The Book of What If

Prologue

Winter 2040

It had been two hard years since heart failure took John’s wife, Mary. She was a retired schoolteacher who shared a modest life with him in Northern California. John, a professor who had been disabled for some time due to failing health, was left lost and brokenhearted.

John’s life wasn’t always as difficult. He was a strong, active, and accomplished man. Nevertheless, arthritis took a toll on nearly every joint in his body. Over the years his vitality waned leaving only a faded sparkle in his once bright eyes. Then the horrible personal tragedy struck—Mary died. Any sparkle remaining in his hazel eyes was extinguished leaving only two black holes so powerful that even light could not escape them.

Cremation became Mary’s ultimate fate; she wanted her ashes dispersed to the Pacific Ocean. John prepared for the grim task as friends wheeled him to the edge of the boat. Tears abounded with the recitation of heartbreaking prayers. Reluctantly, he dispersed her ashes to the waves. He had thoughts of tossing himself in after his love, but he knew that some strong, young swimmer aboard the boat would surely jump in to rescue him. Instead, he fell into a drowning sea of tears. His tears joined Mary’s ashes in the vast body of water.

It took the sale of their humble home, a small bank account, and whatever little Social Security John received to move him into elder care. At first he was situated at a local facility, but he fought the decision. He insisted on being moved to the state of his birth, Ohio. He found a new facility located southwest of Cleveland in Solon. They were accepting new patients, so he demanded to be placed there.

Why in the world would you want to be moved to Solon, Ohio, Mr. Farinacci? asked his caseworker.

John responded in a diaphanous tone, I have nothing left. I have nothing left but this.

He handed the picture of a gravestone to the man.

But Mr. Farinacci, you are here now. The weather is fine unlike like the brutal winters you’d endure in Northeast Ohio. Besides, the problem comes down to a matter of finances, he summated coldly.

John handed the caseworker a slip of paper. On it was written a set of ten numbers.

This is an account number. It’s an account I’ve kept secret. It’s all the money I have left. I’m sorry that I’ve kept it from you. It’s not much…just about ten thousand dollars. Please use it to transfer me, he begged.

This is quite irregular, Mr. Farinacci. I’m not sure if I can accomplish this for you. Whose grave is this on the picture, and why have you handed it to me? the caseworker asked, exhibiting a hint of empathy.

"It’s someone I knew long ago. I loved her. Ah, I mean I love her very much. I want to be near her. Mary is lost to the sea now. I want to be near her now. I need to be near her…!" John repeated over and over again, insistently tapping upon the gravestone picture he’d placed in the caseworker’s hand.

I—uh—I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Farinacci, the caseworker stuttered.

If you are able to do this, if I am able to be transferred, please do one more favor for me, John pled.

Certainly, if it’s within my power, responded his caseworker.

"Before I am transferred, can someone please take me to the ocean? I must go there one more time. I have to explain to Mary once more why I must leave this place. I must explain this to Mary one last time!" he repeated just prior to a surge of tears.

Mr. Farinacci, I will drive you there personally. I promise, pledged the caseworker as he grasped the old man’s hand. With an expression of deep appreciation, John tenderly patted his.

*     *     *

John’s caseworker saw to the task of completing his transfer. He was on his way to the state of his birth, but before he left, he held his caseworker to another promise he’d made. The man drove John to the Pacific.

The lapping of brine water filled John’s ears on that windy winter day by the sea. Foghorns blared as the sun struggled to take command of the sky. John commenced to say what desperately needed to be said.

Mary, if you can hear me please understand. You taught me how to love again. I thought that I’d forgotten after all those years suffering from a hollow, hardened heart. Thank you so much for what you’ve done for me, how greatly you loved me, and took care of me. I will always hold you close to my heart: the heart you renewed, he said, raising an open hand across the waters and then over his heart.

I will carry you with me wherever I go, Mary, but I do need to go. I need to see to unfinished business. You know what it is. A hole left in my heart from a long time ago; it has pained me. You know that more than anyone. Now that you rest with the waves, I must go for the sake of my spirit. For the sake of my immortal soul I must be near her again. Please understand as you always have, and please know that I will find a way back here to be with you. Someday, I will return to this sacred place.

Both men stood in tears after John’s declaration. The caseworker held the old man tenderly to console him.

I want to thank you, sir. You made my transfer happen and you did it promptly. You have no idea how much this means to me. I will never forget you, friend, John promised.

And I will never forget you… Mr. Farinacci, you just said that you want to be returned to this place. Do you wish to join your wife in these waters when the time comes?

Yes, John answered, his gaze drifting.

Then, if it’s all right with you, I will try to help with that as well…when the time comes.

In Ohio winter raged with below zero temperatures, wind, and sheets of lake effect snow. Everyone stayed inside as much as possible; especially, the frail seniors inhabiting the old age home. John certainly hunkered down; his blood was still thin from the sunny West Coast. Nevertheless, he smiled with the knowledge that he was but fifteen miles away from Holy Cross Cemetery.

He used his time to study staff schedules, bus routes, and save whatever coins he could get his hands on. From his bed he planned and planned hoping to visit her grave at the first sign of spring. He also worked at regaining his strength—strength he would surely need to carry out his scheme.

Winter passed, and the blooms of spring dotted the landscape surrounding the home. The climate moderated nicely with not a hint of the vicious weather that raged only a month earlier. It was John’s best chance to slip away.

The nurses, nurses’ aides, and caseworkers were all very busy tending to patients, organizing bocce ball tournaments, and conducting sing-alongs to old musicals. John wasn’t at all interested in those activities. His singular mission in life was to get dressed, slip out of the facility, and take public transportation to the cemetery.

As the sun rose over a balmy day in the midst of May, he awoke. John looked out of his window into the inviting sunshine.

This is the day for me to go.

He slipped his fragile frame from his bed and tiptoed toward the closet. Once there he slipped into a long sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and a light jacket. With his shoehorn, he slipped on a pair of no lace sneakers. He dressed as quickly and quietly as possible. Now he was ready to meet the day. It was the day that would reunite him with his first true love. She was his once in a lifetime love—the love he had pined over for nearly sixty years.

John had observed the predictable schedules of the facility’s staff. He knew their every move, and even though he moved slowly with his cane, he would go undetected. The first obstacle was the nurses’ station at the top of the hall. Three nurses were on station that day: One was immersed in an eBay search. Another had her back toward him as she prepared the wing’s morning meds. The third had her nose deeply buried in staff schedules for the upcoming week.

Like an aged ninja, John stealthily slipped by the first hurdle. He slowly made his way down the long hallway to the second obstacle—the outer door. There sat a guardhouse used for the protection of the infirmed patients. As he predicted, the guard was completely engrossed in a double egg McMuffin, coffee, and the local newspaper. Bite after bite fell from the sandwich into the guard’s hungry mouth. All the while, he remained distracted by perusing the outdated rag. His feast was punctuated by long gulps of the extra-large brew. As the old man expected, the guard became lost in a long, protracted swig. With impeccable timing, he slipped by the guard to freedom.

Now to the bus stop and hopes that no one will see that I’m missing until I’m well underway.

There would be three bus transfers on his way to the cemetery that morning. John had the routes dedicated to memory. Thankfully, the appropriate bus pulled up to the stop ahead of schedule. The old man fought his way up the steps, fed the fare box, collected his transfers, and was on his way. He looked back toward the old age home. There was no evidence he’d been detected. The hydraulic brakes released a blast of air as the oversized wheels of the behemoth spun; he smiled as the bus brought him ever closer to his destination.

As usual for modern times, people on the bus were self-absorbed and loath to share human interaction; especially, to interact with an old man who had more wrinkles than a pachyderm. That was just fine with the octogenarian. His mission was stealth; moreover, it was transcendent of anyone’s indifference.

*     *     *

Fond memories of youth flooded John’s mind as he passed through the streets of Greater Cleveland. Exuberant memories abounded as if they happened only yesterday. As if driving around town in his first fast car, a car he nursed and tuned and detailed, he felt young again. In his mind he fantasized that he was on his way to visit the most beautiful and intelligent young lady he’d ever set eyes upon. He realized that Holy Cross Cemetery was just around the corner; his heart raced with anticipation.

Carefully, one foot in front of the other, cane in hand while grasping the handrail with the other, John exited the bus. The grand gates of the cemetery stood directly before him. He hadn’t been there for over twenty years, but he knew exactly where to go. With immense anticipation, he slowly made his way to the modest, flat gravestone that lay flush to the ground. It was the gravestone she shared with her brother. Finally, he was there.

Waves of every emotion swept over him as his knees hit the ground in front of her grave. His tears met the deep sparkling wetness of the fresh spring grass as he focused on her name, Catherine Rita Engel.

It’s been so long, Cathy. I’m so very sorry, he cried. I lived so far away, but now I’m back. I’ll be here to tend this stone and recall the wonderful times we shared.

He began to groom the slightly overgrown grass around her gravestone. Then, with the sleeve of his jacket, he polished it.

"It’s been so long, he repeated. If I could only make it up to you… Somehow, I must make it up to you. If I had only stayed with you when you asked—when you begged… If I had only stayed with you when you needed me the most," he sobbed. Upon recapturing a modicum of composure, he fell silent. He hoped that his love would have a message for him.

With a great amount of effort, he reached down to the stone. His lips met its coldness as he kissed her name. His fingers carefully traced along the edges of its finely sculpted letters. He was unable to remain on his knees in such an awkward position for long. After all, he was lucky to have gotten down to his knees in the first place. He struggled to turn himself around, but he finally managed to rest his head against it. For in his mind the stone didn’t feel hard and cold. Rather, it felt as she used to feel when she rested his head beside her soft, warm breasts. The comforting thought of her touch arched about him. Soon his tears ceased as he drifted away to who knows where.

*     *     *

Once adrift, John saw an apparition. Young and beautiful, it was Catherine as he first envisioned her in a dream as a child—a dream of her that happened years before they actually met. She floated before him wearing a silvery, flowing gown. Her silken, long jet-black hair blew in the wind. It reflected light like a well-polished mirror. She was every bit an angel. At first she said nothing. She merely offered John her marvelous bright smile.

Catherine…my God, you are here! he exclaimed.

Shhh, she insisted, putting her index finger to her lips. Be quiet in this place, my love. You needn’t worry that it’s been so long. Time has no meaning where I am.

Catherine, I’ve missed you so desperately, he bawled.

Please don’t cry, John. Please don’t weep…Johnny Juanny. Remember how I always used to call you that? she asked.

Of course, how could I ever forget? he whispered.

The old man dried his tears. As his eyes cleared, he noticed that she held a book in her hands. What book do you have, Cathy? he asked.

It is a book of a well-lived life. It’s our book, my love. May I share it with you?

I left you just before we could have begun such a life together. I’ve suffered and struggled with guilt ever since that day…that horrible day I left you by your door.

That’s your perception of it, John. But it is—incomplete.

What do you mean?

There is more to it. Yes, you did leave me that day; you left me in that reality. But there are an infinite number of realities, she insisted. In this reality, my favorite, you stayed with me and we went on to create a beautiful life. It’s the life we were always meant to spend together.

I don’t understand! he wailed.

Please, John. Please calm yourself. You became my greatest benefactor, my husband, and the father of my children. We spent a gracious life together.

How could such a thing be possible?

It is in our book, dearest one. May I share it with you? she reiterated. I’d like to show you at least part of it today…the most important part.

Please, of course, he insisted, brimming with anticipation.

"You deserve to see this book. No, actually you deserve to live it. It’s called The Book of What If. I’ll show you our life from my point of view. I can share it with a simple touch. May I touch you?" she asked.

Of course, Catherine, I’ve longed for your touch.

Unperturbed by gravity, the angel glided toward him. She slowly extended her right arm to touch his forehead with her dainty finger. A cool blue spark arced from her finger to his head. He closed his eyes and flourished in her tenderness. Then he entered a completely different realm; it was a place from long ago. He entered a place where he viewed events from behind Catherine’s eyes.

Chapter One

Catherine Engel

Fall 1980

It was very early in the morning—the darkest part of the night. As I awoke, I recalled a line from Virginia Woolf’s esoteric novel, The Waves. It had something to do with the sun not rising. It hasn’t risen yet, I reflected. After all, I was the master of the obvious.

Despite the darkness that ruled the sky, I peered out of my bedroom window into a somber murk. It was as if the darkness became a metaphor to the darkness of my life. I was struck by its implications. How I prayed for the sun to rise. However, I didn’t wake up early that morning to philosophize; I had to leave for an early shift at work. It would be another day of painstaking labor at the ambulance service. And what did I get for my troubles? Wolves! Wolves, who slapped my ass, groped my apples, and told me the horrible things they wanted to do to me…or what they wanted me to do to them. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could endure the abuse, but what choice did I have? I hated the job, but I had to keep a modest roof over my head.

Work! The metaphor of darkness hit me once again, this time even harder in a word that rhymed—murk. The sun was still repressed by the gloomy, mistful morning. I began to feel hopeless staring out into the darkened yard of my humble Robin Street quad. My life had been engulfed by darkness—nothing else in sight—nothing left on the horizon. How could such an impasse befall a twenty-one-year-old? Hells bells, I felt like a kid, and I was. Why did I drop out of school? All the money was gone, but there had to be a grant or a student loan—something more I could’ve done. I was getting fantastic grades for crying out loud. I should have done more.

There was one bright spot on the horizon. I saw an old friend from high school at the green grocer a few days prior—his name was, Michael Markovich. We had a friendly chat and a few laughs recalling all the goofy stuff we got into back in the day, but the conversation led me into another direction.

Do you know the whereabouts of John Farinacci, Michael? I asked.

Michael took a moment—smile dimming. I thought he might have become angry with me. Quickly enough his smile returned, albeit subdued.

Oh yeah, John. He’s still around town. I see him sometimes. How long has it been since you’ve seen him?

I saw him right before I left for college. We were steady that last year of school…thick as thieves. You know, he always entertained me. Johnny Juanny was always such a goof that way…a real dingbat. I’ve missed him… I’ve missed him a lot.

Actually, I was torn inside wondering why I’d let John go. He was dedicated to me. He followed me around like a puppy dog. And we really had many wonderful times together. He said that he loved me. I said it back. How I wish I hadn’t crushed him.

Johnny Juanny, huh? Michael teased.

Well, please don’t mention that to him. It was my nickname for him. I’ve called him that ever since I set eyes upon him at Cardinal High.

If you want I can set up a meeting. I was planning on seeing him and Ron this Friday evening. You remember Ron, don’t you?

Yeah, of course. Who else would tell the truancy nun that the metro train had a flat and they made him get out to push?

Ha, yeah. That was a good one! Well, you can come by my place if you want.

Michael pulled out a slip of paper and scribbled down his address for me.

Thank you, Michael, I said as I accepted the scrap of paper.

I gave him a friendly hug. It was a hug I later realized was completely misinterpreted.

*     *     *

It wasn’t Friday evening yet. I still needed to catch my early shift. I ate, got dressed, jumped into my jalopy, and drove off into the pre-dawn darkness for my daily dose of abuse. Yes, it was time for work and the wolves. I passed through the ambulance company’s garage on the way to the time clock. Apparently, a rig got messed up pretty bad on a run directly before my shift. Someone with some kind of stomach troubles threw up coating the entire bay. Probably a drunk, I figured knowing I’d be tasked to clean it. As I clocked in I noticed the manager, Larry, lurking about. He was the one and only person I could’ve reported sexual harassment to, but he was the prime offender.

Hey, sweet cheeks, it’s about time you clocked in. I got a cleanup on aisle ten for you—a big one, so sashay your awesome little booty to the garage and get to work. Don’t spare the sponges and disinfectant.

Silently, I turned and headed the opposite direction. It was the long way to the garage. I aimed to avoid his probing eyes and hands, but he shouted me down.

Hey titty bang-bang, what do you say to your daddy?

I stopped in my tracks, gritted my teeth, and rolled my eyes. I said what he expected me to say.

Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it, sir!

That’s my girl, he replied. With that attitude and a blowjob, maybe you’ll get a raise next quarter, he blathered before ambling off to his hellhole office.

Damming up tears, I headed for the garage. Sure enough, the bed and bay were a mess. It smelled god awful too. First things first, I thought. I grabbed a surgical mask and some Vick’s Vaporub I kept handy for these situations. I lined my mask with the salve and threw on a throwaway gown over my uniform. Then it was time to mix up the Lysol and grab some sponges. I saw to it.

Bed, bay, and floor, on hands and knees I scrubbed and scrubbed. I was insistent on getting it all shiny clean the first time so my scumbag manager wouldn’t be on my case the rest of the day.

Louie, one of the drivers I had the displeasure of working with, came along. He noticed me on my hands and knees cleaning the ambulance bed. I didn’t realize he was behind me until I felt one hand grab my breast and his other grab my ass. In a reflex action, I swung wildly to my rear. He lurched out of the path of my fist.

You sonofabitch, Louie! You should find a cold shower somewhere.

Now—now, that sounds like sexual harassment to me, Kate.

The name is Catherine, and if you ever do that again, well…

Well—what will you do, Kate?

Louie, you have a wife and two kids, don’t you? Maybe they should know what a dang reprobate you are!

Louie got in my face. I tried to be brave; I didn’t flinch.

Go ahead and try it, bitch! he threatened.

Luckily, there was a distraction. The owner’s son blew by. Louie gave me a wide berth to wish the brat, Brad, a good morning.

Suck up!

Hey! Good morning, Brad, Louie greeted.

Good morning, Louie, Brad replied. Oh, and there’s Kate. Hey baby, you look mighty sexy in that gown.

As soon as they were out of sight I kicked the bucket across the garage and threw the sponge to the floor. I took a seat on the ambulance’s back bumper and broke down in tears.

*     *     *

Thankfully, the rest of the day was uneventful. I suppose the wolves got it all out of their systems early that morning. I had a couple of non-emergency transport runs with Louie and ignored the rotten creep for the most part. We brought the rig back to the garage, and as usual, I had to button it up while Louie shared some off color jokes with Brad.

Suck up! Suck up!

Anyway, before I knew it, it was time to go home. I expected Lindsey to be waiting there for me. She knew the secret hiding place where I kept my key. We had planned to go to the library and have a bite to eat.

Sure enough she let herself in. She sat at the kitchen table busily rolling a pin-size joint for us to smoke before venturing off. I sat down beside her and asked, How was your day, pal?

Not bad. You know, I can’t stand my brothers and I’m really sick of living at home.

Well, a job might cure that, Lindsey.—She looked at me sidelong.

So Miss Know-It-All, how was your day? she asked.

Besides some groping and foul language…not too bad.

Hmmm, how’s that job thing working out for you, Cat? she asked sardonically. Then she lit up the joint and took a drag.

C’mon, Lindsey, at least you have a family that cares for you. I gotta keep this job and a roof over my head.

She passed me the doob, and I took a long toke off of it. I felt the warmth of its smoke clear down to my toes. With a head rush my anxieties melted away. We passed each other the joint and smoked it down until it was a tiny bit of ash barely clinging to the roach clip.

After it was all done, my sensibilities kicked in. I knew this habit was bad and bad for me, but all my friends did it. We’d been doing it since our freshman year of high school. As quickly as objections popped into my head, I dismissed them. It was time for the library.

What books ya gonna get today, Cat? asked Lindsey as she fired up her car—a vehicle only two percent better than my clunker.

I have it all scoped out, I replied. "First of all, I’ll get the latest edition of The Lancet. This month I’m eager to read the article about the effects of irradiation on thyroid-autoantibody production. I have to return Rindler’s Essential Relativity. I’m hoping they’ve received Zuber’s Quantum Field Theory. They ordered it for me on interlibrary loan."

Lindsey shook her noggin as if unclogging her brain.

"Cathy, you lost me at the corner of Lancet and thyroid. Frankly, I’m not even sure what a thyroid does. I’m getting a new book. It’s called The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I sure hope it’s not over my head. Irradiated thyroid, whatever, with a side of relativity certainly is," she confessed.

We got lucky. All our reading material was in.

On to dinner! proclaimed Lindsey as we hopped into her car. She headed toward the nearest restaurant.

As we plopped ourselves down in a booth at IHOP, we began to discuss an entirely different topic.

*     *     *

So whatcha got goin’ this weekend, girl?

Well, I have something to do on Friday night.

A date? questioned Lindsey, one eyebrow raised.

No, not exactly, I answered coyly.

So it is a date! she insisted.

No. You see, a few days ago I saw a guy from my high school at the grocery store. His name is Michael Markovich.

Did you go out with him in school? Lindsey probed.

Hell no. You are a dang, flamin’ pain in the ass, Lindsey! You know that? No. I asked him about a classmate of ours, John Farinacci. He said that John is still in town. As it turns out Michael is asking John over Friday night too.

Oooo, so you like this John guy, huh?

You dang threap-creep, Lindsey! I roared, shaking my fist at her. Well, I won’t kid you. Yeah, I like him. John and I went out in high school. We were an item…I guess you could say, I admitted, my tone softening.

So what happened? insisted Lindsey, gesturing with both palms up.

I left for college.

So? Kent is not that far away, she pressed.

Lindsey, I was laser focused on school. Pre-med was the only thing on my mind. I didn’t want anything getting in the way…not even John.

So you loved him, huh? Lindsey surmised.

She shot me her empathetic look.

Suddenly, a tear ran down my cheek. I scooped it up and answered, Yeah, I still do.

Chapter Two

Friday

Come Friday I was up and off to work early again. Actually, I could have opted to go in an hour later, but I preferred to get home sooner. I needed to wash the remnants of those freakin’ Neanderthals’ groping hands and peering eyes off of me. I needed a hot bath and a little make-up. Not that I was ever much for wearing make-up, nail polish, mascara, and all that girly jazz. This tomboy