Grace shrugged her slender shoulders. “I find things to do. I like to read.”
“Really? What did you think about The Catcher in the Rye?” Miriam propped her elbow on the edge of the table and rested her chin on her hand, prepared to hear Grace’s take on the book.
Grace looked down at her hands, which were folded and resting in her lap. “I haven’t read that one yet.”
Miriam was prepared to say something about knowing how hard it was to find time to read, but stopped herself when she realized that finding time to read wasn’t why Grace hadn’t read it. She hadn’t read it because Bob Greeley wouldn’t buy it for her. She knew it just as sure as she knew it was hot outside.
“Don’t worry about it,” Miriam said. “You can borrow my copy.”
Grace’s eyes met Miriam’s again, and a grin stretched her lips wide and lit up her eyes. It was more than the offer of a lent book that made her smile. It was that someone had actually taken the time to visit her, had helped her with the laundry, was sitting in her kitchen and talking to her, and cared enough to loan the book. Grace had forgotten how good it felt to have a friend.
The women continued talking for a while, discussing everything from their favorite songs to boys they dated in high school. And that’s when the conversation steered back in the direction of Bob Greeley.
As it turned out, Grace had only ever dated one man. The same man she married. The man who vowed to love, honor, and cherish her, yet at that very moment was sleeping with another woman just a couple of miles away.
Miriam listened as Grace recounted their courtship and what had attracted her to Bob. She heard Grace describe a handsome, debonair young man who easily charmed his way into her heart. She watched as Grace finished describing the man she’d married. She watched as the smile turned to a frown, the happy memories fading into a sad reality. She watched all this and grew furious. Not with Grace, but with Bob.
She was angry that Bob had made such grand promises to a young girl and had delivered so little. He had stolen Grace’s youth and doomed her to a miserable and lonely life. She was furious with him, and if he walked through the door at that moment, she would let loose with a string of curse words that would make preacher Andrews blush wherever he was, and would be the talk of the town for years to come.
If Miriam clenched her jaw shut any tighter, she would surely snap some teeth. To save herself a painful trip to the dentist, she told Grace she had to leave and promised to return for a visit again soon. She fully intended to keep that promise, though she would have to learn to control her anger before she came back.
Walking with Miriam to the front door, Grace thanked her for her help and for the visit. She expressed how nice it was to have company, to have someone to talk to.
The two exchanged goodbyes and Miriam walked out the door, determined to hide her anger until she was out of Grace’s sight.
After watching Miriam pull away until she disappeared into the cloud of dust that rose in her wake, Grace closed the door and fell against it, slumping down to the floor in a heap, where she cried until she couldn’t cry any more.
She cried because she was sorry. Sorry she had ever met and married Bob. Sorry that she had given up on her hopes and dreams in order to build a life with him. Sorry that she’d never made friends. Sorry that she’d let herself down. She was so sorry.
Chapter 6
Frank Walter counted the pills and put them in the bottle, knowing that the recipient of this particular prescription would be in to pick it up before the end of the day, just like she always was.
He whistled while he worked, occasionally pushing the eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose only to have them slide back down seconds later, and he thought about how predictable the residents of Sweetwater were.
He thought about Emma Andrews, the preacher’s wife, who suffered from terrible headaches. The last Saturday of every month, she came in at noon, ordered a Root Beer Float, drank it slowly at the counter while looking through the latest issue of LIFE Magazine, picked up a tin of Anacin, and then paid and left. She did the same thing every time.
Then there was Maude Wilson, the mayor’s wife. She came in nearly every day, though she rarely picked up any medicine. She sat at the counter, usually eating ice cream, and talked Frank’s ear off. He didn’t always mind. After all, she was a pleasant woman, though her appearance was odd to say the least. But there were days when Frank was busy and could have done without her ramblings.
Maude’s husband Ollie came in the first day of each week. He brought his son Andrew and the two each had an ice cream. They kept to themselves, enjoying their father-son time. Frank didn’t mind them coming in at all, as they didn’t bother him. They didn’t try to engage in conversation with him. They just talked to each other and enjoyed their drinks.
Then there was Sara Miller. She came in at least once a week for a box of Smith Brothers Menthol Cough Drops, trying to quell the persistent cough she picked up a few months back. From time to time, she would order a Coca-Cola, but Frank knew her drink of choice couldn’t be found in a soda shop. What she preferred could only be found in her husband’s establishment down the street.
And of course there was Leroy Russell, owner of the Sweetwater Garage, conveniently located across the road from the pharmacy. Every day, he walked across the road, came in and sat at the counter, where he ordered and promptly devoured two ice cold Coca-Colas. After paying, he walked back to his garage. Just like clockwork.
While it was true that the residents of Sweetwater were predictable, occasionally someone would throw Frank for a loop. Take for instance Bob Greeley. The man hardly ever came into the pharmacy, either for medicine or ice cream or soda. But lately, he’d been coming in once a week and buying a handful of lemon lollipops. Nothing else. Frank never thought Bob to be the sort of man to partake in candy, certainly not lollipops, so he assumed they must be for Bob’s wife.
When Frank was finished filling the current prescription, he set it aside. There were no other prescriptions to fill, so he busied himself by dusting, sweeping, and washing the storefront glass.
In no hurry, Frank took his time cleaning the windows. He wanted to keep himself occupied, needed to keep busy. If he stopped and did nothing, his mind would immediately jump to his wife.
He thought of her constantly, even though he tried not to. In fact, he tried to think of anything other than her. While at work, he found things to do, things to keep his mind busy. There were days when he swept the store floor three times. Other times, he would dump a bottle of pills out just he could fill the prescription again. Anything to keep from thinking of her.
His Caroline.
Even the thought of her name gave him pause. He stood there with the rag in his hand, pressed to the glass, looking more like a storefront mannequin than a living man.
His glasses slipped down his nose and rested near the tip while his eyes stared through the window. He looked out across the street, toward Leroy Russell’s garage, but he focused on nothing. He didn’t see the old brick walls of the buildings on the other side of the only paved road in town, the road that ran right through the middle of Sweetwater and led directly to Hoxton. He didn’t see the passing traffic that whirred past his store. He didn’t see the people that walked in front of his establishment, or those that walked in front of the businesses on the other side of the road. What he saw wasn’t there, hadn’t been there for a year now, but he saw it all the same, even if it was only in his mind.
It was her. He saw her white hair perched atop her head in a bun, just like she always wore it. Her skirt hung to her ankles, just like always. She stood with her hands clasped together in front of her, smiling at Frank as she always did.
He knew she wasn’t there. He’d known it every day for a year, but that didn’t stop him from seeing her. After sixty-one years of marriage, he couldn’t just stop thinking of her. She was the other half of him, engrained onto his mind and soul. To stop thinking of her would be to stop
thinking of himself too because to him, they were one.
He missed her. Her passing had left a hole in his heart that could never be filled, an ache for which there was no cure. His only relief was occupying his mind, and even that didn’t stop the pain, didn’t stop him from thinking of her. But it helped.
Maybe his loneliness wouldn’t have run so deep if Frank’s children lived nearby. But all five of them had moved away from the sleepy little town of Sweetwater, opting to live in the city where there was money to be made and careers to be had.
Frank blamed himself for their determination to leave. He’d always pushed them to be successful, and he’d frequently said that this town was a town for elderly folks that had retired, not for the young working people. There weren’t many jobs to be had in a town as small as Sweetwater. If you didn’t own a business or a farm, you had to drive over to Hoxton to work. And if you didn’t do that, you didn’t have a job.
He wasn’t jealous. He was very proud of each of his children. He only wished, especially in the lonely silence of the last year, that at least one of them lived closer to him. He craved the company and conversation of other people, particularly family. He longed for someone with whom he could reminisce about Caroline, someone who knew her as well as he had. Someone who would understand the pain that losing her caused.
Suddenly, wrought with the overwhelming urge to break down and cry until his body was emptied of water and he was left every bit as dry as the dirt outside his shop, Frank wished Maude Wilson would pop in for an ice cream and some mindless chatter to push his pain down once more and take his mind off of Caroline, even if it was just for a little while.
Chapter 7
Maude Wilson drove down the dirt road barely ahead of a massive wall of dust that trailed behind her. She loudly sang one of her favorite songs, “I Saw the Light”. Her dear friend Emma Andrews made sure the congregation sang it nearly every Sunday during services, just because she knew Maude loved it. In return, Maude made her famous potato salad for the church dinner every week because she knew how much Emma enjoyed it. It was good to have a friend as dear as Emma.
She kept her eyes on the road ahead of her except for when she passed Frank Walter’s place. She looked away from the road and drank in his country farm house that was every bit of a hundred years old but looked as if it was only built last year. She thought of how lonely it must be for poor Frank to ramble around in that big old house alone. She couldn’t imagine losing her Ollie after all these years. Poor Frank. He must be so lonely.
When she neared the end of the dirt road, she slowed the car and stopped singing. She pulled into the church’s parking area, which was nothing more than a bare spot of dirt under an old oak tree. After the dust cloud settled, she got out and walked around the small building in search of Ollie.
Gerald was standing on the top rung of a ladder, painting, and Ollie was on the ground pouring paint into a tray. He looked up as Maude approached.
“Hey. Did I forget something?”
“No. I just wanted to stop and see Emma for a second.” She didn’t want to admit to Ollie that the real reason she stopped was to see him. Thinking about Frank Walter losing his wife had made Maude a little sad, and made her think about what it would be like if she lost Ollie. She needed to see him, if only for a minute, to make her feel better.
“She’s not here.”
“She’s not?” Maude put her balled fists on her hips.
Ollie shook his head.
From up on the ladder, Gerald must’ve been listening because he called down, “She has a headache.”
Turning her attention to Gerald, Maude asked, “Another one?”
“Yeah. Fourth one this week.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not the worst one she’s had, but it’s in the top ten. It’s a dandy.”
“We’ll have to pray extra hard for her tomorrow at services.”
“I’ve been up most of the night praying for her.”
The heat and humidity began to wear on Maude. As the sweat rolled from under her mighty bosom and down her large belly, she said, “Well I hope she gets to feeling better. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Just say a prayer for her.”
“I always do.” Turning back to Ollie, Maude said, “I’m going on into town. I’ll be back later.”
“Is Andrew still not feeling well?”
“No. I checked on him before I left. He was sleeping, so I didn’t bother him.”
Maude closed the short distance between herself and Ollie and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, dear.”
Though Ollie couldn’t see it because she was walking away from him, Maude smiled. However, her smile faded quickly when he called out, “Enjoy your ice cream.”
That man could get under her skin in a hurry.
Back in the car, Maude pulled away from the church in a huff. She wasn’t really mad, just aggravated. She knew he was teasing her, but the heat was making her moody. She couldn’t wait to get to the pharmacy so she could have an ice cream and sit in the air conditioning.
And she was close. So close she could almost feel the cold ice cream in her mouth, could almost taste it.
Chapter 8
Though her head was pounding, Emma Andrews thought the headache seemed to be letting up slightly. It was too early to tell, but the pressure didn’t feel as strong as it had an hour earlier.
Still, she remained in bed with a cool washcloth draped across her forehead. Her eyes were closed and the curtains were drawn shut. The only sound in the house was that of the grandfather clock ticking in the den. Without a headache, she didn’t hear the clock. But when she was in the grips of a bad one, every tick was a hammer’s blow to her skull.
So many things went through her mind as she lay in bed. She tried to keep her mind empty, to think of nothing in an effort to keep the headache at bay, but thoughts slipped in anyway.
She thought of her childhood, wondered what had happened to her friends from school. Thoughts of childhood always led to thinking about her own children, or more pointedly, her lack thereof. Though she’d been pregnant three times, she’d lost each child shortly after finding out she was expecting. Gerald tried to comfort her by telling her it was God’s will. That it was all part of some master plan, but she couldn’t believe that. It was no easier for her to believe that a caring god would strip her of a baby almost as quickly as he granted it to her than it was for her to believe one would curse her with such awful headaches.
But as a preacher’s wife, she had to have faith and believe in her husband, and she did so without ever contradicting him. At least not verbally. In her mind though, she couldn’t help but wonder about the babies and the headaches and what sort of almighty being would punish someone in such unfair and miserable ways, especially someone who had lived a good and decent life.
As she lay there sweating and aching, Emma tried to remember what it was like to not have headaches, a task she’d attempted before. She’d had them her whole life, as long as she could remember, but surely there had been a time when she didn’t. She certainly hadn’t been born with them.
With her mind as relaxed as possible, she tried to remember anything that might’ve happened to her to cause the headaches. She tried to remember the first time she’d had a headache that made her sick at her stomach, the first one that had made her cry. Once again, she came up with nothing. She couldn’t recall her first headache any better than she could remember an accident, a bump to the head, or any other event that would’ve forced her to live the rest of her life burdened with intense pain.
While Emma tried to imagine a reason for her headaches, her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, which was rather unusual. She was rarely ever hungry when her head hurt. She had no intention of eating though. She had no intention of moving. At least not until the throbbing eased up a little more.
But a half hour later, she had to move whether she wante
d to or not. The slight rumbling had turned to a dull thunder in her abdomen. She was really hungry now, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the meat loaf in the refrigerator that Maude had brought over the day before.
Slowly and carefully, Emma rolled onto her side. She rested before slowly pushing herself into the sitting position, and then she remained perched on the side of the bed until the new round of pounding subsided. Moving often did that, sent a wave of thumping through her skull. Sitting up while in the clutches of a headache always made things worse. The blood slammed against the walls of the veins in her head, causing pounding and pressure that often brought her to the edge of darkness, but hadn’t caused her to pass out. At least not yet. She had a feeling there would be a time when it would, when she would squeeze her eyes shut to block out the pain only to wake later on the floor next to the bed.
That time wouldn’t be today though.
When she felt the worst was over, she stood on weak, wobbly legs. Keeping one hand on the wall, she made her way to the kitchen, her growling stomach leading the way.
She didn’t feel like going to all the trouble to warm up the oven, and it was certainly too hot to add any more heat to the house, so she opted instead for a cold meat loaf sandwich and a glass of milk.
Sitting at the table satisfying her hunger, she chewed slowly so as not to aggravate the pain in her head, which was still easing up despite her fears that moving around would make it return with a vengeance.
Eating helped Emma regain some of her strength. She felt good enough now to wash the plate and glass she’d used. After that, she decided to take a cool bath. She felt up to it, and she knew she needed it. She could smell the sour sweat on her body. It was faint, but it was there. And she knew that a soak in a cool bath would make her feel a lot better.
She took great care not to move too fast as she ran a tub of water and slipped out of her nightgown. She then slowly dipped her thin, naked body down into the cool water. She couldn’t help but smile as her body sank into the water, tingling with the relief of the drop in temperature.
The Day Bob Greeley Died Page 4
