Free The Heaven Trilogy by Ted Dekker Page B

Antonio’s. The house would be twice the size of their current one, he’d told her. With gold faucets and an indoor tennis court. They could afford that now. “Imagine that, Gloria. Playing on your own air-conditioned court.” His wife had smiled wide.
    In his mind’s eyes he saw her leaning into a forehand, her short white skirt swishing as she pivoted, and a lump rose in his throat.
    He lay his head back and moaned softly. He felt trapped in an impossible nightmare. What madman had decided that it was time for his wife to die? If there was a God, he knew how to inflict pain exceptionally well. Tears blurred Kent’s vision, but he held himself in check. He had to maintain some semblance of strength, for Spencer if not for himself. But it was all lunacy. How had he grown so dependent on her? Why was it that her passing had left him so dead inside?
    The doctor had patiently explained bacterial meningitis to him a dozen times. Evidently the beast lingered in over half of the population, hiding behind some cranial mucous membrane that held it at bay. Occasionally—very rarely—the stuff got past the membrane and into the bloodstream. If not caught immediately it tended to rampage its way through the body, eating up organs. In Gloria’s case the disease had already set its claws into her by the time she got to the hospital. Eighteen hours later she had died.
    He’d replayed that scene a thousand times. If he’d taken her to the hospital Friday morning instead of traipsing off for glory, she might be alive today.
    The monkey and the cross he’d purchased as gifts still lay in his travel bag upstairs, absurd little trinkets that mocked him every time he remembered them. “Lookie here, Spencer. Look what Daddy bought you!”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIt’s a stupid monkey to help you remember Mommy’s death. See, it’s smiling and clapping ’cause Mom’s in heaven.” Gag!
    And the crystal cross . . . He would smash it as soon as he built up the resolve to open that bag. The doorbell rang, and Spencer lifted his head. “Grandma?”
    â€œProbably,” Kent said, running the back of his wrist across his eyes. “Why don’t you go check?”
    Spencer hopped off his lap and loped for the front door. Kent shook his head and sniffed. Get a grip, old boy. You’ve handled everything thrown your way for years. You can handle this.
    â€œHello, Kent,” Helen called, entering the room at Spencer’s leading. She smiled. She was wearing a dress. A yellow dress that struck a chord of familiarity in Kent. It was the kind of dress Gloria might have worn. “How are we doing this afternoon?”
    How do you think, you old kook? We’ve just lost our hearts, but otherwise we are just peachy. “Fine,” he said.
    â€œYes, well I don’t believe you, but it’s good to see that you’re making an attempt.” She paused, seeing right through him, it seemed. He made no attempt to rise. Helen’s eyes held his for a moment. “I’m praying for you, Kent. Things will begin to change now. In the end, they will be better. You will see.”
    He wanted to tell her that she could keep her prayers. That of course things would get better, because anything would be better than this. That she was an old, eccentric fossil and should keep her theories of how things would go to herself. Share them with some other cross-stitchers from the dark ages. But he hardly had the energy, much less the stomach, for the words.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “You taking Spencer?” Of course she was. They both knew it.
    â€œYes.” She turned to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You ready?”
    Spencer glanced back at his father. “I’ll see you soon, Dad. You okay?”
    The question nearly had him blubbering. He did not want the boy to go. His heart swelled for his son, and he swallowed.