The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story)

by Carol McCormick

  He sipped his coffee and studied Denise over the rim of his cup. She was beautiful and sweet and ethereal, able to pick and choose any eligible bachelor in the place, so why was she flirting with him? He’d never considered himself eligible, because in his mind, he wasn’t. He was still bound to Lorraine, not only by law for one more month, but also in his heart forever.

  Lord, I miss her.

  * * *

  Mr. Jenkins lay on the hospital bed facing the window. Dylan didn’t know if the elderly man was sleeping or watching the sparrow perched in the maple tree outside. He quietly approached the bed, and whispered, “Mr. Jenkins?”

  A head of white hair slowly turned on the pillow. “Well, howdy there, Dylan,” Mr. Jenkins said, pushing himself up with his trembling hands. “What brings you here?”

  “You do, of course. I hear your ticker’s acting up.”

  “No more than usual, I suppose,” he said, inhaling a strained breath. “My better half left a few hours ago. Too bad you missed her.”

  “I thought I’d stop by to see her after I leave here.”

  “That’d be mighty kind of you. She gets lonely when I’m not around. Always was a people person, that woman.

  The clatter of a cart stopped outside the door and a young man walked in with a tray of food then set it on the table. Just as quickly as he came in, he left again.

  “Let’s see what’s for supper.” Dylan lifted the lids off the containers. “Vegetable soup, coffee, lime JELL-O. Not much of a selection. Are you on a special diet?”

  “Seems that way. Low-fat, low-salt, low-taste.”

  Dylan laughed. “Here, let me help you.” He stood to adjust Mr. Jenkins’ pillow and then smoothed his sheet. “How’s that?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  Dylan pulled a chair up close to the bed and then lifted a spoonful of soup to the elderly man’s mouth.

  “Blah!” Mr. Jenkins turned his head away.

  “Come on, Walt,” Dylan coaxed in the kindest tone he could muster. “If you don’t eat, you can’t go home.”

  “I’m halfway home now,” Walter said in a low but sincere voice. His eyes looked up at Dylan through a fringe of white lashes. “Jesus is waiting for me on the other side. I’m tired and I’m ready for heaven. The only thing holding me here is my Thelma. She needs me.” Walter’s eyes glistened with tears. “It’s not good that man should be alone, you know. That’s why God made Eve. He formed her right from Adam’s rib. I think He made her that way, so when a man finds his missing rib, he’ll just know inside that she’s the one.”

  Dylan could almost hear Lorraine saying, Yes, I know. He turned his head toward the door, but no one was there. “I know what you mean, Walter. I know what you mean.” Dylan slowly lifted the spoon, and Walter opened his mouth to eat then wiped his chin with a shaking napkin.

  * * *

  Lorraine looped her stethoscope around the nape of her neck as she walked down the corridor toward the nurse’s station. She happened to glance in room 312 and recognized the profile of the man sitting next to Mr. Jenkins. She stopped abruptly and backed up to stand outside the door. Peeking around the corner, she saw Dylan smoothing the sheet and then feeding soup to the man in the bed.

  “Come on, Walt, if you don’t eat, you can’t go home.”

  “I’m halfway home now. Jesus is waiting for me on the other side. I’m tired and I’m ready for heaven.”

  The scene quickened her heart and shortened her breath to a hyperventilated state. Spying on her estranged husband, she felt a twinge of guilt. Not that she was out of line in looking or listening, because she had a right to be here. No, the thing that bothered her most was seeing Dylan’s benevolence toward the elderly gentleman. The loving concern that she saw just now bothered her because it blew holes in the excuses she used to justify her decisions. But more than that, if she was honest, seeing Dylan brought a guilty thrill.

  An orderly walked by, and Lorraine bent down pretending to tie her shoe. The orderly said, “Helen’s looking for you at the nurse’s station.”

  “…when a man finds his missing rib, he’ll just know inside that she’s the one.”

  “Yes, I know,” Lorraine told the orderly.

  “I know what you mean, Walter. I know what you mean.”

  Lorraine hurried past the doorway and sprinted toward the nurse’s station.

  * * *

  The Jenkins’s home sat back from the road behind a huge weeping willow tree. The smell of Concord grapes in the brisk autumn air greeted Dylan as he stepped out of the car and walked up the stone path that led to the house. The sun was near setting, but he could still see three terracotta pots of wilting mums sitting on each of the steps that led up to the porch. When he knocked at the door, the curtain in the window moved and the porch light flicked on. When the light shined, it displayed hundreds of ladybugs that had alighted on the white siding to make it look speckled with measles. “Mrs. Jenkins? It’s me, Dylan.”

  The elderly woman with the same white hair as her husband’s slowly opened to the door.

  “I stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

  “Come in,” she said, pushing the outer screen door to let him in, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Step back and let me try.” Dylan yanked at the door and it flung open. “You need this hinge tightened up. That should straighten things out. I can fix it for you in no time.”

  “No, no, don’t trouble yourself,” she said, holding the door open. “Come inside and have some coffee.”

  “I’ll tell you what, you go fix the coffee and I will fix the door.” He didn’t wait for her to disagree, but stepped off the stairs and popped open the trunk of the car to find a screwdriver. Back on the porch, the hinge was fixed in a jiffy. He tested the door by opening and closing it a few times and then he walked inside.

  Mrs. Jenkins called to him from the kitchen, “Have a seat, Dylan. I’ll be right there.”

  The house seemed to sag like the old couple themselves, but it was neat and clean. He moved an embroidered pillow to the corner of the sofa and sat down in the middle.

  “Here we are.” Mrs. Jenkins walked into the parlor with teacups and saucers a-tinkling as her shaky hands set the tray on the table. The woman’s skin seemed a mere translucent covering for her thin frame. “I made the pie this morning. I hope you like cherry.”

  “It’s one of my favorites.” Dylan lifted the plate from the tray and then leaned forward to take a bite over it, so crumbs wouldn’t fall on the carpet. “This is great, Mrs. Jenkins.” He pointed to the pie with his fork.

  “Please, call me Thelma. I don’t like formalities,” she said, easing into a rocking chair. “People call Jesus by his first name. It’s nicer that way. More friendly like.”

  Dylan smiled at the woman’s simplicity and innocence then took a drink of coffee and set the cup down. “I just visited Mr. Jenkins, I mean Walter, in the hospital.”

  “How is he? I saw him earlier, and he seemed tired.”

  “He’s weak, but he ate a little soup.”

  “That’s good. He hasn’t been eating much lately.”

  A flock of Canadian geese flew over the house with a chorus of honking when they passed by. Thelma looked up toward the ceiling and smiled as though she could see through it. “I love the sound of the geese in autumn. Did you know that they mate for life?” Thelma sighed deeply and continued as though remembering out loud.

  “Walter and I used to feed them down at the Dunkirk pier. One day we found a dead goose along the shore. The mate wouldn’t leave its side. A few days later, we found the other goose dead in the same spot too.” Mrs. Jenkins pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Walter knows where he’s going. That’s the most important thing, you know. Knowing that you’re going to Heaven when your life on earth is over.”

  “Yes, I know it is.” Dylan nodded.

  “And relationships. Keeping them strong. Close.” Thelma smoothed the handkerchie
f on her lap and then folded it.

  “How do you do it? You and Walter, I mean. You have such a happy marriage.”

  “Oh, we’ve always used the Bible as our marriage manual. It tells exactly what men and women need to be happy,” she said, flapping her hand in the air. “Men need respect and admiration. Women need love and attention. When you give one, you get the other. It’s that simple.”

  Dylan raked his fingers through his hair, then said, “It may sound simple to you, but I don’t really know how to do it. I don’t know what it looks like. I’ve never seen it modeled before. My father was an alcoho— ” Dylan stopped himself. He didn’t mean to verbalize such personal information.

  Thelma patted Dylan’s hand. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Dylan. Let me see if I can help. Love is a bit like making soup. What you put in the kettle is what you ladle out later. If you put in good food, you’ll ladle out yummy soup that’ll make you feel good too. If you put in spoiled food, you’ll ladle out a horrible mess that’ll taste bad and make you feel awful too. It just makes sense, doesn’t it? What you put in is what you get out.”

  Thelma nodded at her own affirmation. “But men and women are different in the way that they feel loved. Men like to be admired for what they do, for their integrity and their accomplishments, whether it’s at work or at the gym or mowing the lawn, because it makes them feel manly. When a woman tells a man that she is proud of him, or she tells him that he did a good job, he’ll about bend over backwards to take care of her and love her.”

  “Absolutely,” Dylan nodded and grinned in agreement.

  “But women like attention from men, because it makes them feel feminine and adored. That’s why they’re always fixin’ themselves up, doing their hair, wearing pretty clothes and makeup and jewelry and perfume. It’s all to attract your attention, you know.”

  “Well, it works,” Dylan said, smiling.

  “Yes, it does,” Thelma returned the smile and then winked at him, “but you have to let her know that you notice her efforts by your words or by your actions. She also wants you to love what’s inside of her, the good and even the not-so-good. When a woman knows that you accept her in spite of her scars, bumps or bulges, she will learn to trust and love you.”

  Dylan exhaled audibly as a sense of regret washed over him. How he wished he’d known these things a few years ago. “I’ve always loved Lorraine, but I didn’t know how to show her.”

  Thelma leaned forward and patted Dylan’s hand. “Love like Christ loved you. He gave his life for you even unto death.”

  “But I would die for Lorraine.”

  “Sometimes it almost seems easier that way, doesn’t it?” Thelma leaned back and smiled. “The hard part is living for someone, sacrificing, giving, forgiving like Jesus does.”

  “In other words, unconditionally.”

  “That’s right. A woman likes to know that she’s the most important person in her husband’s life.”

  Dylan leaned forward with his head bowed and his arms resting across his knees, remembering how he put his friends before Lorraine. “Walter mentioned something about you being his missing rib.”

  “Walter believes that the reason the woman was made from the man’s rib is because it’s near his side, so she can be close to him. The rib is beneath his arm, so she will be protected by him and near his heart to be loved by him.”

  Dylan exhaled an audible breath. “That is so true.”

  “More coffee?” Thelma smiled and poured Dylan another cup before he could answer. “I always feel like a queen when Walter pays attention to me. Most of the time it’s something simple like bringing me the newspaper and a cup of tea, or a bowl of ice cream in a pretty dish. Other times, he’ll buy me a little gift like that rose over there.” She pointed to a single red rose in budvase. “The gift is usually something I don’t even need, but when he brings me a small token of affection like a new book, or a chocolate bar, or even a stuffed animal, I know that he was thinking of me that day. On special occasions he’ll surprise me and splurge on jewelry or a pretty dress. That’s when things really heat up around here.”

  A smile flicked across Dylan’s lips at the thought of the elderly couple having a frisky tryst. Thelma grinned too, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “He also thanks me for work that I do around here. Sometimes he even pitches in and sweeps the floor or washes dishes or makes the bed.” Thelma tipped her head modestly and looked up through her lashes. “And he always tells me that I’m beautiful and how much he loves me. Compliments are like magnets that draw people together. When Walter is attentive and shows me so much kindness, I want to do things for him too.” She clasped her hands and rocked in her chair. “He makes it easy for me to do my part and respect and admire him.”

  Dylan sat back and rubbed his chin. He’d thought of saying and doing some of those nice things for Lorraine while they were together, but he never followed through. He was too busy thinking of himself and what he wanted, rather than how to make her feel special. “I had my chance with Lorraine and I ruined it. It’s over.”

  Thelma held up a finger. “You’ve read your Bible, Dylan. Nothing is impossible with God. He promises that all things are possible to those who believe.” Thelma stood up and walked to the corner of the room. She picked up her Bible from an end table, walked back to the sofa, and sat down next to Dylan. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Not many people know this, but Walter was an ornery coot before he became a Christian.”

  “Walter?” Dylan raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s right.” Thelma pulled out a worn yellowed newspaper clipping from her Bible. “This was Walter over sixty years ago: Dunkirk Man Arrested for Assault.

  “Walter was like a wild donkey, kicking up his heels whenever someone tried to make him to do something that he didn’t want to do. He lost a few jobs because of it too. He was angry about the war. It took his father away from him when he was just a boy. He grew up fighting with everybody and anybody because of it, except for me, of course. He took a shine to me right away. I suppose that was because I could see right through his tough exterior to his aching heart.”

  Dylan could hardly believe that the sweet elderly man was once a rough and rowdy young man.

  “I kept praying for him and praising him whenever I saw growth, and then one day he gave his life to Christ.” Thelma’s voice grew more intense as she spoke. “Now he didn’t change overnight, mind you. The Lord had to do a work in him. He put Walter through some fiery trials like a pressure cooker cranking up the heat on a tough cut of meat, until it’s nice and tender and sweet.”

  “Incredible.”

  “Yes, sir, I saw such a change in him after that. I knew the Lord had a hold of him. A year later, we were married.”

  Thelma pulled out a newer, less yellowed and worn newspaper clipping. “This one is from twenty years ago. It shows what miracles God can do in a person’s life: Dunkirk Man Presented Outstanding Citizenship Award. “This is how most people know my Walter. He’s dedicated his life to serving others, not only at his workplace before he retired, but also in the community. He took to helping people like a doctor to the sick. If anyone needed something, whether it was a driveway needing shoveling or someone scratching out a living and needing food, Walter was there with an open hand.”

  Thelma gave Dylan the clipping and continued. “Walter loved to sneak up to a needy family’s home at night and leave a box of groceries on their porch. He’d rap on the door then run like the dickens to his car parked down the road.” Thelma cupped her hand to her cheek and laughed. “He loved giving when no one was looking. Didn’t want the attention.”

  “In secret like the Bible says,” Dylan added.

  “That’s how he did a lot of things for people. He didn’t even want this award. The newspaper photographer pret’ near wrestled him into the chair for the picture.” She pointed back to the clipping. “Walter said his reward was stored up in Heaven.”

  Thelma took the arti
cle and gently tucked it back into her Bible. “Pray about Lorraine and leave her the Lord’s hands. Rushing God’s work is like forcing a bud open when the flower’s not ready to bloom.” She motioned toward her rose again. “Time helped that rose to open up. A woman’s like that when she trusts a man. His sweet patience and kindness makes her feel safe to grow and bloom. If it’s meant to be, Dylan, the Lord will work things out in His time.”

  “Thelma, you are truly incredible. Thank you.”

  She smiled as she stood, and said, “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m mighty tired and I need to lie down.”

  “I have to get going anyway. Thank you for the pie and for sharing your wisdom.”

  “And thank you for fixing my door. Walter hasn’t been up to repairing much since he’s been feeling so poorly.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Dylan let himself out and as he closed the door behind him, he saw the soft glow of light in the living room and Thelma kneeling beside the sofa. Her shoulders were shaking and her handkerchief covered her face.

  Lord, please help Walter to recover, and comfort Thelma during this difficult time.

  SEVENTEEN

  Dylan sat on his porch stairs, tying a hook to his fishing line and giving it a tug to tighten the knot. He glanced toward the winding path that led to the creek, as he leaned his pole against the steps, before going into the house. Inside, he picked up his net, and as he did, he heard an engine growl in the distance and rocks pop on the road as a car pulled into his driveway. Moving the curtain to one side, he looked out, and whispered, “Lorraine!” His heart kicked into overdrive and his first instinct was to hop the porch, pick her up and twirl her around, but he thought that wouldn't be a wise idea just yet. He slowly pushed the door open and nonchalantly walked out to meet her with the net in his hand.