“He ended up married to my daughter and now they have those three gorgeous girls. He’s a very lucky man.”

12

Jake

Wednesday, July 1, 1953

Jake Ottweiler pulled up a chair beside his wife’s hospital bed and sat with her as he had every evening since June 17 when she’d been admitted. Mary Hairl was on heavy medication. She slept deeply and often, her face in repose as sculpted as stone. Her hand lay in his, her palm against his, her cold fingers threaded through his warmer ones. She was as pale as a piece of paper, lavender veins showing through the skin on her arms. She was thin, brittle-looking, and she smelled like death. He was ashamed for noticing, ashamed of himself for wanting to recoil.

Mary Hairl was thirty-seven years old and she’d given Jake two wonderful children. Tannie, at nine, was a sturdy, fearless girl, boisterous and outgoing, all bony elbows, skinned knees, and joy. She had a talent for playing the piano, and she read books way above her grade level. She’d never be pretty, he knew that about her without even waiting to see what puberty would bring. The growth spurt-the breasts, the loss of baby fat-none of this would alter the basic plainness of her face. But she was a bright, funny child, and he treasured that in her.

At sixteen, his son, Steve, was not only handsome, he was smart as well-not at the top of his class, but not far from it. Played varsity football and won his letter jacket as a sophomore, the first season he played. Eagle Scout. Sang tenor in the church youth choir. He’d signed a pledge that he’d abstain from alcohol for life, and Jake knew he’d do it, no matter the peer pressure brought to bear. Steve was baby-faced and had a boyish demeanor Jake was hoping he’d outgrow. Hard enough to be a man in this world without looking half his age. Mary Hairl had been a good mother to those kids, and he wasn’t sure how he’d manage when she went. He’d do what she did-be firm, listen carefully, and let them make their own mistakes as long as it wasn’t anything too serious. It would never be the same, but they’d muddle through somehow. What choice did they have?