Page 3 of When I'm Gone
Clayton was up before the sun. Luke brought him in his bed and clicked on a show. That quiet time lasted only about twenty minutes. Then the demands started.
“Daddy, milk.”
Luke sighed. “Milk, please?” Natalie had a thing about politeness with the kids. Guess he should try to keep things up to her standard.
“Okay. Daddy, milk please?” Clayton lisped, his pleading three-year-old eyes taking up half of his face. How could he say no now?
By his third trip to the kitchen, there was still no noise from the two closed doors in the upstairs hall. It was nearing 11:00 a.m., and Luke was starting to wonder how long he should let them veg today. All day sounded like an excellent idea.
He dragged his feet down another set of stairs. As he peered over the railing, something blue caught his eye and left a lump in his throat. He slipped his hand into his robe pocket, fingering the letter he’d found on the wood floor last night. It was still there, the frayed edges of the notebook paper his constant comfort for the past twelve hours. One letter would’ve been enough, or so he’d thought until he saw the newest blue rectangle, half-hidden by the bills and condolence cards from the daily mail delivery. Now all he thought about was more, more of Natalie and her comfort. When Luke thought about it that way, he was sure he could never have enough.
He raced down the stairs, jumping off the last two, his bare feet hitting the wood with a slap. The sun, reflecting off a new powdery coating of snow outside, poured in through the tall, skinny windows framing the door. Luke rubbed his eyes with one hand as he shoved all the other letters aside and snatched Natalie’s envelope with the other.
His name was scrawled on the front, this time with their address and a stamp. No return address. Postmarked: Farmington Hills, MI. Luke flipped the letter over; “DAY 2” was written in bold letters on the back. Without any attempt at neatness, he poked a finger under the flap and ripped. Peeking past the jagged opening, he peered inside. Another piece of folded notebook paper with the fringe sticking up like it was beckoning him to take a look. Luke unfolded the letter greedily.
The front of the page and half of the back was filled with her handwriting. Stumbling to the stairs, he collapsed on the second to bottom step, shifting back and forth to fit on the narrow seat. There was no time to savor this letter. He had to read fast, before Clayton noticed him missing and before May and Will showed their faces.
Natalie was right; it wasn’t a good idea to share the letters with the kids now. It was the wrong time for them, but also the wrong time for Luke. He wasn’t ready to show anyone the letters yet, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because some of his favorite times with Natalie were the ones they’d spent talking, just the two of them, processing the day and life and the kids. He didn’t know how to do it alone. The paper crinkled in his hand as he began to read.
DAY 2
Dear Luke,
Okay, so chemo officially stinks. I can’t write much today; I feel like I have the stomach flu, got hit by a car, and was secretly drugged with sleeping pills, all at the same time. And unless all those things happened without my knowledge, it must be the chemo. It makes sense because chemo literallyispoison. Dr. Saunders keeps saying it’s good poison. Now that’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.
I need to sleep, but I hope you get this letter in time to do something today. I know I’m dead and all, but that doesn’t stop me from asking you to do crap for me. It only stops me from nagging you about it until you get it done.
Would you make the kids pancakes? I know breakfast is not your thing, but trust me, some mornings (like the morning after your mother’s funeral) nothing tastes as good as hot pancakes made by someone you love. Not the cardboard box kind though. You’ve got to usemyspecial recipe pancakes. I’ll write it out on the back since it’s all in my head.Oh!Don’t forget, May likes hers with a chocolate chip smiley face. She won’t eat them without it.
Here’s a crazy idea—maybe you could try one for once.
Kiss the kids. I love you and miss you.
Love,
Natalie
Luke flipped the page over, hoping to find another message from Natalie, but instead there was a recipe. It looked pretty simple. For the past few weeks someone had been here to make meals for the kids, or folks had dropped prepared dishes off in Tupperware containers. Luke could barely eat them though. Even during those last three months when they knew the end was coming fast, Luke leaned heavily on boxed cereal, mac and cheese, and plenty of bananas and carrot sticks to let Natalie know he was attempting to be healthy. Now the pressure of making sure the kids were fed three at least semihealthy meals a day was all on him.
“Daddy! I need milk!” Clayton shouted from his bedroom, and it echoed through the two-story entry. So much for politeness. A door opened in the upstairs hall.
“Dad, Clayton is yelling. I was trying to sleep.” Will’s voice dragged, and Luke wondered how late his fourteen-year-old had been up last night.
“I’m grabbing him a drink, then I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes sound good?” Luke folded the letter as he spoke, put it back in the envelope, and added to the other one still in his pocket.
Will leaned over the railing, his bed-head hair sticking up in almost stylish brown spikes. He looked like his mother, even had her little lisp that came out when he was tired or distracted. When Will was little, Luke was always a little jealous his son didn’t look more like him, but now he was glad. He wished all the kids took after Natalie because seeing those little parts of her live on in them made Luke miss her a fraction less.
“Dad ...” Will hesitated. “You don’t make pancakes.”
“Well, I’m going to try.” Luke walked up the stairs to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m an engineer. If I can design cell phones the size of a credit card, I can certainly follow a simple recipe.”
It was almost noon by the time Luke found all the ingredients on Natalie’s list. Will gave up on the hope of pancakes at about eleven thirty and ate a bowl of Cheerios before disappearing back into his room. But May was loyal. Once she heard sounds in the kitchen, she vowed to not take a bite of any food until a pancake stared up at her. Luke was touched by her devotion but also a little concerned the poor child would starve to death before an edible pancake landed on her plate.
He frowned at the lumpy mix of milk, white vinegar, melted butter, and eggs. According to Natalie’s directions he was supposed to pour it into the dry ingredients and stir till still slightly lumpy. He sniffed the mixture; it smelled like Windex and eggs. No way he was doing this right. He was about to dump the semicongealed off-white muck into the flour when the door to the garage opened and closed with a slam.
“Hello, Richardson family. Anyone here?” Annie called. “I waited as long as I could.”
For the past three months, Annie came by every morning at 8:30 a.m. For a while she pretended she’d happened to be in the middle of a run and thought to stop by. When the heavy snows came on in the first week in December, she started showing up in her minivan. Natalie and Luke pretended not to notice. When Natalie couldn’t get out of bed anymore to answer the door, they gave Annie the garage code. Apparently her morning visits hadn’t expired with Natalie.
