by Stacy Eaton
“And before you ask, there is very little that can be done. I can try to get some radiation or chemo, but my doctor said it looks like it has already begun to spread.”
My hands began to sweat, and I rubbed them over my thighs.
“How long do you have, Gloria?” I could see the answer in her eyes before she even opened her mouth.
“He said I probably had three to four good months left, but I would be lucky to see a year if I don’t do treatment; if I do have treatment, maybe a year and a half, two.”
I watched her as she spoke. Her voice remained strong, her eyes steady on mine, and I was astounded at her courage to say such words without falling apart.
“Are you planning on having the treatment?” I had no right to ask this question, but she had been the one who wanted to talk about it.
She sipped her coffee slowly, “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think, no.”
“Why would you decide not to?” I was curious now. How did people make those decisions?
She leaned forward again, clasping her hands. “If I only have a few good months left to live, I want them to be on my terms. I’m seventy-two years old, I don’t need to live longer, but I refuse to go out loaded up with all those chemicals and in a haze. I’d rather enjoy what I can, and go out with dignity.”
“There is nothing wrong with having treatment. Just because you do, doesn’t mean you will lose your dignity.”
She shrugged, “I know. Grey, I have lived my life on my own terms, and I will continue to do so. I have to think on this more, but saying it out loud to you, here, now, well, it makes what I was thinking on that bench out there more realistic.”
We were quiet for a few moments, and she had small talk with Clare when she returned to the table with the food. I stared at the plate that was a double order, just how Gloria had ordered it. I hadn’t eaten this much food in months.
Gloria had just cut a piece of her waffle when she finally spoke again, “Okay, so I told you my bad day. I get that you got fired, and let’s not talk about that ass again. It’s your turn to tell me why the events of today caused you to look like you have lost everything.”
I chewed the food in my mouth slowly, savoring the taste of smoky bacon before I met her direct green-eyed gaze head-on. “No, I lost everything a year ago when my son died of leukemia.”
Chapter Two
Barbara
“Shhh,” I cradled Allie close to my chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart, stop crying, please.” I jostled my eleven-month-old daughter in my arms, doing everything I could think of to console her.
Allie wasn’t having any of it. Her wails increased in volume, and I cringed when I heard the door being practically torn off the hinges behind me.
“Jesus Christ, Barb! Shut that kid up! That is the third time this week she has woken me up.”
I cradled Allie closer to my chest. “I’m trying, Todd,” I whispered softly. Acid churned in my stomach. I knew what was going to happen, and I kept my back to him to protect Allie.
Todd snagged my long blond hair in an iron vice and yanked it back. "You’re not trying hard enough,” he gritted into my ear as my head bent almost all the way back to my shoulder blades. Allie stopped crying as if she understood the threat.
“I’ll try harder,” I got out between clenched teeth.
He released my head and shoved it up, causing me to lunge forward as I attempted to keep my balance. Allie threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in the crevice. Finally, she was quiet.
“I don’t know why I even let you have that thing,” he muttered as he left the room.
That thing? That thing was our precious baby girl. Why would someone say that about his own flesh and blood?
Why? Because he was a monster, that’s why.
I stroked the soft baby hair on her head, cooing to her as I swayed back and forth. “I’m gonna get us out of here, baby, I promise. You deserve so much more than this.”
I fought back the tears, but one still found its way out and rolled down my cheek. I swiped it away before it could fall on Allie and taint her in any way.
I deserved better than this, too! I shouted the thought in my head. When had Todd turned into this jealous, angry, physical man? Where had the man gone who had charmed me and swept me off my feet?
I lay Allie down so I could change her diaper, humming softly to her as I did. Her eyes grew heavy and her blinking slowed.
I’d met Todd four years ago at a fundraiser. The moment I saw him, I had been taken in by his debonair manner and California sun-kissed skin. His brown eyes had dazzled me on the dance floor as the strobe lights bounced off the golden highlights while he twirled me around in his arms.
We had been inseparable from that moment. He was a well-known attorney, with a Class A client list. He wined and dined me, took me to the best shows and even some Hollywood awards banquets.
I fell head over heels in love and was never happier than the moment when he got down on one knee in the middle of a fancy dress store on Rodeo Drive.
Nine months later, we married, and while he still piled on the attention, the manner in which he did it changed.
No longer was he the sweet boyfriend who called me to tell me he missed me. Within a few months, he was calling to track my every movement. At first, he stated that he had some clients that were upset with him, so he was worried about me, but when I found a tracking application on my phone, I wondered.
That was the first time his anger had appeared. I had removed the app, not knowing where it had come from, and within minutes I received a phone call from him demanding to know where I was and with whom.
He denied putting the application on my phone, but I knew it had to be him. There was no doubt in my mind, but I pushed the uncomfortable feeling back, buying into his pretext that he was worried for my safety.
I didn’t have a reason not to believe him—not then.
I kissed Allie’s head. She was sleeping soundly on my chest; her rapid heartbeat thrumming against my breast. I cuddled her a little tighter.
“It’s almost time, sweetheart, it’s almost time,” I whispered into her soft blond locks.
Chapter Three
Grey
Gloria’s eyes widened slightly, and she pursed her lips before she reached over the table and placed her hand over the top of mine. Her soft fragile skin seemed so delicate compared to my worked and weathered hands.
“Grey, I’m so sorry.” I knew that she honestly felt pain by my words, unlike other people who spoke them with hollowness and an eager look to avoid the subject.
“Thank you, Gloria.”
She pulled her hand back after she squeezed it firmly, “I lost a child when he was young. People tell you it will get easier, but, honestly, it never does.” A faraway look came to her eyes for a moment before she shook her head to vanquish the memories. “What is your son’s name?”
“My son’s name was Nate,” I stated softly. It had been so long since I had allowed his name to leave my lips that a vibration of pain rippled through my entire body.
She shook her head, “Not was, Grey, is. Never make a child past tense.” She placed a hand to her heart, “He will never leave your heart, so he will always be alive.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to dispel them. “Thank you for the reminder, Gloria.”
She smiled gently, “Sometimes we need to be reminded of the good things in our lives. Tell me about Nate—unless it is too painful for you.”
I thought about it for a moment. Yes, it was always painful, but maybe speaking about him for a few minutes would help push away the thunderclouds that seemed to hover over my head. “Nate was a great kid. I know everyone says that about their children, but he really was.”
Gloria took a bite of her waffle and chewed thoughtfully before she spoke. “No, not all children, my oldest son is a son of a bitch. He was like that growing up, and he only got worse, but my younger son was the complete opposite,
so I do understand. How old was he when he was diagnosed with leukemia?”
For the first time talking about him, I was able to see around the pain—not that I forgot a minute of the anguish I lived through—but I was learning that life did go on, whether we wanted it to or not.
“Nate was six when we found out, and he started going through treatments immediately.” I thought back on all the tests and treatments that he had endured, “No matter what he needed to do, or what medications he took, he still kept a smile on his face and had good things to say to people.”
“You do know that he learned that from you, right?”
I shrugged and glanced around the diner while I lifted my coffee mug and sipped. “I would hope he learned it from me.” I set my mug back down. “He loved baseball. He said when he grew up he wanted to play professionally.”
I reached to my back pocket and took out my wallet. The black leather was frayed on every corner, and when I opened it, the fold almost fell off. I tried to rein in my embarrassment at how sad it looked, and pulled a photo out of the slot where I kept what meager bills I had.
“This is Nate. This picture was taken about six months before he passed away.”
Gloria took the photo and studied it carefully. “He has your strong features. Even at such a young age, you can see that he would have grown up to be as handsome as you.”
A modest blush stole across my cheeks, “Thank you, ma’am.” I winced as the last word came out and she hit me with a pointed look. “Sorry,” I mumbled and focused on the pile of food still on my plate.
“What is this?” Gloria held the picture closer and pointed to a chair in the background.
“Oh, that’s a rocking chair that I made.”
She pulled the picture back, “You made that?” She examined the picture more closely.
“Yes, I made that for my wife when she was pregnant. A long time ago, I had hoped to open a store and fill it with things that I had made.”
“So you’re a wood crafter. My husband was a wood crafter before he passed. He spent hours in his shop fiddling around, this looks like something he would have made.” She handed the picture back, “Tell me, Grey, do you make other things?”
I slipped the photo back into my wallet. “I used to, but I had to sell all my tools.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, I, uh,” I hesitated. I knew she was watching me and looked anywhere but at her.
“Grey?”
So now the words were on the verge of spilling and either I could tell this nice lady that it was none of her business, or I could humble myself and tell the truth. There wasn’t a choice in my mind.
I met her questioning gaze, “My wife carried the insurance, but it wasn’t that great. When Nate got sick, it really hit our wallets.”
“I can understand that.”
“A week before Nate passed away, my wife was in a car accident and ended up in intensive care for two weeks. She was in a coma when Nate died, and a week later she passed away. It left me with a ton of medical bills.” I paused and looked out the window with unseeing eyes. “I had to sell all my tools, the house, everything that I could possibly sell, and still I have a huge pile of debt. That’s why losing my job today was so bad.” I tossed my balled-up napkin on the table. I had opened the flood gates and the words just kept pouring out. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, I barely make enough to eat as it is, and now, I won’t be able to pay my rent or get my truck fixed.”
Gloria set her fork down and eyed me carefully. Oh God, she thinks I’m going to ask her for money. I wanted to sink into the vinyl bench.
“I’m sorry, Gloria, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want you to think that I am asking for anything. It has been so long since I talked to anyone about what is going on in my life, and it all just spilled out. I’m so—”
“Grey, stop.” She held her hand up, and I closed my mouth on my next apology. She tilted her head to the side, and her eyes softened, “You lost two people that you loved and have had everything ripped out from under you, and yet you have the most polite and humbling manner I have ever seen in a man.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t.
She tapped her manicured nails on the tabletop as she pondered something, “Do you have more pictures of the work you have done, the rocking chair or other things you have made?”
I had a whole box of pictures back at my apartment. “Yes,” I stated slowly, “why do you ask?”
“I want to see those pictures. I might have a job for you, but I need to see more of your work.”
“Gloria, I’m not asking for charity.”
“Oh, I know you are not, Grey, and this is not charity. I am working on a project and those rocking chairs might just be what I need to finish it up. If it works out, you are going to have a lot of work to do to get them done—that is—if you are interested.”
I scrutinized her momentarily, “You’re serious? This isn’t a charity bit to help a guy out of a hard time.”
“No, Grey. I have been working on this project for some time, and it is approaching completion, but I always knew it was missing something. Your rocking chair might be just the exact piece of the puzzle that I need.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “but I told you I had to sell all my tools.”
“And I said my husband was a wood crafter, I believe that I will have everything that you could need in his workshop. Let’s finish breakfast and then you can show me your photos.”
I cringed, “I’m not sure you would want to go to my apartment. I could bring them to you.”
She flicked her fingers at me. “Eat up, young man. I don’t care what your humble abode resembles. I want to see those pictures.”
“Yes, ma’am, I mean Gloria,” I grinned as she lifted an elegant eyebrow at me.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled up in front of my apartment in the bad part of town. “Are you sure you want to come in here? It’s not a nice place, but it was all I could afford.”
“I can handle myself,” she said as she pushed her entire body against the door of my truck to get it open.
I had tried a second time to get her to let me bring the photos to her, but she was a force to be reckoned with and refused.
Luckily, I had a bottom floor right inside the main door, so I didn’t have to make her walk through the rancid hallways with mold and urine and whatever else was on the floors and walls.
I wondered as I opened the door what I might have left out in the open that would embarrass either her or me, but as I swung open the creaky front door, I did a quick pass over the area and saw everything was put away—not that there was much left after I had sold it all.
Gloria entered, and I closed the door behind her softly. “I’m sorry about the condition of this place,” I mumbled as I passed by her.
She put her hand on my arm and stopped me in place, “Grey, sometimes we have no control over where we have to live, or why. Don’t be embarrassed that this is where you live. Your home is very neat, much neater than most men’s places that I have seen,” she crinkled her nose, “although it does smell rather, pungent.”
I laughed, “Sorry about that, the neighbors cook some odd things.”
“Why don’t you get the pictures, and I’ll have a seat at the table.”
I hesitated, “Actually, if you want to see the real thing, I still have the rocking chair, I could bring that out.”
“By all means, I’d love to see the finished product.” She beamed as I left the room to get the chair from my bedroom.
The wooden rocking chair sat in the corner, hidden under a dark blue throw. While there was no way I could sell it, I couldn’t look at it. Memories still flooded my consciousness every time my gaze rested upon my hours of work. With the blanket hanging over it, I could keep it close without the constant painful reminders.
With a roll of my shoulders and a quick hefty intake of air, I whipped the blanket off the chair and watched as the du
st motes danced through the air.
The moment the honey-colored wood came into view, my heart clenched in my chest. I stared at the high board on the back that would support the head and let my fingers trail gently over the scroll work as a memory of my wife doing the same rushed forward.
Not going there, I thought as I shook the memory away and lifted the chair to take it to Gloria.
She turned from the small window out of which she had been staring and stepped forward, “Oh, my.”
I set the chair down on top of the cracked linoleum of my kitchen floor and stepped back. Gloria inspected it closely before she let her fingertips graze over the top. “May I sit in it?”
“Of course.” I stepped further back to make it easier for her to have a seat.
“You are very talented, Grey. Do you use a pattern or is this freehand?” She pointed to scroll work for which I had used a router to engrave the top part of the rocking chair before she sat down.
“Depends,” I leaned against the small counter behind me, crossing my arms nervously over my chest. “For the rocking chair, I sketched the design freehand and then carved it, but with other things, like a table and chair set I’ve made, I used a template so they were all the same.”
She rocked back and forth slowly, while her hands lay on the arm rails. “Very smooth movement.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have pictures of the toy box you made for Nate?” she asked as she leaned her head back.
I cleared my throat, “Actually, I still have that, too.”
She stopped rocking, “Well then, where is it? I want to see it.”
“It’s right here,” I pointed to the small living room area. In front of my battered beige couch was a rectangle box hidden under a gray towel. “I didn’t have a coffee table,” I said lamely.
I removed the small pile of bills that were stacked neatly on top and lifted the towel that served as table cover. Gloria stepped up beside me.
“Oh, Grey, that is much more beautiful in person,” she exclaimed. “What exquisite work you do.”
