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said Cory, who wouldn’t look away from his father.
    “Me too!” chimed in Jackie.
    Jack took several deep breaths as he prepared to do what had to be done. His kids would be gone forever in a few minutes, and he was determined to make these last moments as memorable and happy as possible.
    “Got something for you,” said Jack. He’d had Sammy bring the three boxes to him. He slowly took them from the cabinet next to his bed and handed one to Cory and one to Jackie. He held the last one and gazed at Mikki. “For you.”
    “What is it?” she asked, trying to seem disinterested, though he could tell her curiosity was piqued.
    “Come see.”
    She sighed, strolled over, and took the box from her father.
    “Open them,” said Jack.
    Cory and Jackie opened the boxes and looked down at the piece of metal with the purple ribbon attached.
    Mikki’s was different.
    Fred said to her, “That’s a Bronze Star. That’s for heroism in combat. Your dad was a real hero. The other ones are Purple Hearts for being… well, hurt in battle,” he finished, looking awkwardly at Cory and Jackie.
    Jack said, “Open the box and think of me. Always be with you that way.”
    Even Bonnie seemed genuinely moved by this gesture, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. But Jack wasn’t looking at her. He was watching his daughter. She touched the medal carefully, and her mouth started to tremble. When she looked up and saw her dad watching her, she closed the box and quickly stuck it in her bag.
    Cecilia was the last to leave. She sat next to him and patted his hand with her wrinkled one.
    “How do you feel, Jack, really?”
    “About dying or saying good-bye to my kids for the last time?” he said weakly.
    “I mean, do you feel like you want to let go?”
    Jack turned to face her. The confusion, and even anger, seeping into his features was met by a radiant calm in hers.
    “I’m in hospice, Cee. I’m dead.”
    “Not yet you’re not.”
    Jack looked away, sucked down a tortured breath. “Matter of time. Hours.”
    “Do you want to let go?” she asked again.
    “Yes. I do.”
    “Okay, honey, okay.”
    After Cecilia left, Jack lay there in the bed. His last ties to his family had been severed. It was over. He didn’t need to pull out the calendar. There would be no more dates to cross off. His hand moved to the call button. It was time now. He had prearranged this with the doctor. The machines keeping him alive would be turned off. He was done. It was time to go. All he wanted now was to see Lizzie. He conjured her face up in his mind’s eye. “It’s time, Lizzie,” he said. “It’s time.” The sense of relief was palpable.
    However, his hand moved away from the button when Mikki came back into the room and held up the medal. “I just wanted to say that… that this was pretty cool.”
    Father and daughter gazed awkwardly at each other, as though they were two long-lost friends reunited by chance. There was something in her eyes that Jack had not seen there for a long time.
    “Mikki?” he said, his voice cracking.
    She ran across the room and hugged him. Her breath burned against his cold neck, warming him, sending packets of energy, of strength, to all corners of his body. He squeezed back, as hard as his depleted energy would allow.
    She said, “I love you so much. So much.”
    Her body shook with the pain, the trauma of a child soon to be orphaned.
    When she stood, Mikki kept her gaze away from him. When she spoke, her voice was husky. “Good-bye, Daddy.”
    She turned and rushed from the room.
    “Good-bye, Michelle,” Jack mumbled to the empty room.

10
    Jack lay there for hours, until day evaporated to night. The clock ticked, and he didn’t move. His breathing was steady, buoyed by the machine that replenished his lungs, keeping him alive. Something was burning in his chest that he could not exactly identify or even precisely locate. His thoughts were focused on his last embrace with his daughter, her