by Inmon, Shawn
When he had received that upgrade six years earlier, he had made his office exactly like he wanted it. That is to say, he left it spartan and undecorated. His one concession to sentimentality was a framed snapshot of him and his mother, taken when they were rockhounding for agates on the coast.
It may have been plain, but it was his fortress. He had his files exactly like he wanted them and he had the only key to his office, aside from the cleaning crew, so no one ever changed anything. Also, when he was deep in thought, making arcane calculations and leaps of logic only an intuitive mathematician could make, no one bothered him.
That was only partially because of the closed door to his office. Everyone at Graystone Insurance agreed that Charles Waters, brilliant though he was, was an odd duck. A less-kind workplace environment might have labeled him a weirdo, but no one at Graystone did. After a conversation in the hallway or in front of the door to an office that people hadn’t managed to escape into, that was often the verdict: a smile, a small shake of the head and: He’s an odd duck.
Charles made efforts to fit in, but he always did so awkwardly. Where most people naturally migrate to their own group, Charles was a group of one.
Still, his office was where he was most comfortable, and now he had realized he was going to likely be away from it for forty-six percent of the rest of his life.
Just because I’m on vacation doesn’t mean I can’t go in to the office, at least for a few hours. I should get that new data on the life span of those who bicycled regularly vs. those who didn’t on Tuesday. I could at least go in on Wednesday and see how those numbers skew. It might be the last new set of numbers I get before—
He didn’t finish that sentence, even in his head. He wasn’t completely in denial about his fate—his actuarial tables did away with that. But, he wasn’t anywhere to be found on the Kübler-Ross model. Charles was incapable of anger, had no wish to bargain, had lived almost his entire existence in a low-level depression, and was nowhere close to acceptance. A new model was needed for someone like Charles.
He put all this out of his mind and focused on the next task at hand—dinner. He went to his freezer—which only had two meals left in it—and chose the one on top. Fridays were Swanson fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and apple cobbler.
While the dinner turned in the microwave, Charles thought of his next task—planning where he would want to go agate hunting along the Oregon coast. Netarts, maybe. That was the same beach where the picture with his mother that sat on his office desk was taken.
Rockhounding—searching for agates, bloodstones, jaspers and petrified wood—was not strenuous or dangerous in any way, but still, Charles never wanted to under-prepare.
While he was planning out his wardrobe, shoes, collection bags and other rockhounding equipment, the microwave dinged and brought him back to reality. He plated his dinner and sat watching the first game of the American League playoffs between the Boston Red Sox and the Oakland Athletics.
THE NEXT MORNING, HE dressed in his most durable khakis, hiking boots, long-sleeved shirt, and a light jacket. Winter hadn’t actually arrived in Western Oregon yet, but Charles had lived here all his life and knew that a bright and beautiful morning didn’t guarantee anything about the weather later in the day.
He stopped at the Chevron station at the edge of Middle Falls and topped off his tank. The Civic Coupe got better than forty miles to the gallon, but Charles never left the Middle Falls City limits without filling up first.
He drove the most-efficient route to Tillamook, passed the Tillamook Cheese Factory without even considering stopping for an ice cream cone or some cheese, then turned southwest to Netarts Bay. He found a safe parking spot then locked, unlocked, and relocked the Honda before retrieving his backpack from the trunk.
He slipped his arm through the straps of his rockhounding backpack, which contained his rock pick, small screen, magnifying glass, spray bottle and rag, and separate zippered bags. He took off at a brisk pace toward Whiskey Creek, where he had often had good luck with both jaspers and agates.
Half a mile later, he was surprised to find that he was getting short of breath and his stomach was sour enough that he regretted the bagel and cream cheese he had eaten before leaving. He found a log that pointed out toward the bay and sat down.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Unable to walk any distance at all without pain? Dying is one thing, but I don’t want to be hurting all the time as I get there.
Charles resolved to sit there until he felt better, then begin his rock hunt right there, instead of heading to the Whiskey River.
He watched seagulls going about their seagull business, then noticed a woman walking along the same path he had followed. When she drew near, he saw that she was tall and thin, with wavy gray hair, glasses, a Seattle Seahawks hat, and a friendly smile.
When she drew close, she said, “I think I agree with you. I don’t have quite as much get up and go as I once did. Mind if I share the log with you?”
Charles didn’t answer, believing that silence appropriately showed his indifference.
I wonder if she watched the baseball playoffs last night. She’s wearing a football hat, but sometimes people like more than one sport, don’t they?
He considered saying, Great game last night, huh?
He considered asking, Are you here rockhounding too?
He considered asking, Why don’t you have as much get up and go as you once did? Do you have cancer, too?
Instead, as he always did with people he didn’t know, he said nothing, but continued to watch the seagulls.
After a few minutes, the woman said, “Well, I think that was just the rest I needed. Thanks for sharing your log.”
Another man might have had a quip, or at least a smile. Charles had nothing.
When the woman had moved on a few yards, Charles allowed himself to turn his head slightly and watch her retreating back.
At that moment, he realized how lonely he was.
And, how truly alone in the world he had been for so long.
Chapter Four
CHARLES HAD RESOLVED to start his rock search right there at the beach, but he knew he had been fooling himself. He knew he was unlikely to stumble across anything good there in such a high-traffic area.
After resting for thirty minutes or so, he felt strong enough and finished the rest of the hike to the Whiskey River. He was immediately rewarded with an agate that gave off a lovely reddish color once he had sprayed it and wiped it clean. He dropped his pack, took out one of his zippered bags and dropped it in.
“Found something already? You must be a savant! I’m not finding anything.” It was the lady he had shared a log with. She blessed him with another friendly smile.
Before he put the bag back in his backpack, he removed the agate and took a few steps toward her, holding it in front of him.
“Just an agate,” Charles said, “but I think it’s pretty.”
“Just an agate,” she said in a scolding tone. “What else are we out here for?” She looked at the agate through the bottom of her glasses and nodded. “Yes, very pretty.”
Charles nodded, tucked the stone away, first in the bag, then his pack. He turned away from her and walked up the creek. He hiked for a few hundred yards and stopped dozens of times to loosen a rock and stare at it, but he only found one other stone—a yellowish jasper.
He soon felt weak and had pains in his stomach and back. As much as he hated to give up so early on a rockhounding day—particularly when it might be his last rockhounding day—he knew he needed to head back.
When he got to the spot where he had seen the woman again, he looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. He turned back toward his car, but his legs felt leaden, as if each weighed a hundred pounds.
I need to sit and rest a bit. That’s all.
He glanced around for a log, rock, or stump to sit on. There were none in his immediate vicinity, so he pushed on for a few more steps.
&n
bsp; A few more steps were all he had in him. He pitched face forward into the cool, muddy ground.
AN UNKNOWN PERIOD OF time later, he heard a voice from far away. “Stay there. Don’t try to move.”
Someone had rolled him over on his back and he opened his eyes to stare up into the arched boughs of the surrounding fir trees, with crystal blue skies beyond. Then, closer, he brought a face into focus. It was the woman with the glasses, kneeling beside him.
Her gentle smile was gone, but she didn’t look panicked, which is how most people would be, finding a prone body on the forest floor.
Charles tried to sit up, but she put a firm hand against his chest. She was obviously a woman used to being listened to. “You’re going to lie there for a few minutes while I ask you a few questions. Do you have a medical condition? Epilepsy, perhaps?”
Charles shook his head.
“I took the liberty of looking in your wallet for a medical alert card, but I didn’t see one, and you’re not wearing a bracelet. Why do you think you fainted?”
“I’m not sure. I’m dying, but I’ve only known that for a few days, so I’m not very experienced at it.”
“We’re all dying, from the day we are born, but I assume you mean you are on more of a short-term contract, yes?”
Charles was having a hard time following everything she was saying, but he got the gist of it. He nodded.
“What’s causing it?”
“Pancreatic Adenocarcinoma.”
“Oh.”
The look in the woman’s eyes showed that she didn’t need to be told any more.
“Are you a smoker?”
“No.”
“Diabetic?”
“No.”
“Well, you won an unlikely lottery then, didn’t you? How long have you been diagnosed?”
“Two days.”
The woman nodded. “Unless you hurt yourself when you fell, there shouldn’t be any danger in your sitting up, if you feel like it.”
“I do.”
The woman grasped his right hand firmly and helped him up to a sitting position.
“I’m Sarah. As in, Sarah, Plain and Tall, if you’ve read that book.”
“I haven’t. I read Ludlum and Clancy.”
“Very different indeed. That’s what makes the world go ‘round. Did you have a lot of pain before you lost consciousness?”
Charles was unsure how to answer this question, or how to deal with this inquisition in general.
“Some. It wasn’t terrible. I’ve had a pain in my back off and on, and my stomach hasn’t felt good. Not like I was going to throw up, just kind of off.”
“That’s normal, with your condition, unfortunately.”
“Are you a doctor?”
The smile returned to her face. “No, I work for a living. I am a nurse. How are you feeling at the moment?”
“Fine, actually. I think I need to rest more often and I’m not used to that yet.”
“Very likely. Your doctor has probably prescribed you something for the pain, but you shouldn’t take it and drive. Have you taken anything today?”
“No. If my doctor prescribed something, I haven’t had it filled yet.”
“You need to either call your doctor’s office or check with your pharmacy as soon as you get home. Do you live nearby?”
“I live in Middle Falls.”
I think this woman knows more about me than anyone else on Earth.
She looked in his eyes, checked his skin tone, then reached out and held his wrist to check his pulse.
“Aside from the obvious, I think you’re doing all right at the moment. Would you like to stand up?”
In answer, Charles did just that. When Sarah stood beside him he noticed that she was indeed tall. Charles was five foot ten, and she was an inch or two taller than he was.
“Any lightheadedness?”
Charles looked up and to the left, then the right. “No.”
“The safe thing to do would be to get you to the hospital in Tillamook and get you checked out.”
“No thank you. I just want to go home.”
Sarah nodded. She had expected nothing else.
“I’ll bet you parked in the lot overlooking the bay, didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response, but went on, “As did I. Come on, I’ll walk with you back to your car.”
They walked slowly and stopped at the same log and rested on the way back.
Before the afternoon was half over, they were back in the parking lot.
Charles felt like he was in Sarah’s debt, but didn’t know what to do about it.
So, he did nothing. He got in his Civic Coupe, pulled out of the parking lot and drove home to Middle Falls.
Chapter Five
CHARLES WOKE UP AT the time he normally would to go to work on Monday.
On Sunday, he hadn’t moved out of his condo, which meant that his freezer was empty and he’d had to cobble meals together from other sources.
In Charles’ kitchen, that made for a few strange bedfellows on his plate. He had tuna, pickles and mayonnaise, but no bread. He did find a can of bean with bacon soup pushed clear to the back of the cupboard though, along with a can of pears. All these items were left over from the times he surprised himself by grabbing something off the shelf on his way to the frozen foods section. It may not have made for great nutrition, but he survived the day.
On Monday, he had a list of things he wanted to accomplish. That list started with a phone call to his doctor at 9:00 sharp, as he knew that was what time his office hours started. Dr. Masin wasn’t in, but his nurse told Charles that two prescriptions had been called in to the local Rexall pharmacy—one for pain and one for his stomach.
“If either of those don’t work, call us and we’ll get you something stronger.”
I guess they don’t have to worry much about me becoming addicted to something when I’ll be dead before Thanksgiving. Every problem comes with a gift attached to it.
He considered telling the nurse about how he had collapsed on Saturday, but decided he didn’t want to. He valued his privacy.
“Mr. Waters, doctor put a note in your file that we need to schedule another appointment with you as soon as possible. We need to talk with you about our options going forward. It’s very important that we see you as soon as possible.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll do that.”
Charles lied so seldom that he was pleased he was able to pull this one off without a note of uncertainty in his voice.
Charles sat eating the last of his corn flakes and realized he would have to go to Safeway today or risk starvation. That, and a trip to Rexall, loomed large. After he had collapsed on Saturday, he was worried he might do the same thing in the frozen foods aisle of Safeway.
Sarah had told him to talk to his doctor, which he had attempted, and to take it easy, which he had done all day the day before. He decided to risk it.
Charles often took the bus downtown when he shopped at Safeway. It saved on gas and the bus was never crowded on Sunday. Today, though, he knew he needed to take his car. He didn’t want to risk having an embarrassing incident surrounded by strangers on the bus.
Charles had a normal route at Safeway. He never had to consider which aisles to go up and down and he never wandered and looked. Today, though, he discovered that Safeway was much busier at mid-morning on a Monday than it was early on a Sunday. There were constantly carts in his way and people were standing in front of the freezer section, staring at what was available.
Finally, he got his six meals—no need to buy Salisbury steak for Sunday—and headed to the register.
That was when he realized he had made a strategic error. He should have gone to the Rexall first, then gone to Safeway. Doing it this way meant that the frozen meals would sit in his trunk while he was in the drugstore picking up his prescriptions.
He stood, staring into his trunk for several long minutes, considering whether he should drive home with his meals, put them in th
e freezer, then come back to the Rexall or not. That would be better for not thawing out the meals, but it would mean extra gas used. He finally realized that while he stood there debating with himself, he was exacerbating the situation. He could already see dots of perspiration forming on the spaghetti dinner that was on top.
Decisively, he slammed the lid shut and walked with a sure step toward Rexall, which was right next door to Safeway in the small strip mall.
He was disconcerted when he got to the pharmacy at the back of the store and found that there were two other people in line ahead of him. He stood and waited while the confidence in his decision to come here drained away. He would have sworn he could actually feel the meals thawing in his trunk.
Finally, after what seemed like a long wait, the smiling pharmacist asked him for his name and returned to the window with two large bottles of pills. “Have you ever been prescribed these pills before?”
“No,” Charles said, only wanting to get back to his Civic and what he was sure was the dripping remains of his week’s dinners.
“This one,” the pharmacist tapped one of the prescription bottles, “must be taken twice a day, and always with meals. Understand?”
“Yes,” Charles said, trying to use the smallest amount of syllables he could to hurry along the process.
“This one,” the pharmacist tapped the other bottle, “is a strong painkiller. You shouldn’t drive or operate equipment for at least four hours after taking one.”
Charles nodded, deciding that was even faster than a single syllable.
The pharmacist dropped both bottles into a white paper bag, and said, “Your co-pay will be sixteen dollars and ten cents.”
Charles slid a twenty onto the tall countertop, collected his change and his prescriptions and hurried toward his car.
Charles almost never drove above the posted speed limit, and, as tempted as he was to cheat by five miles per hour, he kept it at the limit all the way home.
He hurried toward his front door, bags in his arms and keys extended for fast entry.
