Five Miles to Paradise

9

The doctor immediately suggested a trip to Alabama or Georgia to visit other clinicians he'd heard of who might be able to help her, but Rayanne refused all treatment and demanded that Heck take her home at once. There was a steely calm in her eyes that told Heck there would be no argument. No compromise. She would let Nature take its course.

Heck told her as they drove home they could sell the house and take their savings and seek treatment, but she turned a deaf ear to him. He read the hopelessness in her eyes.

"Who would buy it?" she'd asked.

Nobody, these days. 

That truth was left unsaid between them.

So, he helped her out of the old sedan and up the front steps. Heck believed that from the moment Rayanne crossed the threshold, she willed herself to slip away as quickly as possible. 

Although Rayanne was always ready to help a needy soul, she was mortified by thoughts of burdening others. Even her loving husband.

He helped her undress and slip beneath the covers. He looked deeply into her eyes. He felt she knew immediately that he could never stand by her bedside and watch her waste away.

She flashed a hesitant smile and whispered, "It's o.k. You've got a job to do. Go out and protect us, Sheriff. Go on. I'll be fine."

Heck went downstairs and got on the phone and called Sibbie Gurdwin, a retired nurse who attended Rayanne's church. He explained Rayanne's condition. Sibbie agreed to come right over. 

Sibbie moved in and took over Rayanne's care, looking after her like Rayanne was her own daughter. Heck got busy and stayed away from the house. He prayed Rayanne understood.

Near the end, it got so bad, Rayanne moaned for hours on end. On those days, Heck's patrols seemed endless. He'd drive from sunup until sundown and catch a catnap at the office. Then, in the middle of the night, he would drive by his place and look for the light on the porch. It was the signal Heck had arranged with Sibbie.

As long as the light burned, Rayanne lived.

Sibbie remained silent about Heck's long absences. When he lighted late at night or early in the mornings, coming home to change his shirt or grab a bite of dinner, Sibbie saw the haunted look of fear in his eyes. 

She had seen the look many times before. No words could help Heck at this point, so Sibbie did the only thing she could do, she nursed Rayanne.

Day and night, the porch light burned. Then late one night as he swung by the house, Heck's heart sank. 

He saw that the porch was dark. 

The light had been turned off. He pulled the sedan up by the curb in front of his house and sat there. His mind went blank. He felt destitute and numb. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular. He just felt empty inside, like something deep within him had drained out of his body, too.

Finally, he forced himself out of the car and up the steps. The house felt strangely vacant in the late night air. Cold. Desolate. As usual, the front door was unlocked. He softly opened it. It was well after midnight, and he had a passing notion that Sibbie might be sleeping.

The door had just closed when Sibbie's voice broke the silence.

"She went easy, Heck. I know you'll find comfort in that later on, after you get over the first shock that's hitting you right about now.

I've cleaned her up and put fresh clothes on her. She's got peace, now. She truly has.

You can go up and see her, if you like. Say your goodbyes. I know you've been kinda skiddish 'bout stayin' close by. Don't feel bad, son. Lotsa folks are that way. We all deal with this kind of thing in our own ways. Everybody's different.

She was took care of, Heck, and she knew you loved her. But you go on up now, and let her know you'll miss her. Go on, son.

She's waiting upstairs for you. Go on, now. Go say goodbye to her, Heck."