A Promise Kept - The End of the Story
It was good that they held that conversation when they did because a month later, Annabelle stopped recognizing him, stopped recognizing their family. She sat in a chair and stared at the wall of her room or laid in her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She stopped responding to stimulation and conversation. Jack fed her yogurt, pureed vegetables, soup, pudding and ice cream by spoon. She didn’t recognize anyone and could no longer control any bodily functions. Although the nurses turned her several times a day she developed bed sores and often cried out in pain, agony threading her voice. The dreadful anguish hurt Jack almost as much as it hurt her. Even though there was nothing he could do for her Jack never stopped coming to see her and staying at her side until the nurses sent him home. Everyday he felt his heart break into smaller and smaller pieces. He wrestled with his faith, not understanding why God would let a woman as good as Annabelle suffer in such a horrific way. He prayed to God to take her, to put her out of her misery. Jack kept thinking about what Annabelle asked of him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
One day, she slipped off her pillow, her mouth agape, her eyes staring off to the side. Jack picked up the pillow to rearrange it under her head. As he lifted her head he stared into her vacant eyes and knew he could not allow the love of his life to continue living like this. It was not living. He knew this was exactly what she did not want. He grasped what he needed to do, with or without God’s help. It would be his final gift, his promise to her, his final act of love. Jack leaned over and kissed her and ran his fingers through her fine white hair. She blinked and looked up, seeing nothing. He took in a big breath to steady himself and with all the tenderness he could gather, placed the pillow over her face, holding it there for several minutes. When he removed the pillow he could see that she had left this world. He stood still, staring at her, hugging the pillow. His heart pounded against his ribs and the tears came fast and hot. His shoulders shook with convulsive spasms, forcing him to collapse into a chair. He sobbed until the nurses came to see what was wrong.
* * * *
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you come to a verdict?” the judge asked the jury that had returned from the deliberation room and settled into their seats.
“Yes, your honor, we have,” answered the jury foreman.
“Please hand your verdict to the bailiff,” the judge instructed.
The courtroom sat motionless as the judge opened the card and without a sound, read the decision. Jack did not look up. He sat perched at the edge of his seat, his eyes focused on the top of the defense table. The judge handed the card to the deputy who strode back over to the jury foreman and handed him the verdict to read. The foreman stood tall, ramrod-straight like a soldier, his shoulders back. He opened the card.
“Your honor, the jury finds the defendant not guilty.”
At first, silence sucked the air out of the room, similar to what happens moments before a tornado hits. Shock filled the air broken by the low voice of the prosecuting attorney who let out a sigh. He turned to his assistant. “Glad that’s over. This was the worst case I’ve ever prosecuted.”
The room erupted in cheers, so loud that the judge tried to calm down the crowd by shouting “order in the court” but, it was useless. The crowd was not going to calm down. To the contrary the noise got louder and louder. “What the hell,” the judge commented as he got up and stepped toward his chambers. Mary Ellen ran from her seat to her father’s side. Jack sat staring.
“Dad, Dad, did you hear that? The jury found you not guilty!” She reached down and embraced him, wrapping her arms around him. When she let go and looked at his face she saw not joy, but sadness. The kind of sadness that envelops the soul, pierces the heart, penetrates the bones.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Mary Ellen asked. “You should be happy.”
Jack stroked his daughter’s cheek. “My sunlight, how can I be happy? Your mother is gone and I’ll never get her back.”
She took his hands into her own. “Dad, you did the right thing for Mom, what she wanted, and you won’t go to prison for it, that’s what matters,” she responded.
His defense attorney nodded her head in agreement. “Mr. Marino, go on home now. It’s over.”
“Dad, I’m going to make you your favorite lunch of cioppino and Italian bread. Vinny will go get all your favorite seafood. And we’re going to celebrate by opening a bottle of Proseco. Afterwards you’re going to stay at my house tonight. Tomorrow I’ll take you home and get you settled. But tonight, we celebrate, okay?”
Jack nodded without emotion, got up and shuffled to the back of the courtroom accompanied by his family. They stepped outside where for the first time in days Jack felt the glow of the sun on his face, pierced by a slight chill in the air. They drove to Mary Ellen and Vinny’s house.
Although everyone, including friends and neighbors, made a big deal out of the lunch and jury verdict, Jack couldn’t celebrate. All he could think of was his Annabelle was gone, at his own hand. He almost wished he had been found guilty and sent to the death chamber. He didn’t know how he would live the rest of his days knowing what he had done, even if it was what Annabelle wanted. He picked at his food, not bothering to drink the Proseco.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Don’t you like it?” Mary Ellen asked.
“It’s fine honey, I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” And indeed he did look tired. No, he looked worn out. His usual ruddy skin took on the texture and pallor of one suffering from a long illness, pale and translucent. Even though he was a man of 85, he looked like he’d passed his 100th birthday. “Would you mind if I took a nap? I couldn’t sleep in the jail.”
“Of course, Dad,” Mary Ellen rose out of her chair and accompanied him to the upstairs guest room. He lay down on the bed; she covered him with a quilt that Annabelle had made many years before, kissed him on the cheek and left the room. After she closed the door he reached over and took the photo Mary Ellen kept of Jack and Annabelle on a bedside table. He brought it to his chest, and hugged the photo frame until sleep met him at the door of his consciousness.
* * * *
“Hun, do you think you should go check on your father? Everyone went home hours ago. He’s been sleeping a long time,” Vinny remarked to his wife.
“Yeah, I was thinking that too. He will never be able to fall asleep tonight if he doesn’t stay awake for a bit.”
Mary Ellen ascended the stairs, opened the door and walked into the room. She let out a faint sob. Vinny and the children heard it and raced up the stairs. They stood at the door staring into the room where Jack lay, clutching the photo, staring into the netherworld, a tranquil smile caressing his pallid face, devoid of life. What they didn’t see, couldn’t see, was a smiling Annabelle taking Jack’s hand. Just as she once helped him rise from the bed in the medical tent in Europe, she helped him rise from the bed where he took his last breath. They stood and watched their family for a few minutes.
“What now?” Jack asked.
Annabelle glowed as she grinned at him. “Now, my darling, we spend the rest of time together. Come,” she urged him toward a brilliant light. “There are a lot of people waiting to greet you.”
-end-
