Down From the Clouds (16 page)

An hour later, I stood and wiped my eyes. "Well, now I have a headache."

She smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry. I feel like a fool."

"Don't." She touched my cheek. "Haven't you heard the saying, ‘real men cry?'" 

"Yeah, doesn't mean they cry like babies for an hour on the floor. A few tears would have sufficed."

"This is good. I'm so happy for you. This is so good."

"Let's go get this will. I have a feeling we're going to end up living here."

We walked up the wooden stairs, still in perfect shape, still as clean as the day I left. Ella wanted to see my room first, so I showed her. Pop left a lot of things the same. I stayed in that room when I visited and he wanted me to be comfortable. Golden honey walls. Natural wood trim. White window seat and curtains. Cream blankets and sheets. My home for so many years.

She ran her hand along the bookshelf. "Are all of these yours?"

"They are. I only took my favorites. Figured that alone would be more than the average person has on their book shelf."

"Probably right." She sat on the bed. "Any other girls ever sit on this bed with you?"

"Just Matt's sister, Miranda."

"You two seem close. No history there?"

"Not at all. We were close though. Matt and Miranda were pretty much best friends. They had one of those ideal brother and sister relationships. Big brother protected little sister. Little sister adored big brother. She was always, always getting herself into trouble and Matt and I spent many nights talking her out of way too many things."

"Can't believe she never had a crush on you."

"Not everyone thinks I'm as wonderful as you do." 

"Hard to imagine." She walked to the window. "What a view."

"Perfect view for inspiration. Faces the south so it's always bright in this room. I spent many days and nights reading and painting and writing while sitting on that window seat."

"It's beautiful."

I took her hand. "Let's go to Pop's room. I'm all cried out, so don't expect me to break down again."

We laughed and walked the creaky hall to Pop's door.

"You gonna open it?" she said.

"Maybe."

"Want me to?"

I held the doorknob, took a breath, and shoved the door into the wall. Definitely didn't mean to do that, but nothing could've shocked me more than what I saw next. Pop flung straight up in his bed. Face pale. Eyes wide as the ocean. Ella screamed and jumped behind me. Pop laughed. My jaw fell to the floor and stayed there.

I grabbed Ella. "Do you see what I see?"

"His spirit is here." She took another step back. "I don't like this."

Pop, or his spirit, bent over in a hysterical fit of laughter.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I said, imagining scenes from
A Christmas Carol.

The thing that looked like Pop stopped laughing and held out his hands. "Well, I'm real. Touch and see," he, it, whatever it was, said. "This isn't how I expected this to go, but you swung that door open so fast it woke me right out of a dream and scared the daylights out of me."

"A dream? You're dead. What the hell is happening?"

"It's me, Gavin. Come on, now. Did you really think I'd die without saying goodbye? I've known for years this is how you would react to my death, so I knew I'd have to do this to you to get you to wake up and move on with life. Plus, I didn't want you living with regret for the rest of your days. I had to do this. Don't you see?"

Ella's hand finally fell from her mouth as my fists loosened. I closed my eyes, opened them, and closed them again.

"Am I dreaming?" I said.

"Gavin." Pop laughed. "I'm real. Get over here and hug me."

I looked at Ella. She nudged my back. A few steps forward, a few back. I couldn't process everything. The man I thought was dead, the biggest regret of my life, the person I'd been avoiding for months and months . . . alive? Really alive? This would go down in history as either the most amazing thing ever or the cruelest prank in the world.

He waved us over. "Come and sit with me. We have a lot of catching up to do. I saw your story on the news. Ella, come and sit too."

She stepped toward the bed. He hugged her and gave her a pat on the head, then moved toward me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me toward him, into the bed alongside him. I collapsed in his embrace, feeling like a five-year-old again, laughing so hard I cried. Tears of joy. Unexpected, unbridled joy. Never in a million years could anyone have pulled this off. No one except Pop. Or maybe Ella. 

I took a step back. "How did you manage this? They said you had a month to live."

"They told me last year that I would probably have six months. The cancer went crazy inside and they suggested this and that treatment. I stopped chemo and radiation. Stopped going to the doctor. I don't want to die that way. I'm ready to go now. I've lived plenty. I needed to get you straightened out before I left and I stayed here hoping you'd make it before I died." He held is chest. "After that scare just now I think it may be any day now."

"So did you plant all those boxes and notes right before we dug them up?"

"Some of them, but it took you a while to get to the next one sometimes. I'd check every so often and one would still be there. I had some help too.”

"We've had a lot going on." I looked at Ella, her face one huge brilliant ray of light. "Started a new business together. Planning our wedding. Ella's best friend was in a camping accident and severely burned."

"It's hard for me to walk," Pop said. "But let's go down to the trees and talk a little."

We helped him out of bed and down the steps. 

"How did you bury all those notes as weak as you are?" Ella said.

“Well, like I said, I had a little help. Remember though, you can be dying on the outside, but the only thing that matters is how alive you are on the inside. You'd be amazed at the things a dying body can accomplish when the heart is filled with love."

"I always thought you couldn't wait to die since grandma died," I said as we walked outside and into the grass.

He grabbed my hand. Gripped as hard as his frail hand could. "You were always worth living for. Besides, your grandma would've wanted me to be with you. She never got to meet you. I really think having you helped me live when my heart wanted to give up."

I held Pop's left arm. Ella held his right. Together we walked in peace. Slow and steady. Down the hill we used to race down when I was a kid. Memories flashed through my mind like an old black-and-white film one still frame at a time. 

We reached Pop’s trees. His and grandma’s favorite. Zelkova trees with enormous trunks and twisting branches. Pop sat in the shade on a wooden bench, white paint chipping off from years of wear. We sat beside him as he caught his breath. It wouldn't be long now, I thought. He was at peace. He finished what he set out to do and I could already see the darkness creeping in.

We talked for hours on the bench. At times I'd get so excited that I'd end up pacing around the tree and talking with my hands. Ella smiled the entire time. Pop did too. Whenever I stood he held her hand as though she were his own grandchild. Matt always said I was the balloon in his life and he was the weight that kept me down. For once in my life I felt like that were true not only on the outside, but the inside too.

Pop knew me so well. He knew I needed this. I needed to live from my heart. From the place he and Ella knew so well. And he knew it wouldn't have happened unless I was broken first. So he broke me. And then, as we sat in the shade on an amber September night, watching the sun fade behind the trees, Pop took my broken pieces and molded them into something new. Something deeper. More beautiful. Colorful. He molded me into a person with desire and life. A person who stopped to smell roses and climb trees. A person who didn’t take life for granted.

A person like him. 

Chapter Nineteen

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Ella and I spent a lot of time with Pop as his health quickly declined. He went over his will with us. Gave us the house and told us we could sell it and keep the money, or live there mortgage-free. Acres upon acres and a huge house completely paid off. Ella already imagined our future children running down to the same trees I grew up climbing. I wasn't so sure at first, but she talked me into it. Well, actually, she challenged me to a tickle fight where she made the craziest motions, like some kind of dying hyena. I laughed so hard I could barely stand. Easy win for her.

Pop asked if we could move in before he died so he wouldn't die alone. I think he enjoyed Ella's presence. The soft presence of a woman. She'd just sit there and read books to him. He loved it. I did too. I'm so glad they got to meet each other after all.

So, we gave our art and music students a three week notice of cancellation and advertised for Lancaster. Pop's house had a small guesthouse that would make a perfect studio. Already had fifteen students registered for November and we hadn't packed our stuff yet.

Ella insisted that we get married before moving in together. So we had one month to do so and Sarah was still in a coma.

They moved James to a different part of the hospital. Not completely sure how it all works, but Ella told me they were working with him in a therapy unit. We could visit and talk with him. So we did.

When we got there he smiled. Looked the same as he always did, except his arms and legs had been burned. Face looked great. Just one small mark near his left ear and neck.

Ella's voice shook when she spoke. We made normal small talk for a few minutes, then James put an end to it.

"It's my fault," he said. “I should’ve put the fire out. I wasn’t thinking. When the tent caught fire I jumped up and ran out without thinking. Like a dream or something. I forgot about her.” He shook his head. “Then I went into the flames to get her and it was too late. She was covered in flames.” His lip trembled. “I rolled around on the ground with her to get the flames off of us. It was my fault. Seeing her like that. I did that to her.”

“It’s not your fault, man," I said. "You can't beat yourself up about it. It was an accident. These things happen. You can't dwell on it."

"I'm good at dwelling. The last words I said to my brother were in a text right before he died. I'm the reason he went over the line. We were fighting. My last words to him were two letters. 'F U.' I saw his iPhone go from blue iMessages to green text messaging within seconds. I assumed he turned his phone off to ignore me. I will never forget the way my mother broke down when the cops came to the door to tell us he was dead." His tone carried weight as he talked. Lots of weight. Too much for one man to bear. He continued, "I killed Sarah. Even if she wakes up, I killed her spirit. Most of her skin was burned and a few organs were affected. If she wakes up she has a long road to recovery. I don't want her to wake up. I don't want her to suffer because of me."

He yelled at himself as he told us the rest of his story. When he finished, Ella and I looked at each other. She motioned for me to say something. I couldn't have found a word even if someone handed me a dictionary. So I looked down and let the silence kill his anger.

For a second I thought peace returned to him, but he flung his body back and forth and screamed to the top of his lungs. Nurses flew in. Ella explained what happened. They told us to leave the room. As we walked away James shouted over and over, "Let her die. Just let her die. And take me, too."

Sobering, to say the least. Ella and I drove back to Philadelphia in complete silence. No music. No talking. 

I thought of my dad. So glad Pop cracked my heart open and poured a little of it into my dad's life. Holding grudges made me feel justified for a little, but that kind of anger and bitterness never dies and the only person it would've killed would've been myself. The people we choose not to forgive will move on. They'll get over it. Meanwhile the person who refuses to forgive is like a tea bag steeping so long that even ten spoons of sugar wouldn't make the bitterness worth drinking. I didn't want to be the drink no one wanted to swallow.

Then there's James. What do you tell someone when the one person they can't forgive is their own self? I guess I could relate.

Ella and I finished up the last of our lessons, moved all of her stuff into Pop's house, and moved her in with him as well. He liked that idea. Yes, it put her an hour-and-a-half away from me, but it wouldn't be for long.

On an usually pleasant sixty-five degree October afternoon Ella and I had a picnic on Pop's land, our future home, down by the creek. We talked about Pop and Sarah. What to do about the wedding. Then, Ella got a call from a Pittsburgh number. Within minutes, we were in the car.

Three months and six days after Sarah and James got into the accident, she woke up to a new season of life. Ella could visit, but they still wouldn't let me. Not until they moved her to a different part of the hospital. When we arrived I kissed Ella and wiped her eyes, "Be strong, okay? Don't let her see you cry. She needs us to tell her everything will be fine right now. There will be other times to cry with her. That time isn't today."