Free Cheated By Death by L.L. Bartlett Page B

fail. Otherwise, the cost would be your soul.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    She pursed her lips. “I was safe, here in
this country. I had my husband, my children. But I knew war would
tear my homeland apart. My family sacrificed so that I could go
back to Poland to bring my parents to America. I wanted to keep
them safe, even though part of me knew it was hopeless. Once there,
I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t save them from their destiny. My
father died of dysentery in the camp. My mother . . . she died from
the gas. They threw her naked body into the oven. This I saw—and
more. Yet I was spared.” Her voice cracked as tears filled her
eyes.
    “It took six years for me to come home to my
children, my husband, but my life was never the same, never as
good. I tried to save my parents and lost a part of myself.”
    Her voice broke—her anguish tearing at me.
She stared at nothing, cleared her throat and continued.
    “I always wondered . . . did I wait too long
to go? Could I have made a difference some other way? Were their
deaths easier because I was with them—or did I make it harder
because they never knew I survived?”
    “I’m so sorry,” I murmured.
    “There was a purpose,” she said, nodding
vigorously. “I survived. I helped others survive. My own mission
failed, but a greater good came out of it. I have to believe
that—and you must, too.” Her brown eyes pierced me. “Family is everything , Jeffrey. Do what you must to protect those you
love. All those you love.”
    Her words filled me with apprehension—and
determination. “I will. I swear.”

    I awoke the next morning feeling
surly. I couldn’t decide if my migraine was the usual
post-fractured-skull type or that tumbler of Mr. Jack I’d had after
talking with Sophie.
    Maggie knows I’m no fun under those
conditions. After a make-shift breakfast of toast and tea, she left
with a feeble excuse about a shopping date with her sister.
    To make it to work later that day, I needed
to get rid of the pain in my skull. I swallowed a couple of pills,
heading back to the bedroom when the telephone shrieked.
    “Jeffrey? It’s Patty.”
    The last person I wanted to talk to. “Oh.
Hi.”
    “Are you okay? You sound funny.”
    “Just another one of my headaches.”
    “Do you think you’ll be better by
tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Yeah, Aunt Ruby’s having a party, remember?
We all want you to come.”
    Oh. That party. Richard’s warning about my
father’s health had finally sunk in. I realized I had a lot of
unanswered questions I wanted—needed—to ask before he died. Much as
I didn’t want to go . . . .
    “Okay. Where and when?” I jotted down the
address and the time. “Can I bring my girlfriend?”
    “Oh, sure. The more the merrier. Bring your
brother Richard if you want.”
    A flicker of annoyance coursed through
me.
    “I’m so glad you’ll be there,” Patty
continued. “It means a lot to Dad. Now, don’t forget to bring your
camera.”
    “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    I hung up, stared at the note on the pad,
trying to decide what kind of impressions I’d received.
    None.
    My head ached and I crawled back to bed to
hide from it in sleep.

    That evening , the bar was filled with
men whose wives or girlfriends had spent the day shopping, leaving
them to watch football games on the tube. Escaping from leftover
turkey, they scarfed up happy hour wings and pizza.
    It was another early evening—only
midnight—when I got home. I showered, sat in my robe in front of
the tube with a beer, letting myself unwind with CNN. It must’ve
been a slow news day. My eyes glazed over during an item on the
state of the Japanese yen. I dozed off, but when I awoke with a
start a couple hours later, the same financial clip was playing.
Though groggy with sleep, I had a vague feeling something was
wrong.
    The clock on the wall read three twenty one.
My back ached, either from standing for hours behind the bar or
lying scrunched on the couch. I