Falling for You Again

by Catherine Palmer

  “We’re having her artery cleaned on Friday,” he said aloud. “I’m going to be with her during that procedure.”

  The chattering around him stopped, and now he realized that the room had slowly filled with friends and neighbors. There stood Ashley Hanes, Patsy Pringle, Pete Roberts, Steve Hansen.

  Pastor Andrew had come too. Now he was a man of authority.

  “I need to see Esther,” Charlie told his minister. “She was terrified to have the angioplasty and stent. This incident is going to upset her a lot. Could you ask someone to let me go back there?”

  Pastor Andrew glanced at Derek Finley. Both men nodded and stepped to the front desk. That’s better, Charlie thought. Get this thing moving along now.

  Relief spilled through Charlie as the men beckoned him toward the double doors. Brad started to help him to his feet, but that wasn’t necessary. In a moment, he had joined Pastor Andrew and Derek in the short journey to a small, windowless room. He entered to find nothing but a few chairs around the perimeter.

  “Wait … this isn’t right,” Charlie muttered. His irritation grew. “Where’s Esther? Listen, I’ve had enough of this waiting around. I want to talk to my wife.”

  A doctor slipped into the room, shut the door behind him, and motioned for the men to take seats. That’s when Charlie understood.

  He wasn’t going to see Esther again. Not his bright, chirpy little wife with the mischievous smile and busy hands. No more dishes clattering in the kitchen. No purple elastic-waist slacks and matching sweaters. No Friday set-and-style appointments. No long, gossipy reports about the Tea Lovers’ Club. No sweet kisses on the cheek. No warm arms reaching for him in the night.

  Charlie studied the doctor. The man was speaking, and Charlie understood the words. But they made no sense. None at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  With Boofer on his lap, Charlie sat in his recliner and pressed the remote control’s channel-changing button again and again. The sun rose—golden and far too bright—slanting through venetian blinds that hadn’t been adjusted in years. As a rule, Charlie didn’t watch television in the morning. Usually his garden or workbench beckoned at dawn, and he didn’t collapse into his chair until late afternoon. Today was different.

  Laying a hand on the dog’s head, Charlie reflected on his television habit. Esther hadn’t approved, but he had always argued that game shows kept his mind active and alert. He told himself that filling out crossword puzzles or trying to beat the contestants on his favorite programs would prevent Alzheimer’s disease. Now, as he flipped past cartoons, shopping shows, and sports announcers, he realized that particular goal no longer mattered. In fact, he wouldn’t mind a good strong dose of amnesia.

  “What’s the matter, Boof?” he asked the dog, who was in the midst of shifting position. “Why can’t you settle down, fella? Are you missing your mama? Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

  Charlie had never been much of a weeper. His father had taught him that a man never cried. Facing life with a stoic attitude and an unwavering confidence in oneself and God formed the essential core of a male.

  That was hogwash, Charlie realized not long after the doctor told him about Esther’s massive stroke. As it turned out, she had gone instantly. The ambulance ride, the long wait in the emergency room, the efforts of the doctors—that had been nothing but protocol. Derek Finley had probably known all along. No doubt everyone but Charlie suspected it.

  To him, the news had hit like an earthquake—a gigantic seismic shifting of the earth, followed by ripples of aftershock. The doctor gently informed Charlie that his wife had died. Nothing could have been done to prevent the stroke—not even the angioplasty and carotid stenting would have helped in Esther’s case. And then Charlie began weeping. He hadn’t been able to stop since.

  Charles Jr., Natalie, and their two children had arrived from California on the afternoon after Esther’s death. Ellie came in a couple of hours later from Florida.

  It was Monday, someone told Charlie, the Monday before Thanksgiving, and things had to move fast. He couldn’t comprehend why that was so. To Charlie, the whole world had stopped in that tiny windowless room.

  But the moments passed anyway, one after the other. Flowers came to the house. Ellie and Charles Jr. cried, made phone calls, hugged each other and their father. People knocked on the door and brought in casseroles or sandwiches or relish trays. The doorbell rang. More flowers. Charlie dozed off and on, but mostly he sat in the recliner with Boofer and watched everything through a blur of tears.

  It was Tuesday, Charles Jr. had informed him on the way to church. He hadn’t even noticed the passage of night. Seated in a pew with his children and grandchildren, Charlie studied the casket near the altar. Esther had never liked sitting near the front where everyone could look at her. She wouldn’t be happy with this arrangement, Charlie realized, but nothing could be done about it now.

  Esther wore her nicest suit. She had told Charlie the shape was flattering. But then the figure lying motionless in the casket wasn’t really Esther. Charlie’s wife was nowhere to be found, he slowly began to realize. Not in the kitchen or the bathroom or the bedroom. Not marching down the hall while singing out some news she had just learned. Not stringing beads on the front porch.

  “Heaven,” Pastor Andrew had said repeatedly during the funeral service. It was a place of joy. A land without pain. A home in the presence of the holy God.

  What about earth? Charlie had wondered. That’s where he had been left when Esther sighed and drifted away. What was he supposed to do now?

  He could almost hear his wife explaining her death. “It was silly of me, I know, sweetie pie. I hope you’re not too put out.”

  As he flipped through television channels now that his children and everyone else had gone away, Charlie heard the doorbell chime. Boofer’s ears perked up, but when Charlie didn’t move, the dog settled down again.

  That doorbell had become a nuisance in recent days, Charlie thought. People dropped by at all hours and expected to be let in. They came before and after the funeral, even after Charles Jr. and Ellie had returned home. They came in the morning, and they came at night—in and out, in and out, crying, telling stories, laughing, setting food inside the refrigerator. Everyone tried to make it better … and failed.

  “Go away,” Charlie muttered after the doorbell echoed through the house a second time. “We’ve got enough relish trays, don’t we, Boof? We don’t need another ham or pot roast. We’ve got turkey tetrazzini coming out our ears, and I’m not even hungry.”

  Someone began knocking. Charlie flipped the channel. “Skedaddle,” he said under his breath. “I’m busy.”

  “Mr. Moore?” Cody’s voice filled the living room. “Hey, Mr. Moore, is that you in the recliner? Is that Boofer?”

  “Well, who do you think it is, Cody?”

  “I think it’s you, Mr. Moore. Sorry to open the door and walk in without being invited. I know that’s bad social skills.”

  Charlie shook his head. He’d just lost the love of his life, his best friend for nearly fifty years. The last thing he needed was to try to decipher whatever Cody Goss had on his mind.

  The young man appeared in Charlie’s range of vision. He was wearing a tan turtleneck, a brown leather jacket, and khaki slacks instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt.

  Cody stood beside the TV for a moment. Then he let out a deep breath. “Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down, Mr. Moore? Because that’s manners.”

  Charlie set the remote on the side table. “Cody, what do you want?”

  “I want to sit on your sofa.”

  “All right, sit, but I’m not in the mood to talk. I’m watching television.”

  “Okay.”

  Though Charlie made an attempt to focus on the show, it was impossible. So he reached for the remote and switched off the TV. Closing his eyes, he sniffled. He was awfully tired, and Esther would scold him for not taking better care of himself. Or rather, she wou
ld have scolded him if—

  “Why did you come, Cody?” Charlie barked. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but he didn’t have the energy to pretend niceness.

  “I came to get you,” Cody told him. “We’re going to drive around Deepwater Cove in your golf cart. It’s a plan made by Brenda and the two Finley ladies and also Opal and Ashley and Patsy. I’m in charge of it, because I don’t have a house of my own. Besides, Brenda wanted me to go away because Jennifer didn’t have a good time on her mission trip to Mexico, and it’s better if I find something else to do. So here I am.”

  Charlie took off his glasses, wiped them for the umpteenth time. Then he blew his nose and put them on again. He leaned back in the recliner and stared at the ceiling. “Cody, I’m not going anywhere in the golf cart today. You need to find someone else to bother. Why don’t you go see Patsy?”

  “We will. She’s last on our list.” Cody fidgeted. “I think I’m going to have to tell you a secret, Mr. Moore, because this is important. Patsy Pringle loves Pete Roberts. She finally decided for sure. How I know is because I read a card that was sitting at her beauty station inside Just As I Am. I wasn’t supposed to read the card because that is snooping and it’s bad social skills. But I knocked over the card when I was dusting, and then I picked it up and it said I love you, Pete at the very bottom in Patsy’s handwriting. That’s how I know. Patsy tries to pretend she doesn’t care all that much about Pete. But I saw the card and also I know Pete loves her. It’s hard not to love someone who already loves you. It’s also hard if you love someone and they don’t love you. Love is hard no matter what.”

  Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. Boy, did he have a headache. He ought to take some aspirin. Esther would—“Cody, go home,” he said. Again feeling instant remorse for his tone, he added, “I understand about Patsy. I’m glad she loves Pete, and it is important. I just don’t want to talk right now, okay? I want to watch television and that’s all.”

  “But we have to drive around Deepwater Cove in your golf cart. That’s the plan.”

  “What plan are you talking about?”

  “The aggressive dinner. It was Mrs. Finley’s idea—the older one. Miranda Finley bought the house next to Brad and Ashley Hanes. I’m not sure you knew. It was a secret, but now it’s not. She’s moving in next week. Yesterday she said we should have an aggressive dinner for Charlie Moore because what will he do without Esther? So the other Mrs. Finley, who is Kim, talked to Brenda. They all agreed, and that’s why I came over here. We’re going to ride on your golf cart.”

  Charlie rubbed his eyes. “Cody. Please.”

  “I can help you, Mr. Moore. I know how it feels to want to sit down and never get up. That’s exactly the way I felt when my daddy said I was twenty-one and ready to make my way. Then he put me out on the road and drove off. I sat down, and I didn’t think I could ever get up. But then I did. After that, I had a hard row to hoe, which is a metaphor. It means things were difficult. But in the end, I found Deepwater Cove, which shows that God is watching you and planning a happy life for you even without Mrs. Moore.”

  Charlie gritted his teeth, torn between wanting to knock the kid’s block off and cry some more. Neither would do.

  “Cody, you can’t possibly understand what it feels like to lose a wife of almost fifty years. I don’t expect to live a happy life. Not now and maybe not ever again.”

  “You didn’t lose your wife, Mr. Moore. She’s dead, but she’s not lost, and that should make you at least a little bit happy. Mrs. Moore doesn’t have to worry about getting her artery unclogged, which she was dreading a lot. Also, she doesn’t have to try to remember old business for the TLC. She will never again fall asleep while she’s driving or run her Lincoln off the end of her carport. Those are some good things about Mrs. Moore these days. In fact, if you could see her right now, you would cheer up a lot.”

  “Well, I can’t see her, Cody. I’ll never see Esther again. I won’t touch her or hear her voice or eat her cooking or sleep at her side. And I don’t … I don’t … well, Cody, I don’t see a single thing good about that.”

  The young man nodded. “You have a hard row to hoe, Mr. Moore. But here’s a thing to remember while you’re hoeing your row: ‘Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’ Revelation 21:3 -4 .”

  Charlie shrugged. “Pastor Andrew said something like that.”

  “Mr. Moore, the former things are what’s happening now. One day, though, they will all be former. That means they’ll be passed away. Gone. When the former things are passed away, you’re going to feel a whole lot better.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “Well, we have a job to do, and I’m not talking about driving around Deepwater Cove in your golf cart—even though that is what we’re supposed to be doing. Our job is to ‘Go ye therefore.’ That’s a command Jesus made at the end of Matthew.”

  “Cody, I’m not about to go to the uttermost parts of the earth and teach the nations. I’ll leave that up to Jennifer Hansen and the other missionaries.”

  To Charlie’s surprise, Cody’s earnest expression suddenly went solemn. Even sad. It was the first time since Esther’s death that Charlie had actually noticed much of anything outside himself, his children and grandchildren, and their loss.

  A memory filtered through the haze of his confusion, anguish, and sorrow. A bright, golden-haired young woman was whispering something in Charlie’s ear.

  “Mr. Moore, please pray for me. I know what God wants me to do with my life … but … but I’m really confused about a few things … about Cody.”

  Jennifer Hansen. She had begged Charlie to pray for her. And he had. But what was happening now? Cody had said Jennifer’s mission trip to Mexico didn’t go well. The mention of her name a moment ago had brought a total change to the young man’s face.

  “Are you all right, Cody?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m having a hard time hoeing my row.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Jennifer is the problem.” Cody shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to her in Mexico. She won’t talk to me. She won’t even look at me. I’m afraid I did bad social skills, but I’m not sure. I love Jennifer a lot, and I want to marry her. I’m autistic, though, and that’s a big problem for people who want to get married. I don’t think Jennifer wants to marry me.”

  Charlie found he couldn’t answer. He gazed across at the boy’s blue eyes.

  Cody clenched his hands into fists. “I don’t know which is worse, Mr. Moore. Wanting to get married to someone who doesn’t love you or getting married and then finding out at the hospital that your wife is as dead as a doornail, which is a metaphor I don’t understand. Either way, you’re left alone and that’s hard, especially if you really love the other person a whole lot.”

  Charlie swallowed the lump in his throat. “Cody, I think you and I ought to go for a drive in my golf cart. What do you say?”

  “I say we’re late already. Probably the ladies of Deepwater Cove are as mad as hornets, and that’s a metaphor I do understand.”

  Boofer stood up on Charlie’s lap, stretched, and then leaped to the floor.

  It turned out to be Thanksgiving Day, a fact that took Charlie by surprise. As he drove Cody toward the Hansen house, reality slowly crept up on him. Pumpkins beside doorways. Scarecrows and bales of hay arranged in yards for decoration. Cars lined up along the narrow street.

  “‘Over the river and through the woods,’” he muttered.

  “Which river?” Cody asked.

  “The one in the song that Esther used to sing.”

  “I miss her. She was president of the TLC, even though we didn’t really have a president. Mrs. Moore kept minutes in her p
urse and read them out loud. She was my friend.”

  “I miss her too.” Charlie could feel the tears well up again, and he dug in his pocket for a tissue. Crazy thing, crying so much. But every time he thought of his wife, of any little thing about her, he could hardly bear it. Her clothes hung in their closet. Her makeup lay on the counter by the sink. Her pillow had a dent right where her head used to rest.

  “Here we are. Salad at the Hansens’.” Cody hopped out of the cart as Charlie set the brake. “Salad is good for you even though it’s made of vegetables, which are not my favorite. My aunt in Kansas eats vegetables all the time, and she loves salad.”

  As Cody threw open the Hansens’ front door, a burst of warm air carried with it the fragrance of roasting turkey, pumpkin pie, and steaming sweet potatoes. People rose from the table, surrounded Charlie, and began greeting him. Justin, who almost never came home from college. A grandmother. An aunt. Steve and Brenda. Jessica and her fiancé. And finally Jennifer.

  “You’re late, Cody,” Brenda said. “We had to start eating without you. Charlie, is your phone turned off? I must have called ten times.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Charlie felt as though invisible strings were moving him along like a marionette. He sat at the table and picked at a bowl of fresh green salad, managing to eat a bite or two. People talked about the funeral, asked questions about Charles Jr. and Ellie, mentioned how much they had loved Esther. Charlie nodded and mumbled things he thought made sense.

  He tried to remember what Cody had told him. One day, this meal at the Hansens’ house would be former things. One day he would be with God, and he would see Esther, and there would be no more tears. But now … just for now, there was only one thing to do.

  Go ye therefore.

  What could that mean? What significance could it have for a man well past his prime, a man with no wife, no joy, no reason to keep breathing in and out?