Margie put down the dishes and wept. Cancer. The word
itself sounded sinister, like something sent in the night to take
away everything they had worked so long to gain. Inoperable.
She picked up the plate and began to wash again, but the tears
didn't stop.
It's not fair, she thought. Zach's a good man. How
could this happen? Why him? Why us? Why me? She slammed the
plate down on the hardwood floor, shattering it into a thousand
pieces.
"Margie, honey? You okay?" Zach's voice came from the living
room. He'd had another headache, so she insisted he go lie down
while she cleaned up.
"I'm fine," she lied. "I just dropped a plate."
He appeared at the door, saw her tear-streaked face. "You've been
crying."
"And you're dying," she snapped. "What's not to cry about?"
Zach walked across the room to her. He took the towel from her
hands and laid it on the counter, then took her hands in his. "Now,
Margie," he said, looking into her eyes. "I am seventy-eight years
old. I've had a good life. We've raised two fine sons together. I've
lived long enough to see my grandchildren grow into good men and
women. And you've been by my side for fifty-three years. I've no
regrets, Margie, and much to be thankful for. The doctor even says
I'm healthy, for an old man dying. Enough to enjoy the time I have
left. And I intend to do just that."
Margie scowled. "You're going to enjoy doctor's visits?
Chemotherapy? Radiation?"
"No," Zach said. "I'm going to enjoy life! I'm going to savor
every minute I have left, Margie. I'm not going to do the chemo. The
doc says it's not likely to make a difference anyway."
This was news to Margie. True, Doc Sullivan hadn't offered much
hope when he explained treatment options, but she hadn't expected
her husband to just give up. Zach had never been a quitter. "That's
it, then? You're not even going to try? Just roll over and die?" She
began to sob.
He pulled her close to him and held her there for a few moments.
"No, Margie," he said, "I'm going to live. Every blessed day I have
left. I'm going to live them all."
~~~~~
Enoch poured a cup of strong black coffee and handed it to his
friend. "My Lord, Zach, I don't know what to say."
Enoch Taylor had been Zach's best friend for nearly forty years.
Next to Margie, he was the one person Zach trusted most in the
world. So he was naturally the first person that Zach went to with
good news—and bad.
"So that explains the headaches, eh? Brain cancer." He stared
into his coffee for a long moment, as if it were an oracle that
might offer up some miraculous solution to this awful news. Finally
he looked up. "Is there anything they can do about it?"
Zach shook his head. "The tumor is inoperable, the doc said. As
for chemo — I know what that does. I watched my daddy waste away, as
much from the chemo as from the cancer. The doc says I have six,
maybe nine months. Maybe as much as a year. I don't want to spend
them sick."
Enoch nodded. "Can't say as I blame you. What will you do?"
Zach grinned, and gazed about his friend's tackle shop. "Can you
outfit me for salmon?"
"Salmon!" Enoch said. "This is Florida, Zach! There aren't any
salmon within a thousand miles!"
"Four thousand," Zach said, still grinning.
~~~~~
"Alaska! That tumor must have eaten away the sane part
of your brain already!"
Zach was unperturbed. He hadn't expected Margie to go along right
away. This would take some finesse.
"I'm dying, Margie." To hell with finesse. "We can make
the drive in a week or so. No need to hurry; there's a lot to see
between here and Juneau."
Margie's temper eased, but she wasn't convinced. "Why Alaska?
Zach, it's a continent away."
"Because there's no salmon in Lake Okeechobee. Because I can't
see the Northern Lights from the Everglades. Because there's not a
single blessed mountain in the entire state of Florida! Because I
only have a few months and I want to see these things before I die."
"You'll need to see the doctor. Get treatment."
"Treatment for what? The cancer? I'm an old man, Margie. I'm
going to die some day anyway. If not from cancer, then something
else. I'm healthy, except for this thing in my head. My body is
strong. I want to do this while I still can. Don't turn me down,
Margie. Don't start now."
"What about the farm? Is it going to magically take care of
itself while we're gone?"
"While you're gone, Margie. Enoch has agreed to look
after things. I won't be coming back."
~~~~~
They left early the next morning. "No point putting it off," Zach
had said, "I don't have that many days to waste."
Margie, by this time fully committed to her husband's dream, just
smiled at him and said, "No, dear. None of us do."
Enoch saw them off. He would see that the farm was tended to, and
they agreed, he would find a buyer for it. Margie, ever the farmer's
wife but never a farmer, would come home to a comfortable
retirement.
Margie gave Enoch a warm hug and a quick peck on the cheek and
got in the passenger seat. Zach put their few bags in the back of
the old Ford pickup and turned to his old friend.
Enoch's eyes glistened. "I can't believe I'll never see you
again."
"You will," Zach said. "I believe that. And I know you do too."
Enoch nodded. There was nothing more to say. In four decades,
there had been nothing unsaid between them.
The two men embraced, then Zach got in the truck and started down
the long driveway. Enoch waved and forced a smile as the truck went
by him. His smile broke into a broad grin as he saw the large sign
Zach had painted and hung on the tailgate:
ALASKA OR BUST
