face as they approached. “What took you guys so long? I’ve been holding two bar stools open for you, and the natives are getting restless. I don’t know if I could have held a spot for you much longer.”

“We would have been here sooner, but it took forever to thaw out our frozen dinners!” Dylan teased.

“Yeah, that’s quite the gourmet selection of food in your kitchen, big brother!”

As Hope and Dylan gazed around The Refuge, they realized they were in for a real treat. The marquee outside said it was “Goth Night.” Black was the prevalent color of clothing among those showing their faces that night. And of those faces, many were caked with black and white makeup, highlighted with heavy black mascara and black lipstick. It was as if they had stepped into some macabre satanic ritual. The music was loud, and a heavy, hypnotic bass line weaved its way from tune-to-tune, accompanied by screamed lyrics, wailing guitar chords, and plenty of synthesized sound.

As the night moved on, the beer flowed like water as The Refuge took in more Goths from the street. The club got warmer and warmer with each new influx of people. By the time midnight rolled in, there was standing room only. Dylan and Hope were grateful for the fact that Bill had saved two barstools. As Dylan felt sweat developing on his brow, he could almost see the heat rising from the throbbing mass assembled on the dance floor.

The air in the club started to feel stuffy. “Hey, Dylan, I’m starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Maybe we should get going in a bit.”

“Fine by me, honey. I’m pretty tired after last night. And this crowd is kind of scary!”

Suddenly, above the din, they heard a crash to their left near the bar. A tall husky man in the traditional Goth garb had his hands around the neck of a much smaller man, who was dressed in a business suit, looking very much out-of-place. Before anyone had a chance to react, the smaller man had thrown the bigger guy to the ground, and was calling for security. Bill came to their end of the bar.

“Don’t worry, this kind of stuff happens most nights. The small guy’s the owner - knows Judo, or some martial art. No one with any brains messes with him.”

After all that excitement, Hope and Dylan decided it was definitely time to head home to Bill’s. They beat the crowd out the door, and were glad they had left early. The cool evening air was literally a breath of fresh air to them both. Bill mentioned to Hope the next day that several more fights had erupted both inside and outside of the club when closing time came and went.

“Gosh, Bill, why do you want to work in such a place?” Hope asked.

“Hey, sis’, there’s never a dull moment!”

Chapter 2 - Winning Isn’t Beating Someone Else

2008-01-14T14:53:00.000-08:00

Charles McCarthy was a retired stockbroker. Beth McCarthy was a powerful Wall Street lawyer before she retired. They had done quite well for themselves in their early years, amassing a small fortune by their late 30’s. Money didn’t mean much to them, though. What they really wanted was a child to care for, to rear, to protect; and their dream eventually came true late in life. When they were blessed with a daughter, Shelly, they quit their jobs, and devoted their full energies to themselves and their family, settling down in the small bedroom community of Westfield, Connecticut.

Shelly had the best of everything as she grew up. She had more attention and loving than any child could hope for. Shelly could read by age 4, and was playing the violin at age 6. She had many travel opportunities, and had seen much of the world before most children had even ventured away from their home state. By high school, Shelly was fluent in Spanish and French. She had seen in-person what most children see only in books. The extensive time with her parents had permitted Shelly to develop excellent academic skills, and she always did well in school.

Despite their wealth, Charles and Beth McCarthy were not aristocratic snobs. They both came from very modest backgrounds, and were uncomfortable with the opulence and showiness of the moneyed. They lived in a modest suburban neighborhood and drove unpretentious cars. As Shelly grew up, she never thought much of her family’s existence, and never imagined that her parents were any different than the parents of all of her friends and neighbors.

It was late spring, and the city of Westfield and its high school were abuzz with the excitement of the biggest weekend of the entire school year. While the end of the school year was only several weeks away, all eyes were focused on the Westfield Relays, an annual track meet invitational hosted by the high school. Schools from across the state came to participate in the event. It would be a busy weekend for senior Shelly McCarthy.

“Mom, I can’t find my spikes! Where are my spikes?” Shelly yelled down the staircase.

“Have you tried looking where you left them after Tuesday’s meet?”

“Uh, yeah, I would, but I don’t remember where I left them. Can you please help me, mom? I’m running late for school, and I won’t have time to find them tonight before the meet.”

“Let me see what I can do, dear,” Charles interrupted. “I have a feeling I know where they are.” Charles walked to the front hall closet, looked at the pile of running shoes on the floor, sorted through them, and pulled out the spikes from amidst the mass. “Found them!” he yelled up the staircase.

“Thanks, dad!” Shelly cheerfully yelled as she pranced down the stairs.

“Well, well, don’t we look nice today! What’s the special occasion?” Charles remarked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Ha-ha, fu-nny, dad.”

In recognition of the meet, the girls on the track team had decided to dress up in blue and gold, the school colors. Shelly was appropriately colored from head to toe, even painting blue and gold stars on her face. It would indeed be a busy weekend for Shelly. Tonight would be the big track meet – she was entered in the 1600 meter run and the 3200 meter relay. Tomorrow, Saturday, was the prom, and Shelly had been elected to the court.

“Come in here, and let me get a look at you,” Beth yelled from the kitchen.

“Mom, I’m running late. I gotta get going!”

“Oh, you have time to let your mom check you out, and besides, I need a picture or two.”

“Okay, okay, I give,” Shelly moaned. “Where do you want me to stand?”

“Hey,” Charles added, “you’ve got all the paper work completed for college orientation, right? You know you need to mail that in today.”

“Sure thing, dad, here you go. It’s all ready to be mailed.” The room was aglow with camera flashes. “Okay, mom, that’s enough. I gotta go now. Love you guys!” And out the door Shelly flew in a flash. Charles turned to Beth with a glum look on his face.

“What’s wrong, Charles?”

“It’s just not going to be the same around here when she heads off to college….”

“Yes, it will be different with our little girl away at school. Speaking of college, Charles, we did have a deal, you know. Time is running out, and it’s time we discuss ‘you know what’ with Shelly.”

“I know, I know, but not this weekend, Beth, please. There’s so much going on – it’s just not the time.”

“That’s fine, but we have a deal, right? We’re going to discuss it with her before she graduates. You’re not going to try to weasel out of this again, are you dear?” Beth’s look turned stern.

“No, no, we have a deal, although I don’t know why you feel compelled to tell Shelly. She’d be fine if she never knew.”

“I’m not going there again, Charles. We’ve had this discussion plenty of times. It’s important to me.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get angry with me. How about if I promise that we’ll tell Shelly next weekend? Let’s just worry about the Relays and prom now, okay?”

“That would be great, honey. Thank you for understanding.”

The evening of the big track meet was upon them quickly as Charles and Beth found their seats in the stadium. There was a full house to watch the big match-up in state girls track. Shelly McCarthy was the number two 1600 meter runner in the state, and for the fourth year in a row, she was pitted against the number one runner from upstate in the “showcase” event of the Relays. Every year, Shelly had been inched out at the finish line, but this year, she vowed it would be different.

Shelly had trained hard over the past year. This was her last chance to take the crown, and she wanted it badly. While other kids were sleeping in on Saturday mornings, Shelly was out running, rain, shine, sleet, or snow. She never felt in better shape, and believed that this would be her time.

“I know I can do this,” Shelly thought to herself as she approached the starting line. She looked up and down the start to locate her target.

Coach Jameson caught her eye, and gave her two thumbs up. “Remember what we talked about!” she yelled.

“Will do!” Shelly yelled back. “I just have to hold back a little at the start,” she thought. “I’ll follow her lead, and pass her in the end – just like she’s done to me.”

“Runners set!” As the starter raised his arm, Shelly’s heart raced a mile a minute.

Crack! The gun went off, and the partisan crowd roared, seemingly in unison. “Come on, Shelly! You can do it, girl! You know you can do it!”

Shelly could hear the pitter-patter of feet behind her as she rounded the curve on the first lap. The only feet that mattered, though, were the one set ahead of her. One lap done, and Shelly was right behind her target. Two laps, still dead ahead. By the third lap, the battling duo had left all other competitors far behind.

“Okay, girl, you know what to do here,” yelled Shelly’s coach. “Wait til the last turn! You know you can do it!”

Shelly was too out of breath to reply, but she gave a thumbs-up of acknowledgment. “Boy, I’m feeling great,” she thought. “I’m really going to do this.” Looking up at the stadium clock, Shelly also saw that the winner of this race would probably set a new state record.

The crowd rose to its feet. “Come on, Shelly, go, go, go!”

“I think she’s going to do it, Beth!” Charles yelled. “She’s going to do it!”

As the runners rounded the last curve, Shelly repeated in her mind what she had thought of day after day for a year. “Just wait until we finish the curve to make my move. I can do it, I can do – what the heck?!”

Her target had taken off on her. She broke for the finish while she was still on the curve, a good twenty yards earlier than she ever had before. She was pulling away from Shelly at full throttle speed, and Shelly was caught off-guard.

Shelly kicked it into high gear, and the pursuit was on. “She can’t do this to me! No way! I will not lose!”

Shelly’s arms pumped, her legs dug in like never before. Her heart raced, and her lungs heaved. Everything was becoming a blur, but Shelly was not about to give up. She gained on her target. 20 yards to go, and closing. 10 yards to go, and closer yet.

“There’s the finish – I can do this,” Shelly thought. “Come on, woman, come on!” The crowd noise was deafening, but all Shelly could hear was the blood pumping through her veins.

They were neck and neck with five yards to go, battling back and forth, an inch here, an inch there. The tape was in sight, and Shelly leaned forward. Her opponent leaned too.

“Oh my God, they’re going to tie!” Beth shrieked.

“No, no, I think she can do it! She can do it!” he replied.

But at the last stride, with an extra inch of leaning into the tape stretched out before them, Shelly’s nemesis beat her out once again, for the fourth year in a row. A hush fell over the stadium, but for the renegade fans of the winner. Then the crowd regained its composure, and politely clapped for the victor, as the remaining runners crossed the finish line.

Still out of breath, Shelly walked to her opponent and shook her hand. Shelly turned around, bent over, and put her hands on her face. She began sobbing uncontrollably between breaths as her coach and teammates came to console her.

“How could this happen?” she said. “I trained so hard.”

“Shelly,” her coach said. “Don’t feel bad about this. You broke your old best time by over three seconds! What an accomplishment! You shattered the school record, and you ran the second fastest time ever in Connecticut. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, girl.”

Shelly thought long and hard for awhile, her face still buried in her hands. Then she realized the coach was right. “Winning isn’t beating someone else,” she thought. “It’s beating yourself; improving on your past performance. And I kicked my butt tonight by beating my old best!” She looked up with a grin, and walked toward the stands. As a group of high school boys in the stands chanted “Shelly, Shelly” over and over again, she scanned the crowd to find her parents. She gave them a smile and wave to let them know she was fine.

“That’s our girl!” Charles said, as he waved back.

“You’ve still got the relay. You’ll get her then!” Beth yelled as she also waved back.

Shelly and her teammates went on to win the 3200 meter relay later that evening. And the Westfield teams, both boys and girls, won the Relays. As the spectators emptied the stands for the night, the crowd was still abuzz about the spectacular 1600 meter race. Shelly, though, had already turned her thoughts to Saturday’s prom.

Chapter 1 - The Great Wide Open Spaces

2008-01-10T20:10:00.000-08:00

“It’s not dying that scares me as much as the uncertainty. If only I knew what happens afterward, it might be easier.” Hope paused in thought. “Then again, maybe it’s just as well that we don’t know.” She spoke with a matter-of-fact air about her. Hope was beginning to accept her fate, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She sat on the bed beside her husband.

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” Dylan was having second thoughts. “We don’t have to do it, you know. I wonder if it’s really the best thing.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Hope spoke softly. “There is a certain permanence about it all, though, like I’m reaching the end of the line. Anyway, I really don’t think we have a choice.”

“We’ve always got choices, don’t we?”

Hope paused, momentarily deep in thought. “I don’t think I have very many choices…. Actually, I don’t know if I have any choices.” Hope’s mind drifted. “Don’t forget, we sold just about everything; we’ve spent the past week in a motel; and just about all that’s left is packed in the SUV.”

“It’s never too late to turn back, to change our minds. I know this seemed like a great idea, but maybe it’s not the best thing for you now – you know, leaving your parents and family and friends and all. Is it fair to them? They may need you around more than you need to be around them.”

“No, Dylan, this is the right choice. I don’t have much time, and this is what I want to do. Please don’t make me feel guilty about this – it’s what I need. I’ve got to think about my needs too. Are you still with me?”

“Of course I am. I’m sorry; I should have never brought it up.” Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

“Don’t worry about it. I know you mean well.” Hope reached across the bed, and patted his back. “Should we go to sleep then? It’s late, and we’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Dylan turned out the light, and hopped back into bed. The last thing he wanted was to make Hope feel guilty. But he didn’t want her to feel pressured into leaving either. All-in-all, he wished he had never brought it up. They’d only had this conversation dozens of times in the past several months, and it always ended the same.

The next morning, the rain was pouring down in buckets, as Dylan peered out the motel lobby windows. He counted to three, and ran as fast as he could to the truck. The back of his shirt was nearly soaked to the skin by the time he got inside, but that didn’t dampen his spirits. Any hesitation he had last night about taking this trip was long behind him. Now, thinking about the days and weeks ahead, he was as excited as a child opening presents on Christmas morning. He was ready to go. Fidgeting in his seat, he couldn’t wait any longer. With an impish grin, Dylan lightly tapped the car horn. Hope stood below the roof protecting the lobby entrance.

"Come on honey, let's get out of here!" Dylan whined out the window, open only a crack to keep the rain from gushing in. “A little rain won’t hurt you.” He was teasing her – he could have driven the truck under cover for Hope, but he was daring her to run through the rain.

“Oh you hush up,” Hope scolded with a phony, parental tone, “or you’ll wake up everyone in the whole motel. You must be nuts if you think I’m going out into this rain!”

“How will we ever get on our way if you don’t get in the truck?” Dylan grinned.

Hope didn’t budge. She crossed her arms, put a phony frown on her face, and tapped her foot a few times on the ground. Seeing that she had called his bluff, Dylan backed the truck out of the parking stall, and maneuvered it nearby. When he stopped, Dylan nestled his sunglasses on top his head for later use, cranked the radio, closed his eyes, and sang along to the radio. He was a bad singer, but he belted it out loud. And for a moment, he felt like a teenager again.

Hope dashed toward the truck, threw her purse in the back, and jumped in the front seat. Dylan slammed the four-wheeler into first gear, with the engine revved high. He squealed the tires, and they were off like the wind.

"Cripes, Dylan, are you trying to kill me before we even get out of town?" Hope said jokingly. She turned to Dylan and cracked a smile. Her head jerked back against the headrest when Dylan shifted into second.

Traffic was light on the Beltline as Dylan drove across Madison toward the southbound Interstate. The heavy rain paused, only to burst into a hail storm several minutes later. Hope and Dylan cringed as the small pebbles of ice pelted the vehicle.

“Oh my God, we sure don’t need a broken windshield on our first day.” Dylan pulled to the side of the road until the hail relented. The hail sounded worse than it really was, and the truck escaped without any harm.

“Do you get the feeling someone or something is trying to keep us from leaving town?” Dylan spoke in a solemn tone, but winked as he merged back onto the highway.

“Now, you know, I’m okay with this, honey. This is what I –“

“– yes, yes, don’t worry, Hope. No more of that goofy talk like last night. I’m committed, and I’m ready to go. We’re going to have a great time, for sure.” Dylan belted out a whoop.

Hope had an ear-to-ear grin. She loved it when Dylan was in good spirits. It made it all worthwhile.

Within a half hour, they had made their way to the outskirts of town. Dylan then banked the truck south, and headed toward the Illinois border. The rain stopped, and the sun cracked through the clouds. Hope popped the sunroof open, and at that moment, neither Dylan nor Hope Robertson had a care in the world. The engine hummed, and the wind from the open sunroof blew through their hair as they flew by traffic to their right.

“I always dreamed we could travel the open road together, seeing the entire continent … and then some,” Dylan said. “Wouldn’t it be cool to drive all the way to South America? Are you with me, honey?”

“Wow, that would be wild, Dylan,” Hope said. “I’m not so sure I could handle that…. That would be an awful lot of driving…. You’re not serious, are you?” Sometimes Hope just didn’t know what to make of Dylan’s comments.

“Just think of it, Hope. We would wake up one morning, and find ourselves within reach of the South Pole. We could sail across to Antarctica, or maybe we’d just turn around, and drive right on up to the North Pole!”

“I think I’ll be content with Illinois for the moment,“ Hope chuckled.

Hope realized that Dylan was just goofing around. His chatter was just fantasy, and he was just dreaming out loud. She didn’t mind, though. She always figured if a person is going to dream, the dreams might as well be big ones. But she had become somewhat more practical in recent years.

This trip was really happening, though, after months of preparation. The Robertsons planned to crisscross the U.S., seeing all they could. That would be enough to keep them happy for now. On that day, just like Jack Kerouac years before, the road itself became the destination. The highway was where they were going, and they planned to let it take them wherever it wanted.

It was a bittersweet day, though. Hope and Dylan were embarking on a journey that would probably be Hope’s last. Until several months earlier, the Robertsons had well-paying jobs, and lived a comfortable middle-class lifestyle. But for Hope’s illness, they would have been content to live out their ordinary suburban existence until retirement. And they never would have had the courage to pack up, leave everything behind, and live their dream. Ironically, only tragic circumstances permitted them to live the life that they really wanted.

The Robertsons’ idyllic lives came to a grinding halt when Hope was diagnosed with breast cancer, several years earlier. Hope had felt a lump on her left breast, and sought medical advice within days. She kept it a secret from Dylan, though, and had led him to believe that her medical visit was for nothing more than a routine physical. It didn’t even surprise Dylan when he came home that day to find Hope in tears, sitting on the couch. Hope was a true romantic, who was often moved to tears by a sad TV show, a romantic book, or even a dramatic news magazine photo.

“Whatcha been reading?” Dylan said lightheartedly.

Hope didn’t say a word, and only looked at him. Dylan realized this was more serious than a “good cry.” He rushed to her side.

“Honey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Hope sobbed and shook her head, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. The doctor thinks I may have cancer.” Her voice drifted off.

Dylan wasn’t sure that he had heard her correctly. When Hope repeated herself, Dylan was taken aback.

“Are you serious?”

“They say I have a suspicious lump in my left breast. Actually, I found it a couple of days ago, but I didn’t want to worry you. The big surprise is that my right breast has a similar lump that I missed.”

“I wish you would have told me about this, honey. I could have been there for you.

“I didn’t want to worry you, Dylan. Besides … I really didn’t think it would be anything serious. Women have lumps all of the time that turn out to be nothing.” Hope continued to shake her head in disbelief. The doctor had scheduled her for a mammogram right away that day, and the early diagnosis wasn’t good. Dylan tried to comfort Hope as best he could, but the magnitude of the situation just didn't sink in. He had so much faith in modern medicine that, at first, he naively thought that the illness would surely pass with time and treatment.

He hugged Hope tightly, gently rocking her back and forth.

“Don’t worry, honey, you’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”

Dylan never imagined then that Hope’s life was in jeopardy. She was only 40-years old, and he couldn’t comprehend that the end of her life might be drawing near.

“I know, Dylan. I know we’ll get through this…. I’ll get through this. It just came as such a shock.” Even Hope downplayed the severity of her situation.

Hope underwent a horrendous ordeal over the next two years. A lumpectomy led to chemotherapy. Hope lost all of her hair during that period, and her arms were covered in bruises from the countless injections. But always the eternal optimist, she rarely lost her smile.

Sometimes things got too rough for even Hope, though. She would tire of the nausea induced by the plethora of medications in her system. On bad days, it hurt to even think of getting out of bed. But somehow she always did it. Those days were more about existing and surviving than anything else; Hope put one foot in front of the other, just to stay alive. On those extremely black days, even Hope’s lips couldn’t turn up for a smile. And when Hope’s smile went flat, it nearly hurt Dylan as much as her.

Week after week, Dylan stood by helplessly, watching Hope shed countless tears of pain. Nurse after nurse injected burning chemicals into her arms. Dylan could see the pain on her face as the flaming drugs coursed through her veins. At times, he wanted to scream “stop!” and just take her away from that awful hospital.

“How can anything so painful cure you, Hope? This is just awful, how can you take this?” Dylan was ready to break on the day a nurse took four jabs into Hope’s arm before she found a vein that could take the medicine.

“We just have to have faith,” Hope said as she exhaled a deep breath after the needle was in place. “A lot of people survive cancer these days. And I’ll be one of them.”

But after months of chemotherapy, the doctors couldn’t halt the cancer spread. Hope was alone on the day the doctor said she was left with two choices – she could have a mastectomy or quite certainly die. And it wasn’t just one breast. Given the lack of positive results with chemotherapy, Hope would need a double mastectomy. “I can’t promise you this will work,” the doctor said, “but it’s really your best chance to beat this….”

On his way home from work that day, Dylan had decided to surprise Hope with a bouquet of flowers. He stopped for a dozen roses, and had them nestled behind his back as he entered the house.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The words echoed through the house without reply. “Honey,” he yelled again. “Hope?”

“Hmm,” he thought, “Hope’s car is in the garage. Maybe she took a walk.” It never occurred to him that anything might be wrong.

Dylan hummed to himself as he put the roses in a vase with water, and placed them on the kitchen table. He continued humming as he began to whip up some dinner. Then Dylan thought he heard something. He couldn’t make it out for sure, but it sounded like muffled sobbing, coming through the ceiling. He trotted upstairs, but no sign of Hope. He called. Nothing. Then he heard the muffled sound of crying coming from their bedroom closet. Dylan slowly opened the closet door. Hope wouldn’t even look up at Dylan.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay, Hope? What’s wrong?” He quickly knelt beside her.

“You’re not going to be attracted to me anymore. You won’t love me anymore. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

She said it several more times, as Dylan sat down beside her on the floor, and wrapped his arm around her. He pulled her close to his side.

“What are you talking about, Hope?” Dylan was perplexed.

“The doctors want to cut me up. I hate those bastards. I hate this cancer. I hate…. Why me? I am so angry; I am fed up with all of this!” Hope’s voice had risen to a fevered pitch, but her anger quickly dwindled back to sobs.

Dylan was still in the dark, but he didn’t ask questions. He consoled her, and repeated the words that he had often spoken, “I love you, and I will love you no matter what. You know that, honey. You can always count on that. I’m here for you.” Hope and Dylan sat in the closet until Hope could cry no more.

Throughout the night, Dylan learned the story in bits and pieces. Of course, Hope would opt for the surgery – it was a matter of life and death – but that didn’t make it any easier. There are always risks with surgery, and this was radical surgery. To think that the doctors would be amputating a part of Hope’s body left Dylan with an empty feeling in his gut. But he knew that he would always love Hope, and no surgery would change that.

Hope was scheduled for the mastectomy. She cried off and on for days before the operation. And after the surgery, Hope refused to look down at her mutilated chest for several weeks. Dylan was constantly at her side. He felt so helpless, but Hope did appreciate his support.

There was renewed optimism after the surgery. Without chemotherapy, Hope’s hair returned. Hope and Dylan began to think that she had actually beaten the terrible illness. Her first recheck several months later showed positive results. The outlook seemed bright. A half year later, the future still appeared rosy.

A year later, however, the doctors detected cancer in the lymph nodes near where her breasts once were. A second round of chemotherapy flopped. Hope was tiring, and it was evident on her face and in her attitude. She had aged ten years in two. She was depressed, looked beaten, and was about ready to simply give up.

Early one Saturday morning while Hope still slept, Dylan had happened upon a medical news show about “cutting edge” developments in the treatment of cancer. He watched with great interest as the newscaster discussed an experimental form of treatment in the developmental stages, right at the university in Madison. It was called “hyperthermia,” and centered on the theory that cancer cells could not handle as high of temperatures as other cells in the body.

Dylan was excited and proud when he woke up Hope with the news. For once, he felt like he was really making a difference; he was making a real contribution.

“Hope, you’re not going to believe this! I think I’ve found the answer!”

Hope wasn’t too keen on waking up so early that morning. Saturday was her favorite day to sleep in. Her terse response revealed her grouchiness.

“What are you talking about, Dylan?”

Dylan could hardly control his joy, and he spoke a million words a minute. “I saw the news! I’ve even made some calls! I think that I’ve got you in for an interview!”

“Dylan, please slow down. I’m sorry, but what in the world are you talking about?”

“Hope, hold onto your horses. If you’re willing, I’ve found an experimental cancer treatment program right here in town. I even managed to get a hold of the lead doctor at the hospital. Can you believe it? They want to meet with you, and review your records. But he thinks you might be a perfect candidate! There’s still hope, honey!”

Dylan could see the tears swelling up in Hope’s eyes. “Oh, Dylan, I love you,” were her only words.

The doctors didn’t waste any time. Hope was approved for the project, and her first treatment was scheduled. Within a week, Hope and Dylan left for the hospital with a new lease on life. They really thought that this would do the trick.

However, they both had their doubts after the first day of treatment. This “cutting edge” treatment seemed almost primitive. Hope was taken to a room where she was covered with a heavy type of blanket. Her body then entered a long cylindrical chamber – it reminded Dylan of the iron lungs he had seen in pictures with helpless polio victims trapped inside. Within the chamber, the doctors heated Hope’s body with electromagnetic waves to feverish temperatures in an attempt to burn out the cancer. Hope, who generally favored cool fall days to hot summer ones, did not fair so well.

And she was also mildly claustrophobic. On her first day of treatment, the hyperthermia chamber terrified her, but the thought of dying terrified her more. So she didn’t resist. As she traveled into the tube on a conveyor belt of sorts, she shut her eyes tight. Dylan was there to keep her company, but he could do little more. He actually would have preferred to not be in the room; it wasn’t pleasant to watch his wife roast like little more than a Thanksgiving turkey, but he knew she needed him there.

“Dylan, I’m afraid. I don’t like tight spaces like this. Why is this happening to me? What have I done to deserve this?” she said.

Dylan felt so helpless. "I know it’s not fair,” he offered. But he didn’t know what else to say. Once again, he had assumed the role of the helpless husband. Someone had once said something to him about Hope, and he threw it out in desperation.

“Maybe God picked you for this because he knows you’re strong enough to handle it.”

“What a load of crap that is!” Hope yelled from inside the chamber. She hadn’t missed a beat.

Dylan smiled. He knew that Hope wouldn’t go for such sentimental schlock, but at least it brought out her fiery nature.

As the temperature rose, Hope panicked. “This is so hot, Dylan. I feel like I am cooking in here!”

“What do you think about singing a song, Hope? Maybe if we sing together, it will help take your mind off the heat.”

“Yeah, sure, how about ‘Disco Inferno’?” Hope joked.

“I’m serious, dear, it might help. What song do we know? Cripes, I can’t think of anything.”

The only song that came to Hope’s mind was “Amazing Grace.” Not being particularly religious people, Hope and Dylan were surprised that they even knew the words. But the melody brought her peace. As she relaxed, the temperature was slowly increasing, making her dizzy.

Hope began to mumble deliriously to whoever might listen. “God, please give me the strength to survive. Please let me beat this cancer. Just please let me live. Please, I’ll do whatever you ask of me. Just tell me. Let me live, and I’ll devote my life to charity. I’ll work with homeless children. I’ll work with adoption agencies. Let me help children who’ve been put up for adoption. That would be fitting – and Dylan would help. You’d help, wouldn’t you, Dylan?”

“I sure would, honey. Just hang in there. Your time’s almost up.”

“It would make sense for us to work with adopted children, don’t you think, Dylan? That would be good, wouldn’t it? We could give back something.”

What seemed like forever had only been an hour. But Hope survived the ordeal. When the nurses pulled Hope from the chamber and unwrapped her body, Dylan was aghast. Hope was exhausted, and her limp, lifeless body was on fire. By that point, Hope could barely muster enough energy to speak.

“My God,” thought Dylan, “this is worse than chemotherapy.”

The nurses wheeled Hope to a nearby hospital bed. Dylan took a washcloth, drenched it in ice-cold water, and placed it on Hope’s head as she dozed off.

Hope never gave up on the hyperthermia treatment, and spent many days and nights in sterile hospital rooms, alone with nothing but her fears. For three weeks, she subjected her body to the slow roasting process. She knew it was her last chance. But by the end of the initial trial period, even Hope had her doubts. She felt exhausted and much worse than when she entered the program.

Hope confided in Dylan about her doubts. “I don’t know how this could possibly help me, Dylan. I feel so bad and beaten. If the cancer doesn’t kill me, this treatment surely will.”

But after the program ended and she had time to recuperate, Hope felt rejuvenated and reinvigorated. Dylan was seeing the old Hope again, and wondered if the treatment had succeeded. She walked daily, even ran several mornings, and the familiar smile and laugh were back on her face. They were both quite optimistic when Hope returned to the hospital two weeks later for her checkup. But on a dreary early spring day, Hope heard the words she did not want her doctor to speak.

“I’m sorry, Hope, the cancer has not been contained, and it’s continued to spread. There is nothing more we can do for you. Our funding for this program requires that we show results, and your situation has unfortunately not been successfully addressed.”

Hope and Dylan were devastated.

“Well, what happens now?” Dylan finally asked, as he squeezed her hand tight.

“Medical science really doesn’t have anything more to offer. Hope will just need to try to live as comfortably as she can.” The doctor tried to be compassionate, but it all came out so matter-of-factly. “We can help you arrange for hospice care when the time is right.”

“How long do I have ... to live?” Hope spoke the words meekly. She didn’t really want to know the answer to the question, but she asked it anyway.

“It’s all so unpredictable. It depends on so many things, but you can probably expect to live comfortably for at least four to six months. And you may live for perhaps even a year, although nothing is guaranteed. During this time, the cancer will get progressively worse at an exponential rate of growth.”

“And what will happen to Hope during this time?” Dylan didn’t even want to know, but he felt he needed to ask.

“It appears that the cancer is spreading to your lungs, Hope. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything we can do to stop it. It will eventually become difficult for you to breath. At some point, you will need an oxygen tank to survive.”

“Are you telling me I have lung cancer? I’m going to die from lung cancer? But I never smoked a cigarette in my life.” Hope had tried so hard to beat the invisible killer. She had gone through so many ups and downs. Her life had become a nightmarish roller coaster ride. And this was the last straw; it was like adding insult to injury.

“There are people who smoke their entire lives, and they don’t get lung cancer. How can this happen to me?”

“Technically, Hope, it’s not lung cancer,” the doctor explained. “It’s breast cancer that has spread elsewhere in your body. When we removed your breasts, the disease looked for somewhere else to go. It went from your lymph nodes to your lungs.”

The doctor continued with his explanation, but Dylan had shut him out at that point. He couldn't fathom it. “Blah, blah, blah” was all he heard, as the doctor rambled on. Apparently, these long dissertations were his way of dealing with the discomfort of providing such awful news.

“It’s a different type of cancer cell –“

“Hope looks so healthy. How can this be?” Dylan had heard enough. “I can’t believe that a disease is ravaging her body. This doesn’t make sense.” Dylan tried to contain his anger, and tried not to direct it at the doctor, but he was confused and frustrated.

“I know – this is so unexpected. I actually feel better than I have in quite some time. I really didn’t expect this, doctor. What’s happened?” Hope sobbed, but she tried to be levelheaded as her emotions got the best of her. She had been living with the idea of dying for so long that the doctor’s news, while certainly unwelcome, was not that unexpected. She had become used to bad news, and had pictured this moment in her head many times. But it still didn’t make it any easier to hear. She was so tired of crying.

“It’s not uncommon for patients to feel improvement after the hyperthermia treatment. But, cancer is a silent predator,” he said. “A person can actually be unaware for quite sometime that cancer is destroying their body. The human body can endure a lot, but eventually, in a case like yours, the cancer will win. I’m sorry.” The doctor spoke those words like they had been said many times before.

More “blah, blah, blah” is all Hope and Dylan heard at that point.

The Robertsons left the hospital that day overwhelmed and unsure of their future. Neither of them could imagine returning to work day after day, as if nothing were wrong, simply working through the balance of Hope’s existence, until one day she could work no more. There was nothing to look forward to for Hope, and there was no long-term future.

“What am I to do? I have to keep working,” Dylan thought. “I need the income, the security, the stability.”

Dylan struggled with this inner conflict for days. There had to be a way to make Hope’s last days enjoyable.

Hope was despondent. She dragged herself to work – partly out of financial necessity, partly out of the shear desire to take her mind off of her illness. Dylan couldn’t bear to watch Hope spend the remainder of her life in such a drab routine. That was a cruel punishment. Dylan thought long and hard, realizing that his only choice was to make a sacrifice for the woman he loved. He shared his thoughts at the dinner table on a cold mid-winter evening.

"Hope, we can’t just give up. You’ve got some time yet. You still feel well. Let’s make something of it.”

Hope could tell that Dylan was making one of his pitches. Sometimes he had some pretty outlandish ideas, and she didn’t always buy into them. She figured there was a 50/50 chance that she would be interested, but she listened patiently. “What do you have in mind, dear?”

“Let’s have the time of our lives, quit our jobs, and have some fun!” Dylan became excited just speaking those words, and Hope could see that he wanted this badly.

He continued his pitch. “We both wish we had traveled more, but we spent so much time married to our damn jobs that we never did. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s do it now. We can drive around the country, see the sights, dine at the best restaurants, and have a great time!"

The wind was whipping past their house at 30 miles per hour, and the clouds were dumping a ten-inch blanket of snow across town. It was easy to dream about leaving Wisconsin in the dead of winter. But was it realistic? Hope hesitated, and as always, was more concerned about Dylan than herself.

“What about your future? she said. “How will you manage when I’m gone if you give up your job now?”

It scared Dylan to think of the answers to those questions. But he wasn’t so sure he was really giving up a secure life anyway. Several years ago, both Hope and he thought they had a secure life, until life threw a curve ball their way.

“Don’t worry about me, Hope. Don’t worry about my future. We’ve got to live for today. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? One thing I’ve come to realize over these past few years is that there are no guarantees. Our future together is now.” Dylan was getting fired up, and he could see that Hope was taking him seriously.

“We’ve put a lot of money away toward retirement. That’s not going to do you any good, Hope. As far as I’m concerned, our retirement just arrived twenty to thirty years early, and it’s time to live it out while we still can together.”

“Gosh, I don’t know….” Hope was still contemplating his plan. “I would worry about you.”

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Please don’t worry about me. Please let me do this for you – for us. It would mean the world to me to make this happen.”

Hope hugged Dylan tight. “Well, then, we’d better get our bags packed!”

True to form, the duo quit their jobs to devote all energies to their travel plans. As Hope and Dylan planned to embark on their journey, they really had no idea how long it would last. By the doctor’s count, Hope only had a short time left. But she still looked healthy, and by her account, she still felt good. She had befuddled the doctors on more than one occasion with her strength and willpower to live. Both Dylan and Hope agreed that they didn’t want their travels cut short due to lack of funds. So they saw an all-out asset liquidation as the only way to guarantee the short-term financial security that they needed.

For starters, they raided their retirement accounts, and, despite massive penalties and taxes, they netted hefty sums. Then they arranged for a sale of all their worldly possessions, including their house. That was difficult – everything they seemed to stand for was wrapped up in all the “stuff” they had accumulated over the years.

“All of those possessions have to mean something,” Dylan thought. Perhaps more into material things than Hope, he wondered aloud, “What will we be when all we have is a truck filled with what’s left?”

Hope and Dylan sorted through their belongings, and kept what they needed for the trip. The rest of their life was auctioned off. It was dispersed in a hundred different directions in a hundred different boxes and car trunks. They both agreed that the stuff would do them no good where they were headed.

Hope and Dylan saved the important souvenirs, those items with special meaning or memories. Photos, scrapbooks, diaries and the like were far too precious to give away or sell. And, Hope wouldn’t let Dylan sell every piece of furniture and material item – she made him agree to retain at least a few items so he could get back on his feet again when their journey ended. Hope’s parents, Vern and Ida Quinlan, had room in their basement, where they stored the objects.

The last moments in their house were melancholy ones. The rooms were empty, and the voices echoed throughout. As they walked through the rooms one-by-one enjoying their last chance to reminisce, Dylan thought their voices sounded eerily like those of ghosts. Their memories would indeed be ghosts, forever lingering behind – they were as much a part of that house as the wood and nails that held it together.

“Gosh, Dylan, remember when we got little Buddy, and brought him home?” A smile broke through Hope’s tears. “He was such a cute kitten.”

“Yeah, he was a great little kitten, so spunky. But remember he had fleas? God, I was so mad. Here we move into our first house, and the new cat has fleas.”

Hope chuckled. “Yes, you were angry. But everything worked out fine it in the end. Although, it sure was disappointing to spend what was supposed to be the first night in our new house in a motel while we bombed for fleas.” Her voice faded. “I sure am going to miss that little bugger. And Felix, too.”

Due to allergies, Dylan’s parents couldn’t take the cats. And Vern and Ida had offered to take them, but they had recently acquired a stray dog that never saw fit to leave. Hope and Dylan knew that Buddy and Felix could never survive in the company of a dog. It pained them greatly to give up their furry companions, but they had no choice – they couldn’t take them along. They had found a good home for the cats together with an old college friend of Hope’s, and bade farewell to their dear friends and companions.

“Well, I guess that’s enough of the reminiscing. We should be going. The house closing is right after lunch, and I know that the new owners are eager to move in.”

“Yes, I suppose, Dylan,” Hope said with a sigh. Before she knew what hit her, Dylan swept her off her feet. “What are you doing, you goof?”

“I figure that there’s no reason that we have to leave that threshold business for only moving into a new house.”

Dylan carried Hope across the front door threshold, and out onto the porch, as Hope giggled the entire way.

“Besides,” Dylan said. “This is our new home now – the great wide open spaces.”