Chapter 12 - The Voice That Waited Eleven Years
No one moved while Thomas Mercer’s voice filled the room.
The recording crackled.
His voice sounded older than Isaac remembered.
Tired.
Warm.
Embarrassed.
“Cathy, if you’re listening to this, I chickened out again.”
Catherine covered her mouth.
Thomas continued.
“I was supposed to tell Isaac tonight about the company and the doctor. I didn’t.”
Isaac closed his eyes.
“I watched him talking about expansion plans, and he looked so damn excited. I told myself one more day wouldn’t hurt.”
The recording paused.
A breath.
“I keep doing that. One more day.”
Isaac looked toward the window.
The lake beyond it was black.
Thomas continued.
“If I don't say it soon, make me.”
Catherine began sobbing.
“And if something stupid happens before I get the chance, tell him the truth. Don't let him turn my mistakes into instructions.”
Isaac's eyes opened.
The recording ended.
Thirty-seven seconds.
That was all.
Eleven years waiting inside an old backup account.
Catherine looked shattered.
“He asked me.”
Isaac sat beside her.
“Mom.”
“He asked me to tell you.”
“You were grieving.”
“I failed him.”
“No.”
“I did.”
“You were trying to survive.”
“So were you.”
He took her hands.
“For eleven years, I blamed Dad for leaving me a company he wanted me to save.”
“I know.”
“I was wrong.”
Catherine cried harder.
Isaac continued.
“And for three years I blamed myself for Anna’s death.”
Megan stood quietly near the door.
“I was wrong about that too.”
His voice cracked.
“We can be wrong and still be alive.”
Catherine looked at him.
The words had come from somewhere he did not recognize.
Maybe her.
Maybe Megan.
Maybe Thomas.
Maybe the man Isaac was becoming.
Helen sat on Catherine’s other side.
“I should have fought harder.”
Catherine shook her head.
“I would have hated you.”
“You already did.”
A laugh escaped Catherine through tears.
Helen smiled.
“Couldn't have made it much worse.”
They stayed awake until nearly dawn.
They talked about Thomas.
Not the saint Isaac had constructed.
The actual man.
The year he bought a motorcycle without telling Catherine.
The time he accidentally cooked Thanksgiving turkey with the plastic giblet bag still inside.
The fact that he had once lost three thousand dollars on a “guaranteed” investment involving exotic mushrooms.
Isaac laughed until his ribs hurt.
At seven, Lily wandered in.
“Why is everybody awake?”
Helen said, “Your grandfather was an idiot.”
Catherine protested.
“He was occasionally an idiot.”
“Frequently.”
Lily climbed into bed beside Catherine.
“Can I hear his voice?”
Isaac hesitated.
Then played the recording.
Lily listened seriously.
“That’s Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“He sounds like Daddy.”
Catherine looked at Isaac.
“He does.”
Lily listened again.
Then asked, “What does chickened out mean?”
Megan laughed from the doorway.
Isaac smiled.
“It means he got scared.”
“Grandpa got scared?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy gets scared too.”
Isaac looked at her.
“Apparently this family shares confidential information freely now.”
Lily grinned.
The lake trip lasted one more day.
Catherine grew weaker.
They did not pretend otherwise.
But she wanted to sit near the water.
So they bundled her in blankets.
She watched Lily build a terrible sandcastle.
She let Helen brush her hair.
She told Megan stories about Isaac as a child that Isaac repeatedly attempted to censor.
On the drive home, Catherine slept most of the way.
Megan sat beside her.
Isaac watched from across the vehicle.
He realized Megan’s gift was not that she was fearless around illness.
She simply did not look away from it.
That was different.
At home, Catherine crossed another item off the list.
Tell Isaac the truth.
Isaac stared at the line.
“All of it?”
She smiled.
“All I know.”
He placed a star beside it.
Only two uncrossed lines remained.
Make Sunday dinner.
Tell Megan thank you.
Catherine hid the paper.
“Why?”
“Because you're annoying.”
“Mom.”
“Some things are mine.”
He let her keep it.
Sunday arrived with rain.
Catherine insisted on cooking.
Naturally, everyone objected.
Naturally, she won.
Megan arranged ingredients at the kitchen island.
Ruth approved seated tasks.
Helen chopped vegetables.
Lily stirred things that did not need stirring.
Isaac was assigned onions because Catherine claimed he “needed humility.”
They made pot roast.
Mashed potatoes.
Green beans.
And biscuits.
“Not again,” Megan said.
Catherine pointed a spoon at her.
“I have learned.”
“You nearly built a weapon last time.”
“I have evolved.”
Isaac smiled.
“Slowly.”
Megan looked at him.
“That's my line.”
For two hours the kitchen became chaos.
Flour on the counter.
Music playing.
Lily dancing badly.
Helen stealing bites of potatoes.
Catherine directing everyone like a general.
Halfway through, she became tired.
Isaac saw it.
He waited.
Did not rush forward.
Catherine looked at him and smiled.
“Chair.”
He brought it.
She sat.
Choice.
Not surrender.
When dinner was ready, they gathered around the table.
Catherine looked at each face.
Helen.
Her lost sister.
Lily.
Her granddaughter.
Ruth.
Her caregiver.
Megan.
The young woman who had treated her like a person.
Isaac.
Her son.
“There should be more chairs,” Catherine said.
Isaac frowned.
“What?”
“People wait too long to fill tables.”
Helen reached for her hand.
Catherine looked at Megan.
“Thank you.”
Megan’s eyes filled.
“For what?”
“For being inappropriate.”
Everyone laughed.
Catherine continued.
“For letting go of my hands.”
Megan looked down.
“Most people held tighter when I got sick.”
Catherine reached across the table.
“You were the first person who asked whether I wanted to try.”
Megan squeezed her fingers.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“No.”
Catherine smiled.
“Thank you for reminding me I could trust myself.”
Isaac looked away.
Catherine noticed.
“And thank you for terrifying my son.”
Megan laughed.
“That was accidental.”
“I doubt it.”
After dinner, Catherine asked for the blue list.
Isaac brought it.
She crossed out Sunday dinner.
Then Tell Megan thank you.
All items complete.
Lily looked upset.
“It’s finished.”
Catherine smiled.
“Looks that way.”
“I don’t like finished.”
Neither did Isaac.
Catherine reached for a fresh sheet of paper.
“Then we'll start another.”
She wrote slowly.
At the top:
THINGS I WANT TO DO NEXT.
Isaac's chest tightened.
She wrote one item.
Watch Lily turn seven.
Lily smiled.
“My birthday is in June.”
“I know.”
“That's far.”
Catherine looked at Isaac.
“Then I’d better be stubborn.”
The next morning Catherine did not wake at her usual time.
At nine, Isaac entered her room.
“Mom?”
No answer.
He touched her shoulder.
Her skin was warm.
She breathed.
But she would not fully wake.
Ruth called the doctor.
Tests followed.
Hours later, the physician gathered the family.
Catherine’s condition had worsened.
Not dramatically.
Not with one cinematic catastrophe.
Quietly.
Her body was tired.
The doctor looked at Isaac.
“We need to discuss what your mother wants if her condition continues to decline.”
The old Isaac would have asked what he could buy.
What specialist could come.
What hospital.
What treatment.
Instead, Isaac looked at Catherine.
When she opened her eyes, he asked the question he had once forgotten existed.
“What do you want?”
Catherine smiled weakly.
“Home.”
May you like
And for the first time, Isaac's instinct to save her did not become an excuse to stop listening.
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