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Payton had asked to come home from Midwestern Regional Medical Center to enjoy a last meal of take-out Chinese, and on October 29, 1999, his wish was granted. A handful of media outlets reported that Payton was in a critical state, and two sports talk stations, New York’s WFAN and WYSP of Philadelphia, erroneously told listeners that he had died. “Walter probably weighed a hundred pounds at the end,” Quirk said. “You wouldn’t have believed it was him. He had more pride than anyone I’ve ever met, and there’s no way he would have wanted people to see him like that. But Connie led a parade past his body. Anybody who wanted to come through there, it was, ‘Oh, no problem. Come see him.’ ”

Added Kimm Tucker: “I’m guessing Connie had nine different preachers come by to see Walter—men he’d never before met. It was as if there was this rush of everyone wanting to say they saved Walter Payton’s soul.”

According to Quirk, she finally confronted Connie during Walter’s last week. Through the years, she had resisted any temptations to get involved in a truly odd relationship. Now, enough was enough. “If he does snap out of this,” Quirk told Connie, “he’s going to kill you. Because what you’re doing to his dignity is atrocious.”

On the night of Sunday, October 31, 1999, Jarrett Payton took another long drive before coming home to bid good night to his father. When the son walked into the bedroom, Walter—dazed, weakened, near death—lifted his head ever so slightly. His brother, Eddie, and sister, Pam, were in the room, as was Alyne, Walter’s mother. “Where have you been?” Walter whispered.

“I was out,” replied Jarrett, “looking at some motorcycles.”

Without uttering another word, Walter gave his son the glare from hell. “I’m joking,” Jarrett said. “Dad, I’m joking.”

Brittney Payton was at a Halloween party hosted by her friend, Molly. Fourteen years old and a freshman at Barrington High School, Brittney was trying her best to maintain normalcy. “My closest girlfriends were there,” Brittney said, “and I just broke down and I was crying to them about my dad and how sick he was. All my friends were lying on the floor with me, in a big group huddle, and they were crying with me.”

The following afternoon, around twelve thirty, Brittney was sitting in class when she was summoned to the principal’s office. Miss Luna was there, waiting to bring her home. “She didn’t say anything,” Brittney said. “Just that I needed to go.” Upon reaching the house, Brittney found Connie and Jarrett in her bedroom, crying and hugging.

“Do you want to see Dad one last time?” mother asked daughter.

Brittney nodded.

Walter Payton was all alone. His eyes and mouth were closed. His skin was cool to the touch. “I hugged him,” Brittney said. “I told him I loved him. I was sad, but a part of me was relieved.”

For nearly a year, a man accustomed to pain had endured unspeakable suffering.

“Now,” said Brittney, “he was at peace.”

Walter Payton, age forty-six, was dead.

CHAPTER 27

LEGACY

ON THE MORNING OF APRIL 5, 2000, CONNIE PAYTON SERVED AS THE KEYNOTE speaker for the community prayer breakfast at the Glendale Lakes Golf Club in Glendale Heights, Illinois.

Standing before a crowd of approximately a hundred people, Connie spoke of the love she and her husband had shared for twenty-three years of marriage. Through it all, she said, the Lord was present to guide and coax and lead through the highs and lows. “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle,” she said. “I have no regrets. I can really say I’m at peace with everything, even his passing. Even on the day he died, he was ready. I couldn’t be upset.”

The words were moving. When she finished, Connie received a standing ovation. “She’s one of the most heroic people I’ve ever heard about,” said Mary Jo Sobotka, a spectator who left the event with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Indeed.

Though few question Connie Payton’s sincerity when it comes to her faith in God, some of those who knew Walter well—really well—remain baffled by the way