I was sitting in my white upholstered club chair, across from Reid’s recliner, catching up on my reading for the Friends & Fiction Book Club, while Reid, ever consistent, was engrossed in aReader’s Digestissue. He broke the silence when he asked, “Do you think we should get a dog? It’s quiet around here.”
I slammed my book shut and gasped. “Reid! I’ve been thinking the exact same thing! I didn’t want to say it out loud because it’s so impractical at our age.”
“I was thinking maybe we should get a rescue dog, a little older and calmer.”
“Really? I’d prefer a puppy. We can still rescue one.” I stood up and started pacing around the room because I was so excited. “We could put his bed right here.” I gestured to the spot between our chairs. “And we could take him for walks every morning.”
“And potty train him.” Reid groaned. Well, yes, perhaps we had done enough of that in our lives. But still. You must take the good with the bad.
“But that warm puppy nose and those ecstatic tail wags!”
Reid closed his magazine now and looked at me, amused. “You really want a puppy?”
“I think it would brighten things up. We could use some new, young life around here!”
I never could have imagined the irony of that statement.
Later that night I’d stood in the bathroom, brushing my teeth in my silk pajamas. Reid had wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck, kissing the spot where it met my chin. I had smiled at him through my toothpaste foam. We held hands as we fell asleep.
That was what I wanted to remember.
When I woke up early the next morning, I was surprised that the sun was already shining through our bedroom windows, radiating off the crashing waves. I hadn’t gotten up once to use the bathroom? A miracle! I looked over to see if Reid was stirring, to decide if I should let him sleep or if I should get up and make coffee.
His face looked pale, his lips a little blue. Dread washed over me. “Reid!” I squealed in a pitch I thought only schoolgirls were capable of. “Reid!”
I touched his neck, frantically searching for a pulse, my handsshaking. That spot where his pulse should be, that spot on me where his lips had been not eight hours earlier, was cold.
Unable to still my hands enough to dial, I hit the side button on my phone and said, “Siri, call 911.” She did. I remember saying my address and then walking around to Reid’s side of the bed, pumping his chest with all my might—a useless feat considering the give of the mattress—breathing my breath into him. Isn’t that what we had done for each other for all these years? Breathed the same air until we had become one?
I sobbed as they put him in the ambulance, stood screaming in my front yard as they drove him away. I don’t know who called my daughters, but Meredith was suddenly there, guiding me back into the house. I was, after all, still in my pajamas.
I had heard friends say that watching their spouses or parents leave this world was a peaceful experience. Why hadn’t I gotten that? Mine had been terror. Trauma, really. And I knew that day I would never, ever be able to get back in that bed without him.
Now, I waved out the front door at the moving truck, the one that held my curlers and socks, soap, and beloved high heels that I could still wear for short stints of time.
I turned to do one more check of the house. That’s when I noticed I had forgotten something too important to trust the movers with. My black-and-white wedding photo in the sterling Tiffany frame Reid’s parents had given us as a wedding gift. Holding it, I sat down, allowing myself to feel the familiar sadness that sometimes overwhelmed me. Even still, it was all worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat.
In the house we had shared for more than fifty years since that photo was taken, I looked at that picture, studied that wedding veil, and thought about my granddaughter.
I walked back into my bedroom and opened the closet door, the yards of lace and tulle puddling on the floor, the only thing still hanging, resplendent, in the empty space. I would have Meredith come get it and have it resealed in an heirloom box, so it could be preserved for another generation.
That wedding veil was mine. It was my mother’s. It was a part of our family history, one of the most important parts, in fact. I held that picture to my chest.
I checked the ancient stove once more to make sure I’d turned it off, walked out on the porch, and took a deep, salty breath. Sea oats danced in the rolling dunes, and the ocean beyond was plaintive and contemplative, just like I was.
As I locked the door for the last time and got in the car, I reveled in the thought that this would be a new chapter for me. I looked down at my watch. I wanted to be settled into the town house in time to get to the five-thirty Stretch and Sculpt followed by a group beach walk, cocktails, and dinner. I had a highlight appointment tomorrow, and I thought I’d punch my color up a bit, make it a kickier blond. I had Botox scheduled the following day, and though my daughters proclaimed it silly at my age, I felt strongly that looking and feeling one’s best were paramount.Why could everyone else get fillers and plasma facials while I had to grow old gracefully?I wondered as I pulled out of the driveaway and onto the road that would take me to my new home. I wouldn’t stand for it.
When I reached Summer Acres, flashing my pass at the man in the gatehouse, an extreme sense of calm washed over me. My phone rang. Alice. Well, there went my calm.
“Good morning!” I trilled.
“Mom? Where are you? The doors are locked and it’s so dark in here.” She paused and gasped. “And some of your stuff is gone!”
“How about you get Meredith on the line?” I asked, pulling over into the fitness center parking lot so I wasn’t talking while driving. I wasn’t taking any chances. At eighty years old, they will take your license if you so much as sneeze behind the wheel.
Alice sighed. “Mom, you’re scaring me.”
“Honey, everything is just fine. Can you add your sister to this call so I can tell you what’s going on?”
