by Lori Leger
He gave her a sad smile. “Yeah. We saw Marilee earlier. I was hoping it’d be a good day so I could tell her about the twins. We showed her pictures, but it didn’t mean much coming from strangers.”
Cynthia reached up to give him a hug. “I’m so sorry, Mr. J.D., John and I were discussing lunch in the cafeteria in about an hour or so. I’d love to catch up with what’s been going on.”
“Lunch, huh?” He patted his belly. “I woke up late this morning and I’m still kind of full from breakfast. I doubt I’ll be hungry by then, but y’all go on ahead. I’ll be holding babies until the two of you are done.”
Cynthia pivoted to face John. “How about if I swing by your daughter-in-law’s room when I’m ready? I’ve got some work to do until then.” She took a step into the hallway and looked back at him. “I think they’re finished with the room now. I’ll see you gentlemen in a bit.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave and left them.
She caught Bee’s eye at the nurse’s station and gave her a thumbs up. “Lunch. One hour.” Bee whooped—lifted her chubby arm and Cynthia slapped her hand in a high five on the way back to her office. “Thank you, Bee.”
“You are so welcome, sugar. Now see?” She chided her other co-workers. “If y’all would leave it to me—I’d have all you ladies hooked up in no time. But, nooo. Nobody wants to listen to Bee!”
Cynthia grabbed a side salad and placed it on her tray. “Maddie, I’ll have the meatloaf and the snap beans—no gravy on the meat loaf, please.” She placed the plate on her tray and slid it down the line.
John Michael passed up the salads and chose a side order of fried okra. “I’ll have the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, extra gravy, with the turnip greens instead, please.” He got to the desserts and chose a slice of apple pie. He pointed at a slice of coconut cream with meringue. “Could I get one of these in a to-go container, please?” He waited for it then slid his tray next to Cynthia’s. They both asked for tea at check out. John paid while Cynthia found a table for them in the semi-crowded cafeteria.
When John met her at the table Cynthia eyed the pies longingly. “I miss desserts. Is that slice for later?”
He checked out her tray. “I can get you a slice.”
She held one hand in front of her face. “No thank you, sugar goes straight to my hips. My metabolism has slowed to a crawl.”
“It looks to me like your metabolism is doing fine.” He pointed his fork at the clear plastic container. “It’s for my dad. He can’t eat sweets much, but he deserves a treat today.” He looked up when he felt her gaze on him.
“Was it bad?”
He shrugged. “It’s always bad when she doesn’t know who we are. Nine times out of ten we’re strangers to her. Still, Pop goes in hoping for the one day she recognizes us. Those are the days that keep him going.”
He paused, took a sip of tea. “Today was especially difficult. She couldn’t remember her own name, which happens a lot. But today, she thought her name was Jenna.” He glanced up at Cynthia’s gasp. “I know. Talk about a spear in the old man’s heart.” He shook his head. “Pop barely missed a beat. He said Jenna was a beautiful name and kissed her hand like an old southern gentleman.”
“He is an old southern gentleman.” Cynthia’s voice was thick with tears.
John handed her his napkin. “Honest to God, Cyn. I don’t know how he does it.”
She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “He probably said the same thing about you when your wife passed away. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He reached for the pepper shaker. “Beth died during a surgery to remove a ruptured appendix—complications from the anesthesia.”
“How awful for you.”
“She had turned thirty-eight a couple of months earlier. I was a widower at thirty-nine, with a sixteen year old son.”
“So that makes Zachary thirty-one or so?”
“Yep, he and Cat are the same age.” He began mixing his gravy into his mashed potatoes. “It’s not like you can prepare yourself. We were in shock, both Zach and I. Hell—everyone was—her parents, her siblings, the whole damn town. Beth was a teacher at Lake Erin Middle School and it threw her students for a loop. It was a freaking nightmare.”
“I’m so sorry, John.”
He lowered his fork and lifted his gaze. “And your husband?”
“It was a heart attack—very sudden. You’ve heard of those ‘widow makers’ right?” She used her two forefingers to point at herself. “I’m living proof they exist. Could I have the black pepper, please?”
She shook the bottle over her meatloaf. “Gene was a few months shy of his fifty-fifth birthday. He was in great physical shape, ran two miles at least three times a week. He was the battalion chief for the Tonka City fire department.”
She cut a slice from her meatloaf, her face blank, not revealing a thing. “Every time he went to a fire there were dangers of cave-ins, collapsing floors, smoke inhalation, equipment malfunction, explosions; any number of things could go wrong. He pulled up at his last fire and stepped out of his truck. I was told he clutched his chest and fell to the ground. They tried everything to revive him. Nothing worked. Like with Beth, the entire town was in shock.”
John kept quiet through an awkward but brief silence.
She shook her head. “The funeral was very dramatic—an impressive showing of uniformed firefighters—he was very good at his job. He was a good father, and …”
She stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. “He’d been a wonderful husband throughout our marriage—I adored that man. By the last morning of the wake I was ready to crack. I kept staring at his coffin, thinking I couldn’t possibly survive losing him.” She lifted one finger, pointed up in the air. “But God and Gene found a way to help me get through it.”
He picked up on the touch of sarcasm and leaned forward slightly. “What happened, Cyn?”
She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “I met the other woman.”
“Your husband had an affair?”
She nodded. “Was still having an affair at the time of his death. I know this because she told me … at the funeral home … a couple of hours before I buried my husband.”
“Oh God. You found out about his girlfriend at the funeral?”
She nodded. “Tamara and I had a rather illuminating discussion.” She sighed and rested her crossed arms on the table surface. “Did I mention she was twenty-five years old—the same age as our daughter?”
John couldn’t keep the disgust from his hissed reply. “Son of a bitch.”
Her chin lifted. “Those were among my very last words to my dead husband.” She picked up her fork, used it to point at John. “Never underestimate the benefits of deep seated anger. It makes it so much easier to deal with the death of a cheating spouse.”
He blinked. “Wow. I—I don’t quite know what to say. How did it—I mean—how’d it all go down?” The look on her face had him backing off immediately. “Don’t bother. That’s none of my business.”
She sent him a tight smile. “I’m just not comfortable talking about it to people. Suffice it to say, we were all shocked. I’m talking total disillusionment. I mean, try explaining a situation like that to your kids.” Cynthia sipped from her glass of tea. “The aftershocks were horrendous. Suddenly, I became that woman—the one who didn’t hear until her husband’s funeral that he’d cheated on her. If there’d been a way I could have left town immediately, I would have.”
She stabbed at her green beans. “It took me a year to sell the house and find my replacement at the hospital. All three of my children were upset with me at first for leaving Oklahoma to move back to Louisiana. The boys got over it, of course, said they understood. My daughter is still furious with me. She’s found a way to absolve her father of all blame, as I suspected she would. Instead she’s heaped it onto me.”
John frowned. “That doesn’t seem fair. You’d think, as a woman, she’d be a little more empathetic.”
Sh
e gave him a one shouldered shrug. “She’s never had a cheating spouse, and I pray she never does. But, after what I’ve experienced, her unreasonable anger with me is nothing I can’t handle.”
He linked his fingers as he sat there studying her. “You seem extremely well-adjusted for what you’ve been through.”
“I fully expected to have some kind of mental or emotional implosion. I even went to a therapist, thinking surely she’d uncover some anger issues, some deeply-hidden resentment waiting to emerge—something to make me go ballistic on a few people.”
John had to laugh at the image. “Did she find anything?”
She joined in his laughter. “No, can you believe it?”
“I doubt anyone would have blamed you if you had.”
She speared a cherry tomato with her fork. “What good would it have done? The only one I could have blamed was dead and buried.”
“Well, it proves you’re from strong stock, Cyn.”
“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever called me that. Everyone else called me Cindy or Cynthia.” She popped the tomato into her mouth.
“I’m a little surprised. It seems natural. It’s always rolled off of my tongue so easily.” He took a bite of the tasty meatloaf and they ate in silence for a few moments before he picked up the conversation with a total change of subject. “What was it like being a transplanted Cajun in Oklahoma?”
The corners of her eyes creased with amusement.
“It took some adjusting at first. The real test came when I married into a family whose people had been there for over a hundred years. Those folks were set in their ways, let me tell you. Within a few months, I realized it was mostly my in-laws who were so tough to crack. Everyone else seemed friendly enough.”
John had made quick work of finishing his lunch. He pushed the plate away to attack his apple pie. “I’m sure you eventually worked your way into their hearts.”
“It took a little time for my motherin-law to accept me working towards a career. She thought I should have stayed home to take care of her baby boy.”
John dug his fork into his slice of apple pie. “And how’d baby boy feel about it?”
Cynthia washed down her last bite of meatloaf with a sip of tea. “He was all for me getting an education and having a career. It was his suggestion to put off having children until I was more than halfway through school. I was twenty-five when our first son was born. Our daughter came two years later and youngest son in another two years.”
“That’s a good size family for someone beginning her medical career. You must have been stressed.”
“Kids are stressful no matter what career you’re in. I mean, the responsibility of raising those little lives is massive, am I right? But, Gene and I pulled together to make it work.” She stabbed at the last of her green beans and lifted her fork. “That’s why I was so shocked at the funeral incident.”
“Did you ever talk to any of his co-workers, find out how long they’d known?”
“Once I got home, a couple of his buddies, Jimmy J. and Charlie, showed up at the house wanting to discuss it.”
“Must have been an interesting conversation—”
“It never took place,” she interjected. “I had no desire to hear them or anyone else attempt to justify his actions to me, or why they all lied for him.”
“You’ve got resolve. My curiosity would have made me listen to what they had to say.”
She stopped, stared at him. “What difference would it have made? There is nothing anyone could have said to make what he did the slightest bit acceptable. I told them it was too damn late to use me to clear their consciences—then I shut the door in their faces.” She lifted her glass of tea.
John grinned at her and lifted his glass as well. He reached across the table, touched his rim to hers. “Well done, Cyn. For what it’s worth, I agree with you. There’s no room for infidelity in marriage.”
“Thank you, John Michael.”
He dug his fork into his pie again, lifted one brow to send a glance her direction. “You know, you’re the only one who called me by my full name all during high school. Everyone else called me John or Johnny.”
“I love the sound of John Michael together, don’t you?”
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I only thought of it as a way to distinguish myself from my dad and grandfather. Hell, my Paw Paw didn’t pass away until I was thirty. For a while, there were three John Ferguson’s in Lake Erin. It was crazy. I sure as hell wasn’t going to add to the insanity by adding a fourth when I had a son.”
“So you named him Zachary.”
“Yes, because I wanted him to have some kind of individuality.”
Cynthia clucked her tongue. “Such a rebel, going against tradition.”
John chuckled. “You think so, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
“There are times when it’s a good thing. Other times, eh, not so much,” he added.
Finished with her lunch, she pushed her plate aside and pulled her drink closer. “So, have you thought any more about when this date should take place?”
“How about Saturday evening?”
Her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Works for me. You want to meet somewhere?”
He fidgeted in the seat. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve done this, but don’t guys pick girls up for dates anymore?”
“I’m sure they do. Would you prefer to pick me up at my place?”
He gave her an enthusiastic nod. “I would. I promise I’ll get you back whatever time you need to be home.”
Cynthia glanced at her watch and pushed back from the table. She gave him a mischievous wink. “Are you afraid Mama’s gonna give me a curfew if she sees I’m going out with you?”
“You never know.” When she stood, he followed suit, grabbed both their trays. “You need to get back to work.”
She nodded. “I really should. I have to prep for a procedure. So, listen, I’ve already given you my card with my numbers. Call me when you get a chance and I’ll give you Mom’s new address in Jennings. I’d started looking for my own place, but she liked having me around and asked me to stay. I figure I’m playing catch up and giving my siblings a break. I’m finally able to pull my fair share of Mom duty.”
“Lucky me. I get my pop all to myself—and he is one stubborn old coot.”
“If he’s anything like Mom, he can’t seem to grasp why he shouldn’t be doing some things he used to do.”
“Exactly! Especially with his cataracts.”
“And the surgery these days is so low risk, with high success rates. There’s really no excuse not to have it.”
John held up one finger. “Ah, but there again, he’d have to admit he had a problem to even think about any kind of corrective surgery.”
“Like with the prostate.”
He gave an abrupt nod. “You got it. I’ve tried to explain it to him. Something that started out the size of a walnut is probably the size of a lemon now, but he won’t listen to me. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
She checked her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her lab coat. “I’d be glad to give it a shot next time I see him. Thanks for treating me to lunch, John Michael. I’ll see you Saturday and don’t lose my card.” She started backing toward the exit. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
It took every bit of John’s patience to wait twenty-four hours before calling Cyn to set up the dinner date for the following weekend. That left him the rest of the week to worry about going on his first date with anyone other than the woman he’d married in well over three decades.
On Friday afternoon, he managed to open his front door, even loaded down with several bags. He dropped four on the kitchen counter and walked straight to the laundry room with the last two bags.
“What’cha got there? Some new duds for your hot date?”
John didn’t bother turning to answer his father. “I had some shopping to do. It was time for a new pai
r of jeans and I happened to come across a couple of shirts on sale so I picked them up. No big deal.” Keep telling yourself that.
“Sure it isn’t.” His pop’s chuckle rumbled in the air like the old Harley John had ridden around on just out of high school. “I hope you made a trip to the pharmacy while you were out shopping.”
“I did,” John said. “I needed some new blades for my razor.”
The old man walked away, clucking his tongue as he shook his head. “You’re making a huge mistake if you shave. Today’s women prefer a two day growth of beard on men.”
John pulled off the last tag from the jeans and threw them in the washer. “How the hell would you know?”
“All the women’s magazines say so, and so do the ladies on the morning talk shows. They think it’s sexy.”
“Save it, Pop. I’m not going on a first date looking scruffy.” John removed the collar cardboard and pins from the shirts before dropping them in with the jeans. He threw a detergent pod in the machine and started the cycle.
His dad turned at the distinctive click of the machine’s timer kicking in. “Did you throw those in all together?”
“Yeah. Why?” John glanced back at the washer. “They’re all dark colors.”
“Hmph. Your mother chewed my butt big time once for throwing a pair of new jeans in with a batch of her clothes. It turned all her brassieres and underwear light blue.” His eyes crinkled with laughter. “She got me back, though. She purposely threw a new red shirt in with my T-shirts and tightie whities—turned everything the prettiest shade of pink you ever saw.”
“They’ll be fine.”
J.D. grunted. “You know best.”
John waited until his dad walked away before stopping the washer. He pulled out the two shirts and set them in the large utility sink, leaving a trail of soapy water on the laundry room floor. He wiped up the spill with a dirty towel, grumbling to himself. “Old fart’s got me second guessing myself.” His dad’s low laughter from the doorway had him groaning in irritation.
“What else did you pick up from the pharmacy section?”
