A Five-Minute Life

I’m petrified down to my soul to go back. But the only thing that makes it bearable is if I know you’re out there, in the world, being what you were born to be, someone who helps kids that had it tough like you. I think if I know you’re doing that, I could be happy in whatever way the amnesia lets me.

But no pressure, or anything. ;-)

Okay, no more bad jokes. Read this letter and the next time you see me, tell me that you promise. That’s all. I might ask what the heck you’re talking about, but deep down, I’ll know. Somehow, I’ll know. And you know that I can know, in my own way. You were the only one who ever did.

I see you, Jimmy Whelan. And I love you. It makes going away again that much harder, but I’ll take my love with me if you promise to take yours out into the world and share it with those kids. They need you. They’re waiting for you.

And speaking of waiting, don’t. Not for me. It’s too much to ask. If they ever make another magic pill to wake me up and you’re not there, I’ll know, deep in the place beneath thought, you are doing what you were put on this earth to do.

I’ll remember, and I’ll be happy.

All my love to you, forever and always,

~The

a

The letter crumpled in my fist as the tears spilled over. I tried to hold them back, but it was too much. Too much love for her, too much pain at the thought of what she faced so goddamn bravely. For the first time in ten years, I cried. For her. For me. For the kid who’d been shoved against a fence all his life. I’d been afraid if I faced that pain, I’d drown in it.

Doris and her fucking malevolent taunting were drowned instead.

When I was wrung out, a simple truth remained in the sodden debris: losing Thea was fucking agonizing, but it was better than never having her at all.

But I’m not giving up on her. Not fucking ever.

I grabbed my jacket off the hook and was halfway out the door before I realized I had no truck or motorcycle to get to Roanoke. I whipped out my phone to call an Uber, when it rang in my hand, Rita’s name on the display.

“Jim?” she cried. “We need you here.”

My heart dropped to my knees. “What’s going on?”

“She woke up, and it’s bad,” Rita said. “She won’t stop screaming.”

My eyes fell shut. God, baby. I’m too late.

“You need to come right now, Jim.”

“I’m on my way, but shit, Rita,” I said, “Delia’s going to have me arrested.”

A muffled sound and then to my shock, Delia’s tearful voice filled my ear.

“Jim,” she whispered. “Please come.”

Chapter 38

Jim

Alonzo was already on his way back to get me and pulled up to the curb in his old Toyota as I was struggling to get a signal to call an Uber. I climbed in and he drove faster than I expected a sixty-plus-year-old man to drive at night.

It was a twenty-seven-minute drive. We made it in fifteen.

“She’s not great,” Alonzo said on the way. “Be prepared for that.”

We rushed into the hospital and Delia was there, her face half-buried in Roger’s chest. She turned her tear-streaked face to me, and my heart plummeted.

I’m too late. She’s had a stroke. She’s gone.

Delia rose to her feet and calmly walked to me.