One Down, One To Go: The Prolog

Roger Masters hated his life. Had hated it for some time now, starting seven months ago. Seven months ago Roger had a best friend named Simon Conlan. Simon had been his hero as well as Roger’s most lucrative client. Roger had been best man at both of Simon’s weddings and Roger had returned the favor three times. Roger had even envied Simon after he remarried. Roger had barely even been friends with the three women he had married. Simon Conlan had found in Betsy the soul mate Roger had stopped believing in.

Things went wrong during the fifth month of Betsy’s pregnancy. Betsy had a craving for mint chocolate chip ice cream. Chuck Summers had a craving too but his was for a fourth six pack of Bud. Both men had entered the same intersection at the same time. Unfortunately, only Simon’s light was green. Simon died at the scene and Chuck lasted two hours more.

Roger could have weathered that storm just fine. There was Betsy to think of and the babies. Betsy didn’t have any other family and after his last divorce, neither did Roger. Only one of Simon’s children from his first marriage was close to Betsy and that relationship was problematic thanks to Simon’s hateful ex-wife. Roger had believed for some time he and their mother would be enough for Simon’s sons.

One week after they buried Simon, a doctor found signs of cancer during Betsy’s next checkup. Sound bad enough? There was a seventy-five percent chance treatment would have caused Betsy to miscarry. Betsy had been a friend of Roger’s since college and the reason she had met Simon in the first place. He understood her taking her chances with refusing treatment. Chuck Summers had killed Simon. Betsy was not about to kill his children as well.

That brought them to today. A healthy multiple birth was in the cards but not a healthy mother. Even before her first postnatal cancer checkup it was clear Betsy wasn’t very long for the world. Three months later she was proving that prediction right.

Roger had the distraction of seeing the boys found homes before their mother passed. There was no family available and Betsy and Roger had agreed that at his age it wasn’t a good fit for Roger to play daddy. So while he watched his best friend’s widow waste away, Roger had farmed out his godsons in placements that would ease Betsy’s passing as much as possible. The only thing they disagreed on was Betsy’s insistence each child be placed separately and there be no way connection between children on paper. Oh, and there was the couple from Philadelphia. Roger hadn’t thought they were good enough but time was short and they did have money. Betsy liked the idea of one of the boys growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth.

This brought them to the night before Thanksgiving. Betsy had made peace with never seeing another Christmas. It was missing Thanksgiving that bothered her. The boys were a few days gone now and all fight was gone from Betsy. It was Roger’s will alone that got them here, to November Twenty-Fourth.

“Mister Masters? If you wait much longer...” The nurse didn’t have to finish the sentence. Roger hated that. He noticed it happened a lot around terminal patients. Very few sentences appeared to be completed. Roger was glad for the mental distraction as he entered Betsy’s room. He’d seen anorexia patients who weighed more than Betsy.

“Hey, counselor,” she rasped. Her voice had been ravaged as well. The only part of Betsy that Roger thought untouched was those glorious brown eyes.

“If it isn’t the big New York City book editor. Care for a dance?” Betsy chuckled as well as she could. “I have the Polaroids. They all came in.” Roger held them fanned so Betsy could see her children in their new homes.

“Did Peter...” Not even Betsy was finishing her sentences now. Maybe it was contagious.

“He was here an hour ago but his mother was hot on his heels. Peter wanted to see you but didn’t want to subject you to Anna. He said he loved you, sweetie.” Where Betsy found the strength to put her hand over his Roger never figured out.

“Liar. Peter could never say that about the evil harpy who stole his father away, not in front of his mother.” Those chocolate eyes misted. “But we both know he does love me. He does...” For a second Roger feared that the time had come and he had just lost Betsy.

“Oh god...”

“What time is it, Roger?” Startled, he looked at his watch.

“Two minutes past twelve, Bets. Happy Thanksgiving.” There was no good cheer here. Roger wondered if there ever would be again.

“My last Thanksgiving. Thank you, Roger. You’ve been the most wonderful best friend and godfather I’ve ever heard of.” Roger was crying freely now. Would being brave prolong her life? “Next to my boys, it’s you I’ll miss the most. Live well, Roger. Me and Simon will make sure there’s a place waiting for you when it’s your turn.” Roger started to answer before he realized it wasn’t necessary. Betsy was gone.

As he started on what would turn out to be his own last year of life, Roger always wondered about the boys. Did they have the wonderful lives their mother was determined they have? Roger never got the answer to that question. No one would until at least thirty years later...