One Second After

He was afraid to look up at Makala, who he knew was standing in the doorway. If they made eye contact he feared he’d break. Jennifer turned away, features pale. “You’re lying, Daddy. You never could lie to me.”

“No, honey. It’s the truth. You’ll soon feel well.” She said nothing, just looking at him. “Sweetie, would you like me to read to you?” Head turned away, she nodded.

He stood up, scanning the bookshelf, and saw two books and his heart filled. Both had obviously belonged to Mary, one from early childhood. He opened them. Inside one was inscribed. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart… 1976.” The second had in a childish scrawl, in pink crayon, “My book, Mary.”

He set the second book to one side, returned to Jennifer’s bed, opened the first, and started to read. “‘When Mr. Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End—’” And then he stopped.

No, not this one. She had seen the movies when they had first come out and was young enough then that it had frightened her.

He put The Lord of the Rings aside and picked up the second book. It had been Mary’s favorite as a child and it was why Rabs, now nestled in Jennifer’s arms was named Rabs. On the day Jennifer was born he had placed Rabs in her crib and Mary had cried at the sight of the snowy white rabbit from a story she had loved in her own childhood days. Rabs, now so dingy gray from years of being held, kissed, and loved, was nestled in Jennifer’s arms.

“The Adventures of Rabs the Rabbit…” he began, swallowing hard as he turned the first page, remembering so many nights when Mary would read Jennifer to sleep with this wonderful old classic that mother and daughter had so loved and cherished together.

“One day, when Jennifer, and her best friend Rabs had nothing else to do…”

The real name in the book was Kathy but Mary had always used Jennifer’s name, the same way when she was a child, her mother had used hers. He looked up at Jen, who stood silent by the foot of the bed, who unable to speak, could merely nod her head. He felt such love and pity for her at this moment for all that she had lost as well.

And he began to read.

The house was silent throughout the day, except for John softly reading, pausing when Jennifer was obviously asleep.

The shadows lengthened, the windows still open, the cool air drifting in, but he did not close them, the soft rushing of the brook outside the window soothing with its gentle murmur.

Jennifer stirred, Makala trying to get her to drink. She wouldn’t, so Makala just sat by the other side of the bed, moistening Jennifer’s lips with a damp towel.

“Daddy?”

She looked up at him, eyes open. “Sweetie?”

“Remember your promise?”

“Which one was that angel?”

“Let me stay close to you… and keep Rabs warm and with you; he loves you too…”

“Of course, of course,” and control did finally break. Crying, John leaned over and hugged her, kissing her forehead. She tried to put her arms around him but couldn’t, and as he took her hands he could feel how cold they were.

He tucked Rabs back under her arms, floppy head of the much loved stuffed rabbit resting on her chest.

Makala sat on the other side of the bed, gently brushing Jennifer’s brow. Elizabeth had led Jen away, the two in the next room, sobbing. Jennifer was no longer sweat soaked and he knew what that meant. Makala slowly let her hand drift to Jennifer’s throat, felt the pulse, and looked over at John.

He picked the book back up, it was nearly finished, and he continued to read, turning the page with one hand, holding Jennifer’s hand with the other.

He could feel her hand getting colder and he read now, almost in a fast monotone, turning the pages, and then reached the last one.

“And so Rabs, nestled in Jennifer’s arms watched as she went to sleep. ‘Some day you will be all grown up,’ Rabs whispered to her, ‘but I will love you forever. And far, far away, we will play again some day. Sleep tight Jennifer, and I will see you in the morning.’”

“John,” Makala whispered.

He couldn’t speak.

“John, she’s gone.”

He knew. He had felt her slip away before he had turned the last page.

* * *

She was buried in the garden, her grave near the bay window, very close by to him as promised. At nighttime Rabs rested on the windowsill inside the house, keeping vigilant watch. He had spent a fair part of the day outside, just sitting by her grave, holding Rabs, talking to Jennifer as if she were sitting before him, again his little girl of five, the fur on Rabs still not completely worn off as it now was, Ginger, barely able to move, lying by his side.

It was towards evening and Makala came to sit by him.

“I’m worried about Elizabeth,” she said. “She needs to eat.”

“There’s nothing to eat,” John replied, “other than the rations at the college.”

“John, she’s in her third month. It’s crucial now, perhaps the most crucial month of all. The rations are mostly carbs. She needs protein, meat, as much as we can force into her.”

Makala fell silent, leaning against his shoulder, and he knew what she was saying.