Gordon J. Allard lay dying in the bedroom of the home he had once shared with his beautiful wife, Julia. The lung cancer he’d battled for over two years had spread throughout his body and he had resigned himself to no more chemotherapy, radiation, or hospitals. What difference did it make? He was ninety years old and had long since outlived most of his family and all the friends of his generation.
There wasn’t much time left at all. Hours, maybe minutes, to make peace with his one major regret in life: his inability to convince his granddaughter Carolyn to change her ways. Because of the gulf between them, his will would have to remain as he’d written it a year ago. She would inherit nothing. There was no point in leaving his earthly possessions to the destructive whims of a senseless young woman who meandered pointlessly through life, hooked on illegal substances and sordid relationships. She hadn’t married or left a great grandchild. Julia would be as upset as he was, but she would understand.
Most of the money, multi-millions earned from a patented invention and carefully invested in stocks and bonds, would go to his favorite charity, and the house that had been so special to Julia—special to both of them—would now temporarily pass to his nephew. The other person of significance in his will was Valerie Redmond, his young African-American nurse, who for the last few years had been the only real friend he possessed.
He gazed feebly around the dim room. Two people shifted about like sentries changing guard—the attending physician and the black-clothed priest. Yes, Valerie was there, too, a constant presence sitting quietly by his bedside with her hand resting warmly on his cold one. He could not speak to her anymore, but she seemed to channel his thoughts and anticipate his needs. She was no blood relative, but he was convinced that in the imminence of death, ethnicities and cultural differences cease to matter as everyone confronts the same eventuality—a return to dust. Because of this knowledge he was confident that he’d selected the right one for his posthumous gift, and he almost smiled at the thought of her reaction. Valerie would be the keeper now.
As the priest spoke his final words, the lights in the room seemed to dim and the steady buzz of the now-disconnected respirator faded. A shimmering aura of peace and light filled him. It’s all right, he murmured soundlessly. Julia’s waiting and I must go.