Story Sunday: The Fireplace, Installment Five

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The shoebox seemed a likely space to hide a clue, so Mary had opened it. It was full of pictures, a particular photo sitting near the top and too evocative to be overlooked. It was one Margaret had taken of Mary and her father, at Mary’s request. Her thin form compared with her dad’s stout frame revealed that something was wrong. Bags under the eyes, yellowish tint to the skin, and a red rash around her neck just perceptible at the top of the turtleneck she was wearing.

 Mary froze for a moment, recalling the reason she had asked her mother to take the snapshot, which she had never revealed to anyone—not even Margaret. She very much believed it could be the last image ever recorded of her and her father—something for her mom and dad to remember her by once she was gone. Mary had always been a daddy’s girl, so naturally she wanted to pose with her daddy. But she had never breathed a word of what she actually believed. That this would be the last picture of her ever taken.

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It was Mary’s senior year in high school, and for a couple weeks she had not been feeling well. Her appetite had dwindled to practically nothing. Margaret suspected anorexia but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. One morning, when Mary didn’t have the energy to get up for church—which she loved—her parents decided to take her to the emergency room; and she had no energy to argue. Ted carried his daughter to the car, worry etched on his face. He gave his wife a replete glance that communicated his thoughts. Something is terribly wrong.

After a series of tests, the doctors determined Mary was suffering from glandular fever, otherwise known as infectious mononucleosis. The condition was not typically fatal, but Mary’s case was acute. She was experiencing a rare outcome—liver failure. 

Mary could hear the doctor’s fateful word through the fog —irreversible. She was going to die, and she couldn’t even respond to the news. She didn’t have the strength to be afraid, only accept it. She wouldn’t finish her senior year. Never go to college. Never marry. Or have children.

Mary’s parents refused to give up. They began an around-the-clock prayer vigil, contacting every prayer chain they could from their extensive list of friends and family. Outside of a new liver to transplant, Mary’s only hope was the healing power of Almighty God.

Though she met the candidacy requirements for the transplant list, the usual wait in the U.S. was at about a year at the time of Mary’s diagnosis. She didn’t have that long.

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Wiping her eyes, Mary emerged from her parents’ room, having forgotten all about finding the clue. In the hallway she bumped into Daisy, who immediately noticed something was troubling her sister. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Very nearly.”

Any explanation was postponed by Margaret’s voice calling from downstairs, “We have a winner! Return to your starting positions!” They all gathered downstairs to learn that Jon had found all his clues. The bulging sock he carried attested to the victory. A huge smile graced his face. He was congratulated all around, some more begrudgingly than others.

“Okay, so now for second place. Ready, set, go!” Margaret announced. The players began to disperse. All but Mary.

“What’s up, sis?” Jon, who had no reason to rush off with the others spoke with genuine care and concern. But he surmised that Mary simply was stumped on a clue.

Recognizing this assumption, Mary was quick to deflect. “I know where my next clue is.” She headed slowly toward the stairs. But did she really want to go back in that room? The picture had conjured up another memory, something that took place in that very room—something Mary wasn’t sure she could bear to think about.