The Legacy: Making Wishes Come True Read online

  “You’ve enriched my life, Jenny. You’ve changed it forever.”

  “I couldn’t go with my parents when they died. You can’t come with me when I die.”

  “We’ll all die someday, but then we’ll be together again.”

  “I know that. But just because we can’t take anything or anyone with us when we die, it doesn’t mean we can’t leave something meaningful behind.”

  “So that’s why you want to write your will?”

  “I’m very rich, aren’t I?” Jenny answered her grandmother’s question with a question of her own.

  “You know you have a significant trust fund set up in your name.”

  Jenny nodded purposefully. “I want you to read something I’ve been working on for the past few days.” She opened the spiral notebook, extracted a single sheet of paper, and watched her grandmother’s face as she read silently. Naturally, she knew the contents by heart.

  Dear (insert selected person’s name here),

  You don’t know me, but I know about you and because I do, I want to give you a special gift. Accompanying this letter is a certified check, my gift to you with no strings attached, to spend on anything you want. No one knows about this gift except you, and you are free to tell anyone you want.

  Who I am isn’t really important, only that you and I have much in common. Through no fault of our own, we have endured pain and isolation and have spent many days in a hospital feeling lonely and scared. I hoped for a miracle, but most of all I hoped for someone to truly understand what I was going through.

  I can’t make you live longer. I can’t stop you from hurting, but I can give you one wish, as someone did for me. My wish helped me find purpose, faith, and courage.

  Friendship reaches beyond time, and the true miracle is in giving, not receiving. Use my gift to fulfill your wish.

  Your Forever Friend,

  JWC

  Her grandmother looked puzzled when she finished reading the letter Jenny had so carefully composed. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

  “I want to leave something meaningful behind. A special trust fund for other sick teenagers.”

  “For kids you’ve met at the hospital?”

  “No. For complete strangers. And not just kids who have cancer, but any kids who are terminally ill, with only a short time to live.”

  “But why strangers?”

  “Why not strangers? Once I’m gone, everybody will be a stranger.”

  “Well, what’s this about a wish that someone gave to you. What wish was that?”

  “This one, of course. That you help set up this fund for me. I want to call it One Last Wish, and I want you to handle all the details.

  Her grandmother’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I haven’t got time not to be serious.” Jenny covered her grandmother’s hands with hers. “You’ve always said you would do anything for me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, this is what I want you to do. This is what I want to leave behind. I know Richard’s father will help you if you ask. And I know you can make it work.”

  “But you haven’t even signed your name to this letter. How will a recipient know where the money has come from?”

  “I don’t want anyone to know. Not ever. That’s the other part of my wish—absolute secrecy. What good is a good deed if it isn’t done in secret? No one can ever know. You and Mr. Holloway can figure out how to keep it a secret.”

  Marian sat speechless while Jenny watched a dozen emotions cross her face. “I’m not crazy, Grandmother. I know what I’m asking. I know it won’t be easy, but I trust you to make it all happen. To make my last wish come true.”

  “And this certified check you speak of—did you have an amount in mind?”

  Jenny took a deep breath. “I want to give each person one hundred thousand dollars. This money will be my legacy, as it was my father’s and his father’s before him. I mean, what good is money if you can’t spend it? Or hope, if you can’t pass it on?”

  Twenty-Eight

  KNOWING THAT THE people she loved most in the world were close by gave Jenny a sense of well-being as the line between reality and unreality began to blur.

  One afternoon, she woke from a deep sleep to see Kimbra sitting beside her bed, reading a magazine. “Is that you?” she asked. “Didn’t you come at Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes, but now I’m back.” Kimbra smiled, dropped the magazine, and leaned toward Jenny. “It’s almost time for Christmas. Your grandmother called the other night and said you were asking for me, so she arranged for me to fly down for the weekend.”

  “That’s nice. I was wishing I could see you one more time.”

  “What’s this ‘one more time’? Don’t you know you can’t get rid of me?”

  Jenny tried to smile, but she felt tired, so tired. “You look good. What is that you’re wearing?”

  “It’s my letter jacket for basketball. Do you like it?” Kimbra stood and twirled so that Jenny could see the navy-and-gold jacket.

  “I like it.”

  Kimbra sat back down. “I miss your letters to me.”

  “I want to write, but it’s hard for me to hold a pen. And my handwriting’s scribbly-looking.”

  “I know what you mean. I had to learn to write left-handed after I lost my arm. It took me ages to make my writing look legible.”

  Jenny reached out and touched Kimbra’s empty sleeve. “I can’t imagine you any other way. And someday, someone’s going to like you exactly the way you are.”

  “Not any high school guys. They like the girls with no defects.”

  “Then you’ll find someone in college. I know there’s someone special waiting just for you.”

  Kimbra clasped Jenny’s hand. “Well, I hope some guy likes me even half as much as Richard likes you. You’re lucky. The two of you are a perfect match.”

  “I’ve loved him for years, and now that I know he really loves me back …” She let the sentence trail, and in the silence of the room, the ticking of the bedside clock could be heard. To Jenny, it sounded impatient, as if time wanted her to follow it to some distant universe where both could rest forever. “You’re my best friend, Kimbra.” She clung to her friend’s hand, unwilling to let go of time and place.

  “And you’re my best friend, Jenny.” Kimbra’s voice began to quiver. “You’re not going to do anything dumb, are you?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like … like what Elaine and Noreen did. I don’t want to be the Lone Musketeer.”

  “I can’t promise.” Jenny watched a tear slide down Kimbra’s cheek. “Don’t cry. You’re the tough one, remember?”

  “Not tough enough. I’ll never be tough enough.”

  Jenny hugged her with all the strength she had. “Why don’t you read to me before you go? You know, like old times.”

  “I don’t know if I can.…” Kimbra’s voice was choked.

  “Then just sit and hold my hand. And would you move that silly clock? It sounds like thunder, and it’s giving me a headache.”

  When the weekend was over, and Kimbra had gone, Jenny told her grandmother, “Please take care of my friend. If she doesn’t get a sports scholarship to college, make sure she has the money to go anyway. Will you do that for me?”

  “If it’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  Richard watched helplessly as Jenny went steadily downhill. Mrs. Kelly started her on oxygen round the clock two days after Christmas. Fluid kept building in Jenny’s lungs, and Mrs. Kelly removed it with a syringe. The process was arduous and painful, but at least Jenny could breathe easier afterward.

  Jenny grew obsessed with seeing the new year arrive, so her grandmother allowed her to keep the TV on at all times. It comforted Jenny to glance at it, to hear of the world’s hopes and plans for the brand-new year.

  Richard or her grandmother stayed with Jenny constantly. Richard found himself torn between wan
ting her alive and wanting her suffering to end. Still, the thought of facing a lifetime without her was more than he could stand.

  There were a thousand things he’d longed to tell her. Why had he waited so long? What had he been afraid of?

  On New Year’s Eve, Jenny slipped into a coma. Mrs. Kelly listened to her fluttering heartbeat and shook her head. “Hours, at the most,” she told Richard and Marian.

  “My poor baby.” Her grandmother sat on the opposite side of Jenny’s bed weeping, holding Jenny’s hand and pressing it to her wet cheek.

  “You can make it, Jenny,” Richard whispered in her ear, for Mrs. Kelly had told him that hearing was the last sense a person kept. “Hang on, honey. I know you can make it.”

  In response, Jenny’s chest heaved, and he was certain her hand moved in his.

  On the TV, Richard, Marian, and Mrs. Kelly saw crowds gathering in Times Square. Jenny’s room was cast in an eerie bluish light from the screen. Flakes of snow were falling outside her window. “Here it goes!” the TV announcer shouted, pointing to the ball that would drop down a pole to bring in the New Year.

  A camera aimed at the ball of glowing light and showed it slowly descending as the crowd began to count down in unison. Richard watched Jenny’s chest heave. “Almost,” he whispered.

  The crowd chanted, “Ten, nine, eight, seven …”

  Richard squeezed Jenny’s hand hard, hoping that the pressure would keep her linked to the real world. He felt desperate and determined to grant her her last wish—living to see 1980.

  “… six, five, four, three …”

  He willed her chest to rise once more and fill with life-giving oxygen.

  “ … two, one! Happy New Year!”

  The crowd in Times Square erupted into one jubilant shout. Noisemakers and car horns sounded, firecrackers went off, and music began to play. “You made it, Jenny,” Richard whispered in her ear. Time seemed slow but only seconds had passed. Jenny’s chest stopped heaving. Suddenly her grip on Richard’s hand went limp and motionless. Richard felt numbness steal over him. He watched as Mrs. Kelly placed a stethoscope over Jenny’s heart. “She’s left us,” Mrs. Kelly whispered.

  In the background, from the TV, Richard heard revelers singing, “ ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind …’ ”

  Richard climbed slowly along the rugged granite surface of the towering rocks, feeling for the crevice that would lead him to the entrance of the cave. How many years has it been? The last time he’d come to this spot, Jenny had been with him. Beloved Jenny.

  His meeting with Marian hours before had brought back a rush of memories.

  Marian had received him from her sickbed, tucked beneath a comforter, looking frail and old. “We must discuss the One Last Wish Foundation and then a project of my own,” Marian had told him in a thin voice once he’d taken a chair beside her bed.

  Through the years, his father had handled One Last Wish, investing Jenny’s inheritance shrewdly through the economic boom years of the 1980s. The foundation was worth millions, and all the money was being given to ill teenagers, just as Jenny had requested.

  “Jenny would be pleased to know how well the foundation’s doing,” Richard said. He looked across the room and saw that the portrait of Jenny painted years before was now hanging where Marian could see it from her bed.

  “I had it shipped over from the house in Boston this summer,” Marian explained. “She looks real enough to step off the canvas, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, unprepared for the bombardment of emotions churning through him.

  “I miss her.”

  “I miss her too.”

  “Pity you’ve never married,” Marian said quietly.

  “I’ve never found the right woman. And now I’m pretty set in my ways. Besides, I’m busy running the firm.” Richard shrugged and forced his eyes away from the portrait. “How can I help you, Marian? Tell me about this project you mentioned.”

  She shuffled through a sheaf of papers and handed them to him. “These explain everything in detail, but roughly, I’m in the process of establishing a retreat for young people like Jenny.”

  “A retreat?”

  “A camp, a resort where very sick kids can come via special invitation. There, they can meet one another and simply enjoy the company of others like themselves. I’ve never forgotten how important it was to Jenny to be with others who were ill, as she was.

  “I bought the property years ago, and over the past few years have had a complex built as fine as any luxury hotel. There are stables, pools, lakes for boating, and special medical facilities on the site. It’s to be a place of rest and recreation where these young people can stay—perhaps live for a while and enjoy themselves.”

  He’d known that his father had been working on a project for Marian before his death, but had no idea this was it. “How can I help?” Richard asked. “Do you need me to go over the paperwork?”

  Marian reached out and covered Richard’s hand with hers. “Richard, I need you to run Jenny House … That’s what I’m calling it.” I need you to oversee its administration. To staff it, direct it, bring in kids to enjoy it. To see that its daily operation runs smoothly.”

  “I’m an attorney. Surely there are others—”

  “You are the only person who loved Jenny as I did. The only one possible to implement this project. One Last Wish is Jenny’s legacy. Jenny House is mine.” Marian told him to think it over, but not to linger over his answer.

  Once he’d left her, he’d come to the beach, hoping to figure out some kind of compromise. Managing such a place was out of his expertise. He wasn’t qualified. He couldn’t possibly do it.

  His walk along the deserted beach had done nothing but add to his turmoil. Richard’s fingers found the well-worn crevice in the rocky face of the cliff. He crouched and ducked inside, and when he straightened, he stood alone beneath the magnificent vaulted ceiling. Blue light spilled through the tiny opening high above. It seemed just as he and Jenny had left it years before.

  He felt a knot wedge in his throat as he remembered kneeling with her on the stone floor and kissing her, holding her, loving her. If only she could be with him now. Hadn’t he done everything possible to hold on to her?

  “Why did you die, Jenny?” He gazed around the cave, along the cool, hard floor. He was alone. So alone.

  Something glinted in the weak light, catching his eye. Richard walked toward the faint shimmer, stooped, and picked up the tattered remains of what had once been a picnic basket. Inside lay what was left of a velvet jewelry box. Time and salt corrosion and crabs had left the box in shreds.

  He pulled away the remnants of the box and stared down—inside was a solid gold ID bracelet. He held it up. On one side was engraved: Richard. On the other: With Love, Jenny. He felt as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

  Jenny had brought it to the cave years before, it had to be so. Why hadn’t she given it to him? He’d never know, but he’d discovered this golden treasure and it was his—rightfully so. A gift from Jenny.

  He put the bracelet around his wrist and shut the clasp. For a moment, Jenny’s presence seemed so real that he thought she might suddenly appear, laughing, from behind the rocks. Jenny Crawford, One Last Wish, Jenny House … He belonged to all of them. He had his answer for Marian.

  Richard hurried toward the cave’s entrance, and rushed out of the darkness and into the brilliance of the sun.

  Dear Reader,

  For those of you who have been longtime readers, I hope you have enjoyed this One Last Wish volume. For those of you discovering One Last Wish for the first time, I hope you will want to read the other books that are listed in detail in the next few pages. From Lacey to Katie to Morgan and the rest, you’ll discover the lives of the characters I hope you’ve come to care about just as I have.

  Since the series began, I have received numerous letters from teens wishing to volunteer at Jenny House. That is not poss
ible because Jenny House exists only in my imagination, but there are many fine organizations and camps for sick kids that would welcome volunteers. If you are interested in becoming such a volunteer, contact your local hospitals about their volunteer programs or try calling service organizations in your area to find out how you can help. Your own school might have a list of community service programs.

  Extending yourself is one of the best ways of expanding your world … and of enlarging your heart. Turning good intentions into actions is consistently one of the most rewarding experiences in life. My wish is that the ideals of Jenny House will be carried on by you, my reader. I hope that now that we share the Jenny House attitude, you will believe as I do that the end is often only the beginning.

  Thank you for caring

  YOU’LL WANT TO READ ALL THE ONE LAST WISH

  BOOKS BY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  Let Him Live

  Someone Dies, Someone Lives

  Mother, Help Me Live

  A Time to Die

  Sixteen and Dying

  Mourning Song

  The Legacy: Making Wishes Come True

  Please Don’t Die

  She Died Too Young

  All the Days of Her Life

  A Season for Goodbye

  Reach for Tomorrow

  IF YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT MEGAN,

  BE SURE TO READ

  ON SALE NOW FROM BANTAM BOOKS

  0-553-56067-0

  Excerpt from Let Him Live by Lurlene McDaniel

  Copyright © 1993 by Lurlene McDaniel

  Published by Bantam Doubleday Dell Books for Young Readers

  a division of Random House, Inc. 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036

  All rights reserved

  Being a candy striper isn’t Megan Charnell’s idea of an exciting summer, but she volunteered and can’t get out of it. Megan has her own problems to deal with. Still, when she meets Donovan Jacoby, she find herself getting involved in his life.