He closed his eyes again then, and slept for a while, but he stirred fitfully, and every time he opened his eyes and saw Gabbie sitting next to him, he stared at her intently, as though willing her to know what he was thinking. The nurse on duty that day was nice about letting her stay, the others all made her follow the rules of the ICU, and made her leave the room regularly. But this one just let her sit quietly in the corner, watching him sleep and praying for him. She hadn't prayed as hard or as long since her days in the convent. And she thought about the Sisters now, and Mother Gregoria, remembering the community they had been, their quiet strength and utter certainty that their God would always love and protect them. She wished for that now, to be able to draw on the faith that had brought her through everything, and she was willing Professor Thomas to feel it with her.

He was still dozing when she finally left him that afternoon, to go home and shower and change and report to the others. He seemed to have stabilized, and she thought he'd be all right for a while. She kissed his cheek gently before she left, but he didn't stir this time. He was in a deep sleep finally, and she turned to smile at him from the doorway. He was going to be okay, he was strong, and he was fighting to stay alive, she could feel it. And she tried to say as much to the others. Mrs. Rosenstein was going to visit him that afternoon, and Mrs. Boslicki was already talking about the food she was going to prepare for him when he got home. Steve was out when she got back, but he had left her a note. He'd gone to play ball in the park with a friend, someone who knew about a job for him, and he promised to see her later.

Gabbie stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water run over her, and thinking of the man who was fighting for his life in the ICU, and all that he meant to her. He was so much more than just a friend to her, he was a part of her soul now, and she knew she could not lose him. She would do anything she had to, to keep him, she would pour her own life into him if she had to. God had given him to her, and she would not let him go now. She would not let Him take him from her. He had no right to. He had already taken far too many. And her own sense of justice told her she would not lose this one.

When she got back to see him at the hospital that afternoon, Mrs. Boslicki and Mrs. Rosenstein were just leaving. Both women were in tears, and they told her he had had some kind of a setback. The paralysis on his right side seemed to be worse, and he was having trouble breathing. They had finally done a tracheotomy on him, and attached him to a respirator, and when Gabbie saw him as she walked into the brightly lit room, he looked exhausted.

“I hear you've been misbehaving today,” she said as she sat down. “They told me you've been pinching all the nurses.” His eyes smiled weakly at her, and he continued to look at her intensely. But the finger didn't wag, and he made no sound at her. He couldn't with the respirator. He seemed weaker to her, but his color was a little better. She chatted to him, knowing he could hear what she said, and telling him about the things they were going to do when he got home. She pretended to complain that he hadn't taken her to dinner in ages. “Just because I have Steve in my life doesn't mean we can't go out. He's not jealous of you, you know, although he should be.” She kissed his cheek again and the eyes closed. He looked as though he were fighting a terrible battle. She told him Steve was playing ball that afternoon with someone who knew about a job, and his eyes flew open again and he stared at her, but the room was filled with silence. The sound of the machines keeping him alive and monitoring him were the only sound between them.

Gabbie stayed with him all that afternoon, and she was thinking about going home that night, but in the end she called the boardinghouse and talked to Steve, and told him she had decided to stay. He said he was having dinner with the guys he had played baseball with that afternoon. They'd had a great day, and his team had won. They were good guys and all worked at various firms on Wall Street. It was a terrific connection for him, and Gabbie was relieved that he was busy and didn't mind her staying. She had been feeling guilty for deserting him, and after she hung up, she wondered how he was going to pay for dinner. She was still pondering the question when she walked back into the ICU and took her familiar seat next to the professor.

He was quiet most of that night, the respirator seemed to be keeping him more peaceful. He didn't have to fight to breathe now. And halfway through the night, he reached for Gabbie's hand with his one good one, and he gently held it.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, and sometimes she wondered if he thought she was Charlotte. There was a gentle look in his eyes whenever he opened them. They were closed most of the time, but sometimes when she opened hers, she would see him looking at her. And she had an odd feeling late into the night that he was happy. Maybe he knew too that he was going to be all right, she thought. Maybe her strength had communicated itself to him, which was why she wanted to be there with him.

They both slept for a while, holding hands, as her head drooped and she thought of many things. She had odd dreams about Joe that night, and her father, and Steve, and the professor. She was thinking about him when she woke up. The sky was getting gray, and there were streaks of pink appearing on the horizon. It was the beginning of a new day, and the fight was still on. But she had no doubt now that he was going to make it, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes were closed, and his jaw was slack, he looked completely relaxed. The respirator was breathing for him rhythmically, and as she looked at it one of the monitors made a high-pitched whine and another one began beeping. She didn't have time to ask herself what it meant, as two of the nurses came running. A blue light went on, and two male nurses rushed in, and they pushed Gabbie aside as they began giving him CPR, pressing powerfully on his chest while silently counting compressions. The room filled with people suddenly and Gabbie watched, filled with dread, as she heard what they said and understood what had happened. The respirator was still breathing for him, but his heart had stopped. They worked frantically for a while, and then one of the men shook his head, and one of the nurses spoke gently to Gabbie.

“He's gone… I'm very sorry…” She stood staring at them in disbelief, knowing they were lying to her. They had to be. He couldn't do that. He'd been right there next to her… he had looked at her… she had held his hand and willed him to live with every ounce of strength she had. He couldn't die now. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him. But he had. He had gently let go of life, and gone to be with his beloved Charlotte.

They turned the respirator off, and left the room, as Gabbie stood there silently, looking at him, refusing to believe what had just happened. She sat down next to him again and took his hand in her own, and spoke to him as though he could still hear her.

“You can't do this to me,” she whispered as tears ran down her face. “I need you too much… don't leave me alone here… don't go away, please… come back…” But she knew he wouldn't. He was peaceful now. He had had a full life. Eighty-one years. And he didn't belong to her. He never had. He had only been on loan to her for a short time, not long enough. He belonged to God, and to Charlotte. And just as everyone else had, he had left her. Without malice, without anger, without accusation, or recrimination. She had done nothing to hurt him or to send him away. He didn't blame her for anything. Only good things had passed between them. But he had still left anyway, on his own schedule, to another time, another place, where she couldn't be with him.

A nurse came and asked her if she needed anything, but she shook her head. She just wanted to be with him for as long as she could. And then they asked her about arrangements.

“I don't know. I'll have to check and see what he wanted.” She didn't even know who to ask. Mrs. Rosenstein maybe. He had no family, no children, no relatives, only the people at the boardinghouse where he'd lived for nearly twenty years, and Gabbie. It was a sad end to a full life, and a great loss to all of them. He had given her so much, so much love, so much wisdom, so much power about her writing. She couldn't imagine what she would do without him.

She stood up finally, and kissed him one last time, and she could sense that he was gone now. The spirit had flown, only the flesh remained, tired and broken and unimportant. The best part of him was no longer there. And as she set his hand down gently on the bed, she whispered, “Say hi to Joe for me…” There was no doubt in her mind that they would be together.

She walked slowly out of the ICU, took the elevator downstairs, and walked out into the bright July sunshine. It was a beautiful day, and there were no clouds overhead. People were walking in and out of the hospital, and it seemed odd to hear them talking and laughing. It seemed so strange to her that life should go on, that the world hadn't stopped, even briefly, to acknowledge his passing. And the heavy weight on her heart reminded her of the day she had left the convent. She could almost hear a door closing behind her as she walked slowly uptown to the boardinghouse where they lived. She couldn't take a cab or the subway this time, and she didn't care. She had no money left in her purse, and she wanted the air, and time to think about him, all alone, and as she walked slowly home in the summer sunshine, she could almost feel him near her. He hadn't deserted her after all. He had left her so many things, so many words, so many feelings, so many stories. And although he was gone, as the others were, she knew that this time was different.





Chapter 22




MUCH TO EVERYONE'S surprise, Professor Thomas had left all of his affairs in extremely good order. He had always seemed a little vague to all of them, and Gabbie had expected to find a mess, but instead he had left neat files, a sealed will, and careful instructions. He wanted a small memorial service, and not a funeral, preferably outdoors, and he wanted a passage read from Tennyson, and another small poem by Robert Browning, which had always reminded him of Charlotte. He had a safe-deposit box in a bank downtown, and a huge file cabinet filled with correspondence.

Mrs. Rosenstein was devastated, and behaved like a grieving widow. But Mrs. Boslicki and Steve were very helpful to everyone in making all of the arrangements. They went to a funeral parlor nearby and selected a somber casket. He was to be buried on Long Island, with Charlotte. And they did everything precisely as he had asked them.

A handful of them went to Long Island for the burial in a rented limousine, and Gabbie stood for a long moment alone at the grave site, and left a single red rose on his casket. And the only addition to the service he'd described was a poem Gabbie had written for him, and which she read herself, with a voice trembling with emotion. Steve stood next to her and held her hand, and she tried not to think of Joe as she read it. She was grateful for Steve's presence in her life, and the strength he gave her now. He had been wonderful to all of them, and had even redeemed himself with Mrs. Boslicki.

Professor Thomas had been buried in his one dark suit, and they gave the rest of his things away, to charity. A small obituary appeared in The New York Times, and it turned out his teaching career was filled with honors and awards that none of them had been aware of. There was a formal reading of the will, in the living room, conducted by one of the boarders, who was a retired attorney. He told them all exactly what to do, and the will was unsealed for the first time in the presence of all of them. It was written in the professors neat, careful hand, and it was more a formality than a serious legal event, as they all knew he had very little.

But what the lawyer read astounded all of them, and as he read the bequests, his eyes widened, as everyone's did. The professor had been hoarding, and quietly investing, a great deal of money. And he had stayed at the boardinghouse not out of necessity, but only because he loved it.

To his good friends Martha Rosenstein and Emma Boslicki he had left, to each of them, the sum of fifty thousand dollars, with his love and gratitude for the kindness they had bestowed on him over many years of friendship. He left Mrs. Rosenstein his gold watch as well, which was his only piece of jewelry, and he knew it would mean a great deal to her. She cried as the lawyer read it. And as for the rest of his worldly goods, the only thing that meant anything to him was his library, and he left all of it to his young friend, and protégée, Gabriella Harrison, as well as what remained of his bank accounts and investments, which, at the time of his death, amounted to slightly over six hundred thousand dollars. There was a sudden gasp in the room, as the attorney paused for breath and stared at Gabriella. His stock certificates were apparently all in his safety-deposit box in the bank, and everything was said to be in good order. But Gabriella could not believe what she had just heard the lawyer say. It was impossible, a joke. Why would he leave all that to her? But he had also explained that in his letter. He felt that she would use the money wisely and well, and it would help her to embark on a serious literary career without the burden of financial concern, which might otherwise hinder her progress. She was young enough, he felt, for the money to make a real difference to her, and to give her the kind of security she had not been fortunate enough to have in recent years, if ever. And he said as well that he had regarded her as the daughter he had never had, and what he gave, he gave with his love, and his heart, and his great admiration for her, as a writer and a person. He thanked them all then, and wished them well, and had signed the letter formally, Professor Theodore Rawson Thomas. The letter was properly dated and signed, and the lawyer assured them all that it was legally correct and in good order.