When my mother told him what was happening, my father said that Hegbert would
never accept his help, that the wounds were too deep, that it was too late to do anything.
“This isn’t about your family, or even about Reverend Sullivan, or anything that
happened in the past,” she said to him, refusing to accept his answer. “This is about our
son, who happens to be in love with a little girl who needs our help. And you’re going to
find a way to help her.”
I don’t know what my father said to Hegbert or what promises he had to make or
how much the whole thing eventually cost. All I know is that Jamie was soon surrounded
by expensive equipment, was supplied with all the medicine she needed, and was watched
by two full-time nurses while a doctor peeked in on her several times a day.
Jamie would be able to stay at home.
That night I cried on my father’s shoulder for the first time in my life.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked her. She was in her bed under the covers, a tube
in her arm feeding her the medication she needed. Her face was pale, her body feather
light. She could barely walk, and when she did, she now had to be supported by someone
else.
“We all have regrets, Landon,” she said, “but I’ve led a wonderful life.”
“How can you say that?” I cried out, unable to hide my anguish. “With all that’s
happening to you?”
She squeezed my hand, her grip weak, smiling tenderly at me.
“This,” she admitted as she looked around her room, “could be better.”
Despite my tears I laughed, then immediately felt guilty for doing so. I was supposed
to be supporting her, not the other way around. Jamie went on.
“But other than that, I’ve been happy, Landon. I really have. I’ve had a special father
who taught me about God. I can look back and know that I couldn’t have tried to help
other people any more than I did.” She paused and met my eyes. “I’ve even fallen in love
and had someone love me back.”
I kissed her hand when she said it, then held it against my cheek.
“It’s not fair,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
“Are you still afraid?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid, too,” I said.
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“What can I do?” I asked desperately. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
anymore.”