9 Years before Present Day

            The shrill beeping of the machine had been getting progressively slower all day.  It was like the monotonous reminder of a clock, ticking, ticking, the seconds away.  Only this was a different sort of clock.  This was the sound and the strength of a man’s heart, given voice through a soulless, unfeeling hospital device.

            The sisters sat side by side next to the bed, the only family left in the world of their father.  Melvin Porter, age 61, was dying of Mesothelioma. His chest was riddled with a cancer that crept inside with every panting inhalation of a hard day’s factory work.  These were the risks that a poor man took for his family:  Knowing the dangers of asbestos and shouldering through it for the paycheck that would put food on his family’s table.

            He was dying of cancer, all at once dying but it seemed a slow death.  Sixty-one years old and he was dying, almost dead.

            The breaths that came through the tubes in his nose were labored, they sounded painful, and there was a rattle in his chest.  His dark, black skin seemed suddenly jaundiced.  Bette held his hand the best should could around the finger pulse oximeter. 

            Melvin turned his head to look at his girls.  Two girls that he had raised on his own after their mother had died many years ago.  He had learned to braid their hair for school in the morning, when they were too young to be able to do it for each other.  He had tea parties instead of playing catch.  He had spent their whole lives trying to be what two young girls needed in life; trying to be both a mother and father. 

            His time was running thin, only the dregs remained at the top of the hourglass.  Just a pinch of sand to end a life.

            “Do you begrudge your old man for having nothing in this life?” he asked, having to pause for breath between words.

            “God, Daddy, no!” Bette said, absolutely meaning it.

            “I did the best that I could, and I did it for you.  For both of you.” 

            Kit squeezed her father’s calf through the coarse hospital blanket.  Neither she nor Bette had been without tears for days now. 

            “You girls have something that I never had,” Melvin labored.  “A chance.”

            Bette lowered her forehead to rest against his arm.

            “Everything you gain in this life, you earn,” he commanded.  “Do you understand?”  He waited while his daughters nodded, almost imperceptibly.  “And if you end up poor and dying like me, well… You’ll know you did all you could.”

            The machine, still shrill, was coming slower now.  The heart of a man was crawling to a stop.

            “Take care of each other.”

15 Years Ago

            Tina smiled as she walked down the front walkway to her apartment.  She had just come from Bette’s, where they spent the evening going through pictures they had taken of themselves over the years.  Each photo had little edge of spontaneity that comes with using a disposable camera.  No re-dos.  Just that one picture, with no second chances to fix your smile or open your eyes and figure out what’s going on with your hair.

            It was a little after midnight; Tina’s mother would be home and probably sleeping after her shift.  Tina was quiet in turning the key in the lock.  She opened the door to a dark apartment, as expected.  As she crept inside, the living room lamp suddenly flicked on. 

            “Oh, mom.  I’d thought you’d be sleeping,” Tina said, walking into the room.  Her mother was sitting up on the couch, looking at her expectantly.  “What?” Tina asked, confused.

            “Sit with me for a minute,” her mom said.  Tina sat down the edge of her bed, facing her mother. 

            “What’s going on?” Tina asked, a nervous feeling canvassing her insides.  The look on her mother’s face was unreadable, and that in itself was alarming.

            “I got a call from your father today.”