The Universe is a Very Big Place (37 page)

"I’m going to bed now," he yawned.
 

Spring blew him a kiss and left the room, almost tripping over the pig that was right outside her door. "Mother," said Spring, peeping into Lanie’s bedroom. Lanie was playing the new video game Bob had dropped off for her. "Please keep a better eye on the pig."

"You’re the one marrying him." Lanie cackled as she pounded on the controller buttons. Buttermilk rummaged through the wastebasket, oinking in protest that there wasn’t anything worth eating. "Isn’t he the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? I’m not sure I could eat him after all."

Spring smiled. "I guess it would be hard to eat something you love." She reached down to stroke him and he nuzzled her hand in an offer of friendship.

"Damn it!" Lanie tossed the controller as the words
Game Over
flashed across the television screen. She hefted herself off of the floor and waddled into the hall. "Guess you’re going through with it," Lanie grunted.
 

Spring followed and noticed that her mother seemed to be losing some of the girth in her rear.

"Yep. Tomorrow’s the big day. Might as well get it over with. What else can I do?"
 

They were in the kitchen and Lanie opened the patio doors. A cool breeze caught the ends of Lanie’s hair, causing it to float around her shoulders like a gypsy witch in a movie. In that moment, she was almost beautiful. Another movement caught Spring’s attention and she turned to see Bob’s bare head in the back yard, illuminated by the moonlight like a light bulb in a dark closet. "I thought Mr. McClure was out of town?"

"He isn’t leaving until Sunday. We thought we’d give Buttermilk a chance to adjust to his new surroundings for a few days." Lanie’s eyes found Bob’s figure as he scuttled towards the door. "What a man," she shivered.

"Do you love him, Mom?" Spring never took her eyes off of Bob as he weaved his way through Sam’s cactus garden in the dark. He was quite adept at navigating dangerous yard work and Spring wondered where he received his training.

"I used to think you only got one chance at true love, my darling. But the Universe is a pretty big place, don’t you think?" Lanie opened Spring’s hand and placed an envelope in her palm. Lanie patted it closed. She then turned to scooped up Buttermilk and greet Bob. They embraced, becoming one mass of Lanie, Bob, and pork.

Spring glanced at the paper as she stepped into Sam’s library; a section of the den where Sam stored his most beloved books. He had given her a shelf of her own and her twenty or so volumes seemed insignificant next to his vast collection. She searched the titles until she found her copy of
Wuthering Heights.
It was the only hardbound she owned. She took it from the shelf and sat down on the floor. After glancing down the hall to make sure she was still alone, she opened the envelope Lanie had given her and removed the letter inside, tucking it into the book to read. Her body quivered as she read the words.

My Dear Spring,

First of all, I want you to know how much I love you. I know that may be hard for you to believe, after all this time, but it’s true. I didn’t mean to leave you. It’s a long story but it starts with a man who thought he was nothing and wanted to prove to the world he was something. And it ends with a man who realized he had everything he wanted but only learned this after it was too late. Please stay strong and true to yourself. You are a remarkable girl who will someday be a remarkable woman. Settle for nothing less than extraordinary. I’m with you. Forever.

Daddy

Spring re-read the letter several times before folding it up into a tiny square and tucking it into her bra. The house was quiet, save the tick and tock of Sam’s grandfather clock. She listened to it mark off the seconds, like one of Lanie’s doomsday countdown devices, telling her the end was nigh. When the clock struck three, she realized that she was getting no sleep this night. The sun wasn’t up and John probably wouldn’t be either, but she had to try. This might be her last chance to talk to him. Ever.

John hadn’t heard from Spring since their kiss on his patio, days before, and he had been worried sick. He wasn’t sleeping. He hardly ate. The only thing that kept him from falling over the edge completely was his art. He painted constantly now. He had found his muse.

When the phone rang, he almost ignored it. It was probably Amy again, yelling at him for standing her up. In retrospect maybe he should have gone out with her. Then he wouldn’t be sitting home alone like an abandoned puppy.

"Hello?" he answered, realizing he should invest in the $1.99 a month more for caller ID. John was surprised to hear that the voice on the other end was not Amy’s, but Spring's.

"John? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just needed to talk."

"Spring? What's wrong?" He could hear the sadness in her voice, the hesitation between words, the labored breathing.

"Are you upset with me?" she asked.

"Don't be silly, Spring. We are friends. You can call me anytime you need to. Okay?"

She did not answer.

"Okay?" he repeated more urgently.

"Okay," she said finally and he breathed a sigh of relief. He paused a moment to make his voice sound soft and relaxed. He didn’t want to scare her away. "What can I do for you?"

"I don’t think I can see again."

"What do you mean? Why can't you see me? We are friends right?" He was beginning to panic. What was going on?

"Yes...I mean no...I mean yes," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. "John, I’m marrying Sam in less than twelve hours. I thought you should know."

"Spring, it’s okay. It's going to be okay, I promise. Just...just don't stop seeing me. We are friends. That’s all. We kissed and it never has to happen again." John wanted to reach through the phone and grab her and pull her into his apartment with him.

"But John. This is the truth. Do with it what you will. Take a hammer to it and pound it into the ground afterwards. The truth is, I think I love you. And I’m not sure how this happened." She stopped for a moment and John thought he lost her. But then she spoke again. "Lanie said you get one chance at true love. So I thought we were safe. But Lanie says she was wrong."

John’s heart stopped beating at that moment.
Time of death: three eighteen on a June morning.
He took in a long breath and let it go.
 

"Stay right there," he said. "I’m coming to get you."

"You can‘t," she protested. "Sam won’t let me see you."

"What do you mean Sam won’t
let
you?" John demanded. "You are a grown woman. Sam can't stop you if you choose to see me." There was a silence on the other end. He wasn’t going to let it end like this. "I'm coming over, and you can't stop me, Spring. Do you hear me?"

"Okay. Come over. But don't knock on the door. I will meet you outside."

John sped towards Spring’s house. It was dark, but dawn would come quickly. He ran every red light, letting the thought that he had never run a red light filter into his brain and then flitter away. He had to get to her. He needed to hold her, even if it was for only a minute. And he needed to make her promise to take care of herself.

She said she was getting married tomorrow.
Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?

He sighed in relief as he turned on to her street. Even from a distance, he could see her, the ghost girl with the wild blond hair and a flowing white nightgown. She stood out against the dark like a sheet flapping in the wind. He pulled up beside her and could see the dark circles around her blue eyes. She looked so fragile standing there, he was afraid she might fall over, or crumble away like part of last night's dream.

"Hi," she smiled, climbing in. She had an aura of sadness around her.

"Hi," he said, driving away from her house, from her neighborhood, from her life. He wished he could carry her away to a brand new one. "Where to?"

"I'm sorry to do this to you," she said, pulling on a strand of her hair. She looked like a little girl in his passenger seat as her chin trembled. He took her hand and held it tightly, kissing her fingers, steering with his free hand. He wished he had something to say.

"There‘s a park nearby," she said, looking out her window. "I found it the other day, when I was out rambling." She forced a laugh that turned into a cough.

John turned as instructed and discovered a small park with a man-made mini-lake. Another thing he missed about home. Natural water reservoirs. He pulled into the empty parking lot. Before he could even turn off the ignition, Spring escaped from the vehicle. She glided towards the lake and he wondered if she would walk right into it. He caught up and grabbed her by the hand. She didn’t protest and the two stood side by side at the water’s edge, the moon falling behind them.

What should he say? If words escaped his lips they might be cruel or accusing. Or worse. Pitiful. John bent down, found a pebble in the grass, and skipped it across the lake. It hit the water four times before sinking to the bottom, a trick his dad had taught him. The last time he had done it was the day of the funeral, but in this moment it felt right and natural and not at all disrespectful to his memory.

"I've only seen that done in movies," Spring laughed, picking up a pebble and attempting to do the same. Hers clunked straight to the bottom. Her lower lip poked out and John smiled. He wanted to kiss that bottom lip, to chew on it, to feel every part of her mouth. He had to pick up another stone to get his mind away from the thought.

"You don’t have to do this," he said, casting another stone.

Spring tossed a handful of pebbles into the lake. She hit a sleeping goose who shot them an angry look and swam away. "Yes, I do, John. You wouldn’t understand."

"The white picket fence idea is overrated, Spring. Don’t buy into the garbage they sell you on TV."

"Easy for you to say. I’m guessing you grew up with a home, two parents, and a dog. I didn’t have those things. I want that for myself. I want that for my kids. Is that too much to ask?" She wiped the dust from her hands on the hem of her nightgown and turned to face him.

John’s face tightened. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a habit carried over from his younger days whenever the subject of his family arose. "In spite of my ‘normal’ appearance I was not raised in the
Leave It To Beaver
lifestyle you seem to believe. My parents were great. Mom baked pies. Dad went to work each day." He paused, wondering why he was telling her this. It was a subject he never talked about. "But then Dad got sick," John choked, strangling on his own words. He bent over to pick up another stone and sent it skimming across the surface.

"...For almost a year, I watched him lying on the couch, getting smaller and weaker by the day. We never talked about it. I’d come home from school and he’d say 'Hi, John, how was your day?' And I’d answer fine, and that was that. And then one day I came home and nobody was there. Grandma came to get me and I stayed with her for three days and when I went back home, Dad was gone and Mom wouldn’t come out of her bedroom." John spread his palm. He wished he had something to focus on, something to keep him from crying in front of Spring. Then he looked and saw that she was crying herself.

"I shouldn’t have told you," he said. "I’m sorry."

"I didn’t know..." She looked up at him, her chin quivering.

"No matter how hard we try to control our lives, we can’t control everything. I guess that’s what I really wanted to say." Morning was imminent and John knew his time was limited. When the sun made its appearance, all of this would turn to dust and he might never see her again. Before he could remind himself that he was breaking his promise, he kissed her.