- Author
- 10/03/2015
- 2,261 Words
- 2,543 Views
- 16 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Destiny - a novel - 18. Chapter 18: Converted
Chapter 18: Converted
I'm alone in the hospital chapel. On my knees, I'm praying out of fear, because the goals for Jack and I seem so close, but we are in a dark tunnel. The pinpoint of light we follow is lit solely by our faith in the goodness of human compassion, and I chose not to acquiesce in the fickleness of that mortal feature. Instead, I'm trusting that miracles can come true.
The blue-white light slanting through the stained glass to fall on my prostrate figure reminds me how the weather has changed so drastically from when our sojourn started in this place: from rainy and warm to clear and cold. Is it better – more humane – to face one's mortality or the fleshly frailty of our loved ones in shadow and warmth or in icy-cold sunlight?
I hear throat clearing over my left shoulder. It's the chaplain, an older man with a white comb-over, black suit and shirt, plus the classic clerical dog collar.
"You asked to speak to me, young man?"
I nod as I get up from my knees. I then move over slightly and sit so the man can join me.
Sitting together on the cold wood of the pew, angled face to face with one another, I ask him as plainly as I can, "Do you know who Jack Shaw is?"
He appears embarrassed to admit: "Yes, I do."
"Well then, do you know who I am?"
"I do, young man. I know you are a good person and that you have been put through much, but things will get better."
Such simple words, and perhaps their power comes from the fact that they have been delivered by a stranger, but I feel comforted.
"Jack's in pretty dire straits. His doctors have found an ideal donor match, but it's already been five days, and there is still no word if he will come back and help. It's Jack's own brother, sir. It's his own brother who may decide to stand back and do nothing."
After a moment of silence, the minister asks, "Do you want me to pray to help his brother see the light?"
"No – I mean, yes. All the help you can offer will be appreciated, but, I am here to ask you for another favor."
"And what is that?"
"Jack and I are engaged – "
His genuinely warm smile cuts me off. "Congratulations!"
"Thank you; the ceremony is something Jack wants as soon as possible. He's frightened that he'll die before it happens. Since he's sixteen, a judge must issue a court order allowing it. The rule says the person must petition the court in person, but that's not possible for Jack, so his mother will go and beg them to let us get married. He is weak, minister, but holding on."
"So what can I do for you boys?"
"Just one thing – please be available to marry us tomorrow afternoon, if the court agrees."
The chaplain reaches into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out his cell phone. "Here's my number." He holds up his lit screen and I fish my phone from out of my jeans' pocket. As I add him to my contacts, he tells me softly, "Anytime of the day or night, just give me the word, and I will be here within the hour. It will be a privilege to marry such a loving young couple. I'll be praying for you both, and for his brother as well. God bless."
I shake his hand; relief for one part of my struggles I'm sure shows on my mug as a goofy grin, but I can't help it. "Trying to get this accomplished is like wading through a mire of conflict and emotions. Truly, you don’t know how much every little bit of encouragement means to us – I can almost see Jack's face now as I deliver this piece of good news."
I stand, and pick up the large envelope that has been sitting on the seat next to me the whole time.
He rises too, and I feel my good-natured tone crack as I tell him, "Wish me luck on getting the next task done. I'm going to need it!"
He smiles, shakes my hand again with his other going to support my shoulder, and says, "I don’t believe in luck, son. I believe in faith."
˚˚˚˚˚
Walking into the café, I look around, the envelope clutched nervously in my hands as I try not to crease its contents.
The almost summertime clarity of the courtyard seating area greets my eyes first, and there are even a few white lab coat-wearing people stiff as boards on the aluminum chairs sunning themselves.
I ignore the almost overpowering smell of food – I haven’t eaten today; I can't, not yet at least.
I spot the back of their heads, and I'm surprised. When I talked to my mom on the phone, she said she'd probably be coming alone.
I sit. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Pops."
They nod at me – my mom stiffening anxiously on her seat – and mumble something I barely hear; things about me looking thin, haggard and such.
I inhale deeply to steady my nerves, and that seems to interrupt their train of thought. I remove the form that I need signed from the envelope and set it on the table in front of them. I then extract the cheap ballpoint pen I bought to sign my name to the card vowing eternal love to Jack, and gently place it on top of the paper. "There it is, the application for a marriage license that I need one of you to sign."
My whole fate is in the balance; I wonder what price they might try to exact. Will they simply say no – run out Jack's clock to punish their eldest son for all of my sins?
"Lincoln…" My mom's tone is enigmatic: halfway between compassion and control-freak. "In a few months you will be eighteen, so wait if you want to marry him so bad."
I swallow down my pride, and goddamn it, I swear I'm not gonna cry in front of these people, not ever again. "Mom, Dad, Jack can't wait for my birthday. He's upstairs right now, only holding on until this marriage process is complete. Then, I think he's ready to go."
"Lincoln…" My father's tone is rather cold, but reaching.
"No, Pops. You can hate me for all the things I'll never be, or, you can take me as the fuckup that I am – as Jack does, for good or bad – but either way, please, please do not hurt that boy. I'd die in his place if I could, and all he's asking for seems so simple. If you ever loved me in your entire life – even just briefly – then please sign."
There is a tense silence that seems to drag on forever while my parents exchange unreadable glances. Finally, Pops pulls out a fountain pen from the inner pocket of his suit coat. He unscrews the cap, pops it securely on the end, and hands it to his wife. He holds my gaze and tells me plainly, "We will both sign it."
My mom pulls the form towards her, displacing my pen, and carefully finds the box that says 'Mother.'
I'm floored; I ask my dad with a choking gasp, "You're converted, just like that?"
Pops heaves a heavy sigh. "I guess your words about being disappointed in your father hit home. Your mother and I discussed it, and now I realize that if you ever had reason to doubt I loved you – ever – then, I was a lousy father. Just like that, you ask? No, it's hard to change, but this is the first fatherly thing I can do for my boy, and the one he loves."
As my eyes begin to fill with blurry tears, the form and pen are slid over to him. He finds the spot, and at the first stroke of his pen, my throat erupts into choking sobs.
I prop my elbows on the table, pressing the balls of my palms against my eyes to try and make myself stop.
In another moment, I blindly hear a chair slide across the floor in front of me, and then after another second or two, my father's hand gently touches my upper arm.
I fly up to embrace him, and now I can't stop crying as he hugs me and tries to comfort with soft words of regret and love. They may be awkward for him, but they are well-meaning.
In my head, one refrain replays over and over – just like that. Yes, forgiveness can come to us just like that.
˚˚˚˚˚
As I arrive in Jack's room, all is quiet and in semi-darkness. Jackson and Dawn must be off together someplace, as they've been doing these days, for only Jack's mom is there, sewing while lounging on the sofa. I smile as she glances up at me, and I slip her the triumphant envelope containing the signed document Mrs. Shaw and I will need to take to court tomorrow and hopefully have the judge sign off on.
I go to Jack, feeling instantly stricken again – as I always do – at how precarious he looks now that his arms are both stuck to IV's and his chest is patched with thin cables to a heart monitor. I sidle up to his bedside, take his chilled hand in my own and stroke his forehead below his USA cap. I kiss his brow, then caress his cheek. "It's all set, Jack. The minister is on call 24/7 for us. My folks gave their permission. Now we're all set for your mom to get the court order allowing you to marry."
"Awesome, Linc."
"Yeah, we'll be fine, kid. I just know it."
"Nah, Linc – I meant you're awesome."
His hand lifts towards my chin, and I take the signal to come down and kiss his sweet lips.
When I glance up, I almost can't believe what is unfolding before my eyes. The soft knock, and Mrs. Shaw rising to her feet were barely acknowledged as I leaned down to kiss my boy, but now both of us open our eyes to find Hamish and Christie there.
After glancing at us, Jack's older brother drops to his knees before his mother. He is clearly emotional and holding back his tears. "I'm sorry for all the stress I put you through, I was only thinking about myself and my own feelings. I'm ashamed, Mom. I feel real shame, and I don’t deserve to be your son."
I notice Christie pull out her phone and begin texting someone.
Mrs. Shaw raises up her boy by the underarms, and tells him warmly, "Then I rejoice, for you were lost, but now you're found; were dead, but now are reborn."
They hug, and Mrs. S. continues in a different, more instructing tone, "It's all right, Hamish. But, I'm not part of those whom you really need to ask forgiveness from."
She lets loose of him, and Hamish comes up to me. He holds out his hand. "I've been a total douche to you – sorry, man."
I shake his hand.
Hamish now goes to Jack; he picks up his brother's hand. "I'm sorry, Jack. Do you hate me?"
My fiancé shakes his head. "I love you, Hamish. You are my big brother, and you will always be."
They hug it out, and I glance to see both mother and daughter extract hankies from their respective sweater cuffs.
To my surprise, Dr. Kimball runs up to stand between them; he's still clutching his cell phone, and now I suppose I know who Christie was just texting.
Hamish walks straight up to him, brushing away his tears with the back of his hand. "I'm ready, doc! Put me under the knife right now."
"Hang tight, bro," I tell him.
Hamish turns startled eyes on me, and Jack picks up the explanation.
"We'll know by tomorrow evening if Linc and I can make us legal before the surgery – I may not make it through the operation."
The doctor casts concerned looks between Mrs. Shaw, Jack and myself. "We'll have to go tomorrow, Jack. I think I'll need both Shaw brothers prepped and ready to go into surgery at 4 PM, even if the judge won't allow you to marry."
Jack speaks up first. "I'm not too sure of that, doc."
"Come on, Jack," his mom says with calm frankness. "It's only reasonable, now that Hamish is here – "
"Yeah," Hamish interjects. "It sounds like the doctor's plan is the right one."
Jack silently hems and haws.
Dr. Kimball pulls out his 'double-dog-dare-you' trump card. "Come on, Jack." He pulls out his phone and waves it around menacingly. "Don’t make me call up my wife. Marta won't rest until her little chiquito sees reason."
Jack wavers with a small chuckle and meets my gaze.
I gently nod my head. "I think they're right, babe. There's no time to waste. Rain or shine, you have to go through with the procedure tomorrow."
He sends over a warm smile just for me. "Ok, Dr, Kimball. Hamish and me will be prepared and ready to go."
The oncologist displays some slight emotions. "A wise decision. We'll do our best for you, Jack."
-
17
-
1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.