What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(40)

As soon as they started trying for a baby, the nightmare of scleroderma invaded their lives. The painful disease of the connective tissue presents as a hardness and inflexibility of the skin and, in Lynne’s case, internal organs. At first they were optimistic and researched the disease, hoping that she’d be one of the lucky ones and get twenty years or even a cure.

It was not to be. The disease worsened rapidly and she was admitted into a research program. Again, she was not one of the lucky ones. The disease progressed quickly and Lynne spent two years battling the pain and immobility, not to mention disfigurement of her face and arms. That’s when she asked him. “I know we’re on the same page here, Cal. If my kidneys shut down or my heart gives out, so be it. No resuscitation. But if it takes too long, please, don’t let me suffer in pain. I wouldn’t let you, I swear to God. It’s not like there’s any hope.”

He promised.

She fought hard for as long as she could and they both prepared for what they knew would happen. Ultimately she had said, “It’s time. Please. I love you so much but I can’t do this anymore.” And Cal slid the needle into her IV, injected the morphine slowly, then crawled onto the bed, took his beautiful wife in his arms, held her and told her how she meant everything to him, kissing the tears from her face as she passed into the next world.

He looked up into the rapidly darkening sky streaked with wispy clouds. “Do you still think it was a good idea, Lynne?” He wished he knew if, wherever she was, in whatever form or realm, she was still okay with her choice. That it hadn’t been even one hour too soon. Because there were so many days when he thought about what he would trade for another hour with her. He’d gladly have given ten years of his own life for one of hers.

As per her wishes, there was no funeral. There was a celebration of life, standing room only. There were poor people, rich people, common criminals mixed up with wealthy family and friends from back East. There were politicians, illegals, lawyers and well-known thugs—between Lynne and Cal, their clients had been of every stripe. The governor delivered a few words; doctors and nurses who had fallen in love with her during her illness were present. She was beloved to so many. She had been so courageous.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a leather satchel. The mortuary had transferred her ashes from the urn for him because you don’t take an urn on a long hike. The pouch was soft and solid. He held it to his heart briefly. Then he poured the ashes in a little mound on the ground. The breeze stole a little off the top right away. He remembered her last wishes.

Here’s what I want from you, California Jones. I want to be cremated. No funeral, I hate funerals. If you have to have some kind of party, you go ahead, do whatever gets you through it. Then I want you to find a beautiful place and dump my ashes on the ground. Let the wind take me away, Cal. And then I want you to let go of me. The only way you can honor my memory is with your happiness.

*



Cal stayed for three days in the spot where he’d let go of Lynne’s ashes. Water was readily available from a nearby stream. He suspected he was sharing the water with open-range cattle and wildlife, but it was good, clear water and he had a great water filter. He drank it and washed in it and it was cold as bloody hell, shocking him into awareness. He spent his time ruminating on his life with Lynne and tried to come to terms with the hard parts, the end of her life. He spent the days and nights focused on her because he was going to have to leave it behind eventually. It wasn’t as though he’d forget her, but he hoped the time had finally come for moving on. The past two years had been so lonely. And he’d held on long enough.

He made a very difficult decision. He left the leather satchel on the ground where the now dissipated ashes had been. He didn’t want to carry it with her remembrance just a bit of dust inside. He might obsess on it, caress it. It was time. He thought of his promise to her. She wanted him to be happy.

He started walking north. He carried a couple of maps for the Colorado and Wyoming CDT and had highlighted water access, campsites, towns and sections of road. He walked for days and got so damn tired and dry.

But his mind felt free to wander and, unsurprisingly, he spent a lot of time thinking about his childhood and about his dad, Jed Jones. In fact, he worried about his parents a lot. Jed was so flaky and unbalanced, the range of possibilities with him was endless. He’d gotten a little steadier in the past several years, since he’d been on the farm in Iowa and wasn’t roaming, but Cal wouldn’t be surprised to hear his parents were suddenly off on a mission to save cheetahs in the Congo or... Or that his father had taken his own life. He’d attempted suicide a few times, though they were halfhearted attempts. He jumped off a bridge and broke a leg once, but it was a low bridge. He took a bunch of pills, but slept it off—it turned out he didn’t have enough for a deadly dose. He stabbed himself in the heart—missed.

In the way that the eldest child in a family with dysfunctional parents will shift into the parent role at a very early age, Cal had become the one in charge. He couldn’t say exactly when. Maybe it was when Sierra was born. He was about eight and remembered carrying her around, feeding her, changing her. His mother had usually been preoccupied with their father, making sure he was happy and as secure as possible, so Cal tended to look after the children and watch over his parents. His mother said Jed was a genius and needed a lot of room to think and of course, Cal believed it. He still believed it—Jed had an amazing mind and was charismatic. When he started talking, people couldn’t turn away. He’d lecture on everything from the solar system to the cure for cancer. Jed had studied law before marrying Marissa, Cal’s mother, and he remembered every word he’d ever read. Or so it seemed.