Finally, in early December, Walt told Rose that there was no hope in keeping Larry alive. Despite relentless efforts, he and his colleagues—Larry’s friends—had determined that he had passed into a vegetative state. His brain had been deprived of too much oxygen, and the damage was irreversible.
His body was healthy and strong. Under the expert care of his colleagues, he could continue to breathe on his own for who knew how long while they kept a feeding tube in place. But is that what Larry would want?
For the sake of his best friend’s family, Walt was determined to convince her that it wasn’t.
Over those long months that Rose had clung to her husband’s side, she had completely lost control of her life. Bills weren’t paid, the bank was calling about missing mortgage payments, and her oldest son was running wild. An ambulance was called to her house earlier in the week, and medical records that Walt Bolger was able to make disappear showed that Mike had nearly OD’d.
Walt knew that Rose had become too emotionally frail to assert herself as the sole parent of two teenage boys, but he also knew that Larry would expect her to try.
“Rose, it’s time we let God take Larry from us,” he began, holding her hand as they stood next to Larry’s bed. “He’s been fighting so hard, trying to come back, and if we let him, he’ll keep right on fighting.”
She smiled sadly.
“But there is nothing more we can do to help him,” Walt continued. “His brain can’t ever work again the way we need it to.”
He saw her resist as she looked down at her husband. He put his arm around her shoulder and held her firmly.
“If you tell me we need to let him stay on, that’s good enough for me. He will continue to live here until he’s ready to go, and we’ll keep him as comfortable as possible.
“But I need you to listen to me.”
He stood before her and took both her hands. He positioned himself so that her focus was on him, not on her husband. “Rose, your boys need you. All this time, you have stayed at Larry’s side. And I know, with all my heart, that there will come a day when Larry will hold you close and tell you how much your devotion has meant to him.
“But I also know that, right now, Larry needs you to be the parent he can’t be anymore,” he said softly. “Mike is in trouble. He could have died the other day, when he should have been in school. He needs his mother to help him get through this. It’s not going to be easy.”
Her heart sank at the truth of this.
“And John,” Walt continued softly, “is a sensitive boy. He’s still trying to understand all this. He needs you there, to make sure he’s okay.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke plainly.
“It’s time to go home, Rose. It’s time to see to your boys. That’s how you can help Larry now.”
Rose understood the truth of what he was saying; she had known for months it was coming. But that didn’t blunt the sudden rush of tears that came upon her as she fell into Walt’s arms.
“I’m so scared,” she cried as she accepted what lay ahead for her. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t be alone, honey. You have so many friends who love you. We’ll get you through this.”
They held each other and wept. As she grew to accept what she needed to do, she could no longer look at Larry. There were arrangements to see to, decisions to make. It was all on her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Sssh,” he said softly. “Marie is right outside. She’s going to take you back to our house. I’ll stay here with Larry. I won’t leave his side until it’s over. When I get home, we’ll figure out how we’ll get through the next few days.”
Walt broke the embrace and held her at the shoulders.
“You take as much time as you need,” he said, then stepped away. As he reached for the door, it broke his heart to see her standing alone.
“He loved you, Rose,” Walt said quietly. “So much.”
He left the room; she felt the sands that now shifted beneath her feet slowly drawing her to her husband’s side one final time.
She snugged him up beneath his bed covers, as if preparing him for a long journey. As she lifted his arm to tuck it beneath the blankets, she saw his wedding ring. Her heart collapsed, but with an inner strength that would often fail her in the weeks and months to come, she sturdily met the duty of being the one to slip it from his finger. It let go easily; her sobs came in turbulent surges.
Wiping her eyes and studying his face, she drew her finger along the scar from when he fell in his office. It had healed well; it looked like no more than a wrinkle. The only wrinkle he’d ever earn.
She kissed him and held his hand. She would keep no memory of how and when she let it go.
* * *
New footprints disturbed the dust as John and Walt paced the corridors of the old hospital, the old man’s tale nowhere near its end.
John stood at the slats of one of the shuttered windows. Looking out, he could see Rocky’s diner across the street. And his car. Out there, just a little over an hour before, none of this was true.
“It was a closed casket,” John remembered darkly as he turned back to Dr. Bolger.
“Your mother let us make the arrangements,” the old man said, girding himself for the fury he was not fool enough to think he was going to evade for long.
“Who did you bury?” John asked through grit teeth.
“We didn’t bury anyone, John,” Walt said patiently. “We ran this hospital, we could control things.
“Dave Stanton was a good friend of your father’s and a member of my church. I trusted that he would help paper things over at his funeral home.”
John became very still, forcing his breath to come in even waves. He was close to hyperventilating.
Above all else, the question assaulted his mind:
“You controlled things,” he glared. “For thirty years?!”
His voice echoed down the hall of the dead building, followed by the skittering of creatures unaccustomed to the presence of humans.
Walt Bolger had been anticipating this moment since that December day in 1985. He had long resolved that if the day ever came that he had to reveal all to Larry’s family, he would do it in a way that would cause them the least amount of trauma. For decades, he obsessed over this moment while praying it would never come.
He decided long ago that the family would need a gradual descent into their new reality; they would have to be allowed time for their ricocheting stabs of disbelief to settle, if only by degrees, before he could take them deeper into what he had done. And how it had been possible.
“Son, what I’ve brought you to is enough. For today,” Walt said compassionately but firmly to John.
“We need to take the time for you to just accept that your dad is alive. I swear to you that you will have a full account of how this came to be, but when I tell it to you I need your mind to be snapped back from what I just put it through. Does that make sense?”
John just stared, his complete inability to comprehend seeming to have frozen him in place.
“You could have the police here in fifteen minutes,” Walt said matter-of-factly but not without fear. The statement brought John to attention as the old man met his eyes. “They’d get the story from me and you’d have what you want to know, including that I will pay a great price for this.
“But I’m hoping that while we can, while it’s just me and you and Larry, that you’ll let me try to explain in a way that will do you—and your family—the least amount of harm,” he said, pointing back to room 116. “That’s the best friend I ever had in there. I don’t want to hurt you all any more than I already have.”
* * *
They stood together at Larry’s bedside.
“When you’re ready, I will tell you how we got here. You’ll take all the time you’ll need with him. We’ll figure out what to tell your family. And then, if you choose to, you’ll finally put this to rest. Larry’s got places to be.”
John flinched at what Walt was getting at. Walt pressed on.
“I’m leaving town, John. Hank Burch, who used to be an oncologist here, wants me in Phoenix to see what he can do for me.”
John’s mind roiled. “I’ll let him die? That’s why I’m here?”
Despite the gravity of Walt’s situation, John began to protest.
“You can’t leave me to—”
“John, I could have ended Larry’s life myself, years ago, and you never would’ve known,” Walt said sternly. “Did I make the wrong choice?”
John looked down at his father, withered and still. And yet: breathing in, breathing out. The same air filled their lungs.
Even in his frenzy to accept this, he could not deny that there was something massively profound here at his father’s bedside.
The weight fully, squarely, settled upon John’s shoulders as he began to take on the responsibility of believing his father’s existence. But whatever fortitude it gave him failed when suddenly he thought of his mother.
“Jesus, my mother…” he moaned. “She’ll never understand this.” He ran the scene through his head and despaired. “This could kill her.”
“One step at a time, John. We’ll figure a way through this, one step at a time,” Walt said sturdily.
“But it’s time for you to start. Go home to your wife. Tell her about your day,” the old man smiled gently.
Yes, John thought dumbly. Robin was good at things like this.
Walt stepped back to escort them from Larry’s room, but John remained rooted in place. He slowly leaned closer to the bed, self-conscious but grateful for the opportunity to speak to his father.
“I’ll be back, Dad,” he whispered. “Okay?”