Rescued

"Hi, I'm Lucas - this is my niece, Annie." Annie's response took me completely by surprise. She extended her hand. In all her life with me Annie has been - "shy" doesn't exactly say it, but she is cautious and reserved. But now she boldly extended her right arm and stuck our her hand.

At first, the young man was taken by surprise But then he held out his hand and said, "Hi, Annie, I'm Charlie." I think Annie actually blushed.

But then she turned and nudged her body into me, then glanced down at the baby she was holding in her arms.

"Oh, yes - and this is Christoper Robin." Annie beamed.

I would guess that Charlie doesn't live a life where young mothers typically offer their 6-month-old infant children to him, but that's exactly what was happening. Annie turned and moved her cradled arms forward, just a little, almost like she was presenting Christopher to the young delivery man.

Like I said, this sort of thing probably didn't happen to him every day, but there was no hesitation or uncertainty when he responded, "Well, hello, Christopher Robin! And how are you this afternoon?"

And it was like the baby had been waiting for just that. Christoper gave a big smile (not unusual) and gurgled and stuck his chubby little arm out - toward Charlie, toward the strange man. Charlie immediately extended his finger and touched it to Christopher's dimpled little knuckles - and Christoper opened his chubby little fist and grasped the finger and began wagging it up and down and smiled like this was the most wonderful entertainment in the whole world.

And I can't exactly describe it, but something seemed to come over Annie then, almost like something had been - settled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Charlie" is a pleasant enough young man, about 5'-10", average brown hair, cut "average," always cheerful, although that could just be part of his job, being pleasant with customers and with their customers.

I looked, of course. No ring on his finger, so probably not married. But I think I would have guessed that even without the absence of a ring. He just seemed like one of those people who live their lives alone. There's something about people who spend their time - their lives - among other people, and something about people who spend their lives mostly on their own, outside the company of others. Charlie seemed like one of those people.

And those were the thoughts that were in my mind when a few days later I asked, "Annie, that Charlie fellow - you know - the man who delivers at the store? I was thinking, he seems like a nice guy and it doesn't seem like he has a lot of friends or does a lot with other people, and I was thinking that maybe we - you and I - could have him over for dinner some night. Maybe this weekend - maybe this Saturday?" Then I just had to needle her a bit. "If that's OK with you, o'course?"

As you've no doubt determined by now, Annie is not given to extravagant expressions of emotion but her reaction to my suggestion about inviting Charlie to dinner was about as close as she's ever come. First the smile, the biggest I've ever seen her have. Then, to my complete surprise, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me before regaining her composure and dropping her arms to her sides again. But the smile stayed.

So the next Monday we made sure that we were at the store when Charlie would normally be there. After he'd finished with his deliveries, we managed to catch him on his way out.

"Hi, Charlie. Annie and I were wondering - if you're free this Saturday night, Annie and I wondered if you'd like to come to our house for dinner." I paused for a moment, to let the invitation sink in. "But only if you're free, of course."

Charlie seemed a bit, well, stupefied, by my words and just stood there for a moment. But then he looked to Annie, and when he saw the approval in her eyes, her endorsement of this proposal, he gathered his wits and replied, "Why, that's a great idea - I'd love to get to know you ...," and he looked toward Annie, "... and Annie ...," and he looked again, to the chubby infant in her arms, "... and Christopher Robin. So, well, sure, thanks, I'd like having dinner with you. And, yeah, this Saturday would be fine ...," and I was relieved when he didn't artlessly add something, like "he didn't have anything else to do."

I won't give you the details of how the next five days went. Annie seemed to alternate between walking on air and total frenzy, trying to think of what she needed to do before Saturday evening came. And that included scouring the cooking websites for ideas. With my (subtle) guidance, she decided on something that everyone could like (since we didn't know a thing about Charlie's dining habits or preferences).

So Saturday finally came, not soon enough yet entirely too quickly, if you know what I mean. Charlie showed up a thoughtful five minutes after the specified time. What took Annie and me by surprise was that he wasn't in his brown van. But, of course, he had his own vehicle, which turned out to be an older Toyota pickup - and one which had obviously been washed just a few hours before. Charlie came up the porch carrying a huge bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. Annie grabbed the flowers (which I realized were her very first, other than the wildflowers we'd collect from around the cabin) and rushed in to find something to serve as a vase. I took the wine from him, then reached out and shook his hand and we walked into the cabin.

Again, there're just too many details about the evening to recount. Annie's decision to roast a chicken ("French style") on a bed of carrots, potatoes, and a few onions turned out to be the perfect choice. I don't know much about wine, but it was white and went well with Annie's roast chicken. Because her small breasts are still nursing Christopher, she had just two polite sips, but enough to show Charlie that she liked and appreciated his thoughtfulness.

But what truly amazed me was how Annie and Charlie were able to communicate. What had taken me days and weeks to learn about Annie's gestures and postures and reactions, Charlie seemed to pick up on in a matter of minutes. As usual, Annie had a pencil and a pad of paper beside her for those "things" - usually nouns - for which there are no intuitively obvious signs or gestures. And somehow the two of them managed to carry on a very lively - or perhaps I should say, "animated" - conversation.

And then there was Christopher Robin. Annie had secured him in his high chair between her and Charlie, and Charlie made a point of looking at Christopher, asking him questions, making faces, and tickling his plump little hands and arms. Since Christopher was just on the verge of beginning to feed himself, Annie mashed some vegetables - some into little lumps, others into, well, mash - and put them on his tray and Charlie would push wads of the food toward Christopher's flailing little hands.

Annie had even planned a dessert, a batch of cookies (snickerdoodles) - reliable, easy to prepare in advance, and don't require any special timing to serve.

We - all four of us - sat at the table talking. I made coffee for Charlie and me, while Christopher's after-dinner drink was some of his mommy's milk. When it came time to put him to sleep we all got up and Charlie suggested that it was time for him to go and he thanked us and told Annie what a wonderful meal she'd fixed and that it was the best meal he's had in a real long time (I had no difficulty believing that!). Then those awkward final moments. He and I shook hands, and then he looked at Annie, perplexed. Finally, he stuck out his hand, and Annie took it and shook it, and we stood there on the porch watching Charlie's pickup drive out of sight.

The following Monday, of course, we were at Cooper's store when Charlie came in. After he finished with his deliveries he came over to where we were standing (that is, waiting) and told us what a wonderful time he'd had with us Saturday evening, and we ( I ) told him how much we'd enjoyed having him over, and that "Maybe you could come over for dinner again some time." Charlie looked delighted by that idea - but also disappointed that it wasn't accompanied by an actual invitation.

The next Monday we invited Charlie for dinner that Saturday.

And then the next week.

And it was that second night that a storm blew in from the coast. It wasn't expected until later the next day, but it came early and it came with a vengeance.

Amidst the steadily increasing winds that were brushing tree branches against the cabin and causing some kind of banging noise out by the shed, Annie put Christopher Robin to bed and came back to join Charlie and me.

There was no way that Charlie could drive home in that storm and I started working out the logistics and geography of accommodating the three - well, four - of us overnight, when Annie stood up and took Charlie's hand and led him into her room.

I knew this - or something like it - was going to happen, of course. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. Yet somehow I knew that we had been moving toward this moment, ever since that second time, when Annie noticed Charlie in Cooper's General Store.

I smiled, then threw on my rain poncho and went out to see what was making that banging noise out by the shed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was already up and having coffee - I'd made enough to be sure there was plenty for Charlie and me - when they emerged from her room, holding hands. I couldn't help but notice that it was Charlie who was holding the pajama'd Christopher Robin against his bare chest.

The next two weekends, too, Charlie came for dinner - and stayed.

On the day after the second weekend, Annie guided me to the sofa. She picked up a pad of paper I hadn't noticed, and she wrote, "I want Charlie to stay with us."

In one way, of course, this didn't come as a surprise. I know Annie, and I understand our life, and so I understood where this was coming from. On the other hand, something like this, when it finally does happen, well, it always comes as a shock, doesn't it? But, still - I understood.

"Does Charlie want that, too - to stay here with us?"

Her look told me that they both had discussed this (I don't know how, but they had), and that Charlie wanted this, too.

"Okay, then, let's talk about how we'll do this."

Annie didn't throw herself on me and smother me with hugs and kisses - that's simply not her way. But I could see almost a halo of happiness surrounding her, and I knew that I'd said the right thing.

So we planned. Charlie currently lived in a rooming house in Marshall (with very few possessions, as you might have imagined), so he'd have no trouble moving out.

Now, what about things at our end.

At first, of course, Charlie would sleep with Annie (and Christopher). This will be tight, and totally untenable for the long run. But then, a fortuitous surprise: Charlie's dad (now deceased many years) had been in construction - framing carpentry, mostly, but also electricity and even a little plumbing - and had passed much of his knowledge on to his son. Charlie and I immediately started working on plans to enlarge our little house.

I won't go into lengthy details describing the whole enterprise (and all the delightful little surprises that invariably accompany any construction project), but in three months from the time we started, we had added nearly 400 square feet to the house - enough for two more bedrooms (yes, they were planning for that!) and a new bathroom that backed up to the existing little one. We also upgraded the old forced-air heater to a whole new furnace that could heat our entire, newly-expanded home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I guess your big question now is, how has my life changed now that Annie is "with" Charlie - where does that leave me? I mean, for all these years it's been Annie and me - and no one else. Then there was Christopher Robin, but of course, Christopher Robin didn't take anything away from us, from Annie and me - Christopher Robin enlarged our world - enlarged my world.

But now all of a sudden there's Charlie. Did Charlie's and Annie's "being together" result in me being, I hate to even contemplate the words, "edged aside?"

To be honest, a part - a big part - of me feared exactly that.

But that's not what happened. Instead, my life got even larger. You know the old cliché, "You're not losing a daughter - you're gaining a son"? Well, it turns out, that's exactly what happened.

Our life - Annie's and mine - didn't change. She is still the little girl that I took in and vowed to protect and nurture, and she is still the partner that I've shared life and its responsibilities - including Christopher Robin - with for all these years. But rather than Charlie's presence causing me to be "edged aside," Annie has instead managed to cement Charlie into our life.

So while Charlie continues to go in to work at the parcel company each day, Annie and I live our lives and fulfill our responsibilities just as we have for all these years. And then when Charlie returns home, he steps right into the spot that has been waiting for him - as husband, father, and lover - without the slightest disruption.

And while Charlie is for all intents and purposes my son-in-law, he's also begun relating to me more like I'm the dad he lost so many years ago. And I find myself coming to look on him more and more like a son.

(Also, it didn't escape me that Charlie is about the same age that Cindy's and my son would be now, if ... if ... )

So, it seems that I have gravitated into the threefold role of partner, grandparent, and surrogate father to Charlie. And the funny thing is, I'm comfortable with all three of these roles - I find them all to be intensely rewarding.

And in fact, my role as a grandfather is about to get even bigger: Baby Charlotte is due in three months.

I guess "Charlotte's Web" made a big impression on Annie, too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One time, I think I was out splitting firewood, I thought back, about that day, I-don't-know-how-many-years-ago, when I walked out of that market in Marshall with a little girl's hand in mine. And I'm pretty sure that when I did I probably saved that little girl's life.

What I do know, without one iota of doubt, is that she saved mine.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'm 67 now, and I'm dying. A bout of rheumatic fever when I was seven permanently damaged one, maybe two, heart valves, and those damaged valves have finally caught up with me. So, yes, I'm dying.

And it's alright.

As the Grateful Dead said, it's been a long, strange trip.

It began with an idyllic childhood, and two parents who loved me and taught me well - until their sudden, tragic deaths.

Then I met Cindy, who was the love of my life, and she and our unborn child were the promise for a lifetime together, until, well, you know ...

And then the dozen years in limbo, alone, just existing from one day to the next ...

Until that day in the store when a little girl slipped her hand into mine ...

And with that little girl came a life that has brought me more rewards, and more contentment, than I could ever have imagined.

I've never been religious, always thought that all religions were pretty ridiculous fairy tales, or maybe worse. Even when I was a young child I felt this way, and I had both pity and contempt for people who believed otherwise. And the idea that there was a "Heaven," a paradise where people - at least, the "good" people, the people who went to the "right" church - would go after they died? That was a fairy tale of the absolutely most despicable sort.

But now, as I'm lying here, taking what will most probably be my last breaths, I know that there is a Heaven, and that I will be going there. I know this because I've just heard something that I never heard before - the voice of an angel, an angel whose name I know as Annie. And the angel's voice is saying "Thank you, Lucas . . . ."