The Last Summer

By Frank Karkota

Robert was a lonely man who wrote trashy romance novels. He had never married because he had never found the right woman. It was always his dream to have a loving wife and children. His dreams seemed doomed when his doctor told him that he would die in six months. Robert would die without ever knowing true love. During the last summer of Robert’s life, he would learn that sometimes a love is so deep, so pure, that it is stronger than death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640270053

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Last Summer

Frank Karkota

Copyright © 2017 Frank Karkota

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-64027-004-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64027-005-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.

—Horace Mann

Prologue

In the Concord Museum of Art, there is a painting called the Portrait of Lisa. A beautiful young woman captured on canvas in a self-portrait, not only her physical beauty, but also her inner beauty, her very essence—an achievement that is rarely seen in works of art. Art enthusiasts from all over the world visit the museum to see this painting. Some people study the eyes of Lisa to see the sparkle that shows such deep love. Others marvel at the smile on her face that seems to hide some hidden pleasure. And some even marvel at the delicate strokes of the paintbrush that meticulously created this work. But none of them will ever know the secrets that it hides.

Many people find its beauty haunting, but the painting hides beneath its oil a strange story from its past. This painting has existed in two worlds, the world that is and the world that never was. The painting and its creator have seen the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. Lisa and her painting were with a dying man as he spent the last summer of his life, with all its triumph and tragedy. What story would this painting tell if it could speak? It would tell of the mysterious lives of Lisa Wolf, who changed the world without anybody noticing.

The Last Summer

When we travel down the path of life, we have so many forks, so many choices, but we have no idea where each path will take us. But there are times when we can look across the abyss and see where we might have been, had we taken the other path. But we cannot go back; we cannot change our past. We can only wonder about the path not taken and continue on the path that we have chosen.

—Tales from a Haunted House

Chapter 1

Fifty-two years ago

Lisa Lundie had an intrinsic beauty that reached the very depth of her soul. Her broad smile and bright eyes showed happiness, optimism, playfulness, and energy that embodied a zest for life that was contagious. Lisa loved everybody and never had a bad thought about anybody. Everybody who knew her considered themselves lucky beyond words for the opportunity to be with her.

She loved beauty—the beauty of nature, the beauty of poetry, the beauty of well-crafted prose, and the beauty of loving people. She was not satisfied simply to enjoy the beauty she found, but she wanted to share it with the world through her art, her prose, and her poetry so that all could enjoy.

Lisa loved writing poetry, short stories, and even created her own greeting cards for her many friends. She enjoyed painting pictures of mountains, rivers, trees, flowers, and animals. She had painted everything that could be found in the woods of rural New England. But her greatest work of art was a self-portrait. The Portrait of Lisa, as it would be called, captured on canvas everything that made her so special. It was a tribute, not only to her skill as an artist, but to the depth of her very being.

When Lisa was twenty-two years old, she graduated from college with a major in writing and minors in history and science. She dreamed of being the writer of great novels that would change the world. Her studies of history and science would help to make her stories more believable and, therefore, more relevant to the reader. Lisa’s skill as an artist would bring the pages of her book to life. Before she could start writing, she had to learn about life; she had to learn about happiness and sadness and loneliness and love. She had to learn about those things that are not taught in school, but only in life.

To start her career and her life, Lisa got a job at a company that wrote instruction manuals for scientific products. It would pay the bills while she prepared to write her first novel or maybe a book of poems. Writing instruction manuals would also help her hone her writing skills. Drawing illustrations would perfect her artistic talent.

Her personality, coupled with her extraordinary writing talent, won her both promotions and praise by her coworkers. She worked with a group of ten engineers and writers. There was interdependence between the workers since some of the staff had extensive technical knowledge while others were skilled writers. Lisa was able to bridge the gap between them and make the best product possible. Everybody loved her.

Every morning, she greeted each of her coworkers by name. On her first day at her new job, she had asked each of them for his birth date and kept a record of everything that made that person special. On each person’s birthday, she gave a cupcake with a single candle. Beneath the cupcake there was a hand-made birthday card with a personal poem to celebrate the birthday. She made the office into a family instead of a collection of disinterested workers who met only to do a job.

When a coworker was ill, Lisa would often visit the home, bringing with her a thermos bottle filled with chicken soup. She sometimes stayed for hours to nurse and comfort the sick friend. It is hard to know which was more helpful, the soup or her compassion for the sick friend. Lisa had a bedside manner that was the envy of most doctors. When the coworker returned, she would greet him or her with enthusiasm, sometimes even throwing a party.

When one of her coworkers had death in the family, Lisa made a personal card of condolence. She then spent time with the bereaved friend to help him through the tragic time. In some cases, Lisa even helped arrange the funeral and took the burden from the friend. At the graveside, she would always cry, as if it were one of her family who died.

A difficult time for many is the loss of a pet. Some people are indifferent when a person loses a cat or dog, but Lisa always provided comfort because she knew that the pet was a member of the family. Sometimes, while providing comfort, she would start to cry. Her compassion really made a difference to that friend.

Christmas was a happy time in the office. Lisa got everybody involved in putting up decorations and the Christmas tree. During breaks, she led everybody in carols. Of course, Lisa also organized the office Christmas party and she gave personalized Christmas cards to everybody. She had the opportunity to meet the spouses of her coworkers, and everybody talked about how much joy Lisa brought into their lives.

Lisa’s supervisors appreciated her because the morale of her division was always very high and the work product reflected it. She was quickly promoted to group leader, ahead of workers who had been there for years, but nobody begrudged her advancement and everybody gave sincere congratulations to her. Everybody loved her too much to be jealous.

But one man, David Wolf, loved Lisa a little more than the others. David, like Lisa, was a technical writer who had aspirations to be a serious writer. He loved nature, but took photographs instead of making paintings. He and Lisa often had lunch together and talked about the books that they would someday write.

David was a quiet man, but like Lisa, he was kind and always willing to give a coworker help when needed. Although he did not show the outward compassion that Lisa exhibited, he was known by his coworkers for his caring attitude. He never gave birthday or Christmas cards, but would do anything to help when a coworker had problems or just needed a friend. He was also well liked by everybody in the office.

One weekend during the early spring, David invited Lisa to go for a walk through the nearby forest. As they walked, David pointed at the yellowish leaves that had just appeared on the white birch trees. And Lisa pointed to the small violet flowers that appeared near their feet. As they wandered through the forest, they pointed out whatever caught their attention. David pointed to a large oak tree and marveled at its size and age. And Lisa pointed to a spider web and marveled at the intricacy of this engineering masterpiece. Each of them noticed features of the woods that the average person would overlook. Each enjoyed sharing those treasures with somebody special. Lisa and David soon realized that there was a special bond between them. To each of them, the world was a place of beauty and their goals were to find a way to present this beauty to an unbelieving world.

Lisa had kept a journal for several years. In it she recorded her thoughts, her dreams, and her aspirations. She had written poems, short stories, essays, and every little thought that someday might help her to write her novel or a poem. She wrote about the people whom she had met and the people whom she hoped to meet. One night years earlier, she had written a letter to that special man she hoped to meet. The night after her springtime walk with David, she copied the page from her journal. The next day, she put it on David’s desk before he arrived for work. She watched from her desk as David read the letter.

This is a letter that I wrote years ago. It was written for you long before I met you, long before I knew you.

It was a cold and moonless January night. I went outside, as I often do, just to look at the night and marvel at its beauty. The sky was crisp and clear, and the absence of the moon made the stars seem that much brighter. I looked out at the field and the snow-covered pond. The white snow glowed faintly in the dark night. I thought of you, and I wondered who you are and what you are like. I knew that on another night, there would be a moon and maybe somebody to share it with. I returned to my house and wrote down a few words that I might share with you at some future moment.

There’s no moon tonight,

But that’s all right.

For I’m in no mood to look at the world in a strange and eerie light.

No, not tonight.