We spend a couple of hours in bed, relaxing and recovering.
Dave seems really pleased with himself, and it reminds me how much men look to their erections for their identities. He’s been happy with me all this time. I know he has. Even without intercourse. But he’s also really proud that he’s been able to perform this way.
It’s just after six now. We have plenty of time to dress and get to breakfast on time. I want to take a shower, and Dave does too, so we go our separate ways, planning to meet up before we go to the dining room.
I’m a little sore. My thigh and abdomen muscles are very tired. It’s been a while since I’ve used them like that. But I feel good overall after I take a shower, and I’m looking forward to seeing Dave again.
Since he hasn’t come to my door at five minutes to seven, I leave and walk over to his. I feel like I have a juicy secret as I greet the staff and residents I pass in the hall. I wonder if they have any idea about the kind of morning I’ve had.
I used to feel this way a lot—when I was young and had a particularly good sexual interlude. It’s startling that I should feel the same way now, but the feeling is almost exactly the same.
Dave is just coming out of his door when I reach it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, checking to make sure his door is locked.
“It’s fine. I was ready early, so I figured I’d save you the walk.” I look at him closely. He’s a little pale. “Are you feeling okay?”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’m fine.”
“You look—I don’t know—tired or something.”
“I guess I could be a little tired.” He gives me a secretive smile. “I don’t know why I would be.”
I smile back, feeling better. “We can take it easy this morning and get some rest.”
We head to the dining room and take our normal table, where we’re joined shortly by Gordon and another pleasant lady about my age named Veronica. Dave is quieter than normal as we eat, and he still looks a little pale to me, but he’s probably just tired.
I’m tired too. I think I’ll be taking a midmorning nap today.
Breakfast is relaxed. Dave gets up to get me a refill on my water glass. I’ve drunk the whole thing, feeling unusually thirsty. There are servers who go around and handle refills, but they aren’t as ever-present as in a restaurant, and the drinks are always set up on the table against the wall near the kitchen.
I watch Dave as he walks back. I love the lines of his body and the shape of his face and the color of his eyes. But he’s definitely looking pale this morning. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken that pill.
As he nears the table, I see that his hand trembles slightly as it holds the glass of water.
I should have gotten up on my own to get more water. I shouldn’t have let him do it for me, even though he offered before I even thought about it.
His hands don’t usually shake.
As I’m having that thought, the glass of water falls out of his hand to crash to the floor and spill all over his shoes, the bottom of his pants, the carpet.
I’m about to make a gentle joke—since that helps when people are clumsy, as many of us are sometimes around here—but then Dave falls down too, next to the empty water glass.
He just slides to the floor.
There’s a rush of noise, as several people jump up and a few women give little cries of surprise and distress.
I’m too shocked to do anything immediately.
Dave is lying there on the floor. He doesn’t appear conscious. And my first thought is paralyzing: I’m sure he must be dead.
Dave isn’t dead. There’s no way I can express my relief when I realize this is so.
Two of the staff members run over to him, and the nurse is summoned. They determine he is alive but unconscious, and the nurse says it looks like one of those episodes he had before.
It’s not long before they declare him stable and get him on his way to the hospital.
Several people are fussing over me, and they’re really getting on my nerves. I feel cold and rather stunned, but I’m not the one who just passed out like that. A few people encourage me to stay here and rest until I hear how Dave is doing and am able to go visit him.
That’s the most ridiculous advice I’ve ever heard. I’m not so old that a scare like this will send me to my bed. And I’m not about to stay here when Dave is in the hospital.
So I drive my car over to the hospital by myself. The hospital is only ten minutes away, and I don’t want anyone with me, fussing and getting on my nerves.
I ask about Dave at the front desk, and they direct me to a waiting area. I’m waiting there when Kevin comes in, looking hassled and urgent.
I’m about to get up and go over to speak to him when a nurse comes out and summons him back. He glances at me, and I’m sure he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything.
So I wait some more.
When I see the nurse again, I go over and ask her about Dave. She looks sympathetic but says that, since I’m not family, I can’t see him yet.
Back I go to sit down and wait.
It’s terrible. After about an hour, every joint in my body aches, and there’s no way I can get comfortable in the chair. Kevin hasn’t made a reappearance. No one tells me anything.
If Dave is conscious, surely he’d be asking for me. But maybe he’s still unconscious. Maybe he’s slipped into a coma. Maybe he’s already dead.
I’m shaking with nerves and emotions, and I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done to myself—falling in love with someone when neither of us has very much longer to live. Whatever we have can’t last very long. We’re just setting ourselves up for pain.
It was so much easier before—when there was just me to worry about. I was alone, but at least I was secure and wouldn’t have my heart torn out like this.
I’ve been waiting more than two hours when I finally see John Martin walking through the double doors and down the hall that leads past this waiting area. I jump up so quickly my hip catches, and I let out a little sound of pain.
He looks over, immediately recognizes me, and approaches.
“Are you all right?” His eyes study my face with professional efficiency.
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ve been waiting to hear news about Dave. Are you here to see him?”
“Yes, I was just with him.” He frowns. “Has no one come to talk to you?”
“No. I’m not family, so they wouldn’t let me back at first. I saw Kevin earlier, but …”
Dr. Martin shakes his head. “He left a little while ago, since Dave is stable. He’s sleeping now.”
I let out a breath of relief. “He’s okay?”
“I think so. It’s one of those episodes. He’s had them periodically. It’s something neurological, but we’re having trouble pinning down what causes it and how to address it.”
I take another deep breath. Then I say, a little hesitantly, “He … he took a pill this morning.”
Dr. Martin’s brows draw together. “A pill? What do you mean?”
There’s no choice now but to admit it. “We were … intimate, and he took a pill. Do you think that could have—”
“Oh.” Enlightenment has dawned on his face. He smiles at me kindly. “I don’t think that would have done it. Who prescribed it?”
“The PA at Eagle’s Rest. She seemed to think it would be fine for him.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was.” He looks down thoughtfully. “I’ll make a note of it and check it out, but I really don’t think that’s what would have done it. He’s had these before, you know.”
“I know. I just … I was just worried.”
“Of course you were.” He glances back at the double doors. “He’s stable now, so you can go back and sit with him if you like. He’ll wake up in a little while, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you there.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you. I would like to do that.”
I feel much better as I walk through the doors with him and down a hall to a private room. Dave is in the bed. He looks very old against the pillow and covers, surrounded by all the medical equipment.
My stomach churns as I sit down in the chair beside the bed.
“Can I get you anything? Maybe some tea? Or would you like something to eat?”
I’m about to refuse Dr. Martin’s kind offer when I realize that it’s late in the morning now, and I’m feeling quite weak. “Just tea would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Dave is sleeping. I can see his chest rise and fall. One of his hands is resting outside the covers, and it looks very wrinkled and worn.
I hate this. I hate that he looks this way now, when he’s always been so strong.
Dr. Martin returns with my tea and a pack of crackers and cheese, which I accept. Then he leaves, telling me he’ll be back to look in on Dave later today.
So now I’m alone with him. I drink my tea and eat my crackers and wonder why I’ve done this to myself.
I would have been happier alone, without all this heartache.
He might not be dead right now, but he has something wrong with him that they can’t diagnose and so they can’t treat. It can’t be good. Who knows how long he’ll hold out? We can’t even figure out things that trigger it, so there’s no way to try to prevent the episodes.
I’ve been in the room more than an hour and have actually started to doze off when a motion on the bed brings me back to consciousness.
I open my eyes to see Dave shifting under the covers. As I watch, his eyes open.
After a moment, they rest on me. “Eleanor.”
I make a foolish sound of emotion. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
“I … I don’t know. What happened?”
“You had one of your episodes. You’re in the hospital now.”
He frowns, awareness and intelligence returning to his face, making such a drastic difference that it’s almost shocking. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Just an hour here,” I say, not wanting him to know how long I had to wait before I was let into the room.
He looks to the tray table beside the bed. Seeing his watch, he lifts it up to peer at it. “You must have been here longer than that.”
“I just got to the room an hour ago. I was in a waiting room before that.”
“You’ve been here way too long. You need to go back.”
“I do not. I need to stay with you.”
He smiles tiredly. “I’m evidently just lying here.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“My head, a little. Not too bad. Has Kevin been here?”
I try not to sneer at the name. “He was here earlier. He left once he found out you were stable and asleep. I’m sure he’ll come by later.”
“Yeah.” Dave sighs. “You should go back.”
“I’m not going to go back yet, and you shouldn’t expect me to. I want to be here with you.”
His face twists strangely, and he reaches out toward me. I assume he’s looking for my hand, so I place it in his. He closes his cool fingers around mine and then raises my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the knuckles. “I’m sorry to worry you.”
“What makes you think I was worried?” I’m deeply touched by the words and the little gesture. I’m feeling far too weak, far too scared.
I don’t like feeling this way. I never have.
He gives a huff of laughter. “I know you, remember.”
“I guess.” I smile at him so he knows I’m teasing.
“I love you, remember.”
“I do remember. I love you too.”
“Good.” He closes his eyes and lets loose of my hand. “I’m going to rest for a little while.”
“Good plan.”
I watch him as he falls asleep again, and I wonder if there’s any possible way to protect my heart.
Life gives you things and then takes them away. If you’re lucky, the giving and taking mostly balance out.
I stay with Dave most of the afternoon, but I’m so tired around supper time that everyone—the nurses, Dr. Martin, Dave—all insist I head back to the residence.
I know they’re right, so I do it. I manage to eat a little bit, and I take a hot shower. Then I collapse on my bed and go right to sleep.
I wake up much later than usual—proof of how tired I was. The first thing I do is call Dave, and I’m pleased when he answers the phone. He sounds much more like his regular self. He tells me they’ll probably keep him in the hospital today so they can run more tests, but he’ll likely be able to come home tomorrow.
Then he tells me Kevin is coming to see him this morning, so I should take it easy and not come by until after lunch.
It makes sense. I don’t really want to hang around if Kevin is there too. Plus, I’m still so tired I don’t want to get out of bed.
So I have a leisurely morning, trying to talk myself out of having a panic attack about being in a relationship with a man who might die at any time, and then I drive over to the hospital around noon.
I’m not going to let Dave see how I’ve been feeling. I don’t want him to know how scared, how uncertain I suddenly am. My reaction is probably natural, but it’s also unworthy. That’s not—and never has been—how love is supposed to work. So I’ll keep it to myself, and I’ll work through it soon enough.
It’s more important for Dave to know I love him and get better enough to come home.
He looks much healthier when I enter the room—at least physically. He’s not as pale, and it appears someone has helped him with his hair, since it’s not sticking out in all directions like it was yesterday.
I smile cheerfully and ask him how he’s feeling. I’m surprised when he just mutters out a response.
I realize his expression is that grumpy one, when he’s pulled back inside his shell.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, sitting down next to him. I’d take his hand if he offered it to me, but he doesn’t.
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know.”
“Well, something is going on.” My heart is starting to hammer—that tremor of warning that something bad is about to happen. I know it. I’ve lived long enough to recognize it when it comes. “Just tell me.”
“Kevin wants me to move to Virginia Beach with him.”
I sit up straight with a jerk. “I know. We talked about it before. You decided against it.”
“I didn’t really decide against it.”
“Yes, you—” I stop myself, knowing arguing about something so trivial isn’t worth the trouble. It doesn’t matter whether he decided against it and is now changing his mind or if he never decided against it and just made me think he had. “Are you thinking about doing it?”
“I’m thinking about it. He makes a lot of sense.”
“What kind of sense is he making?”
“Just that the whole family is there, and there will be a lot of people around to help me. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
Of course he’s not. None of us are. And I realize that this episode has scared him too—just like it’s scared me. This is his way of coping.
The realization hurts so much I can barely speak, but I manage to say, with a degree of my normal composure, “I thought you said you weren’t going to leave me. You didn’t mean that?”
“Of course I meant it.” He’s looking grumpy again, angry even. “How can you doubt it?”
“I doubt it because you’re talking about leaving right now. What am I supposed to think?”
“Well, you can come with me.” He scowls at me. “You can just come with me.”
It feels like a slap in the face—an offer that’s nothing more than an afterthought, an invitation so ludicrously impossible.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap, tired of trying to sound calm.
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“Because I’m not going to leave. I’ve been here my whole life. This is where I want to be. You know that.”
“Maybe I thought you loved me enough to let it go.” He’s muttering now and sounds bitter.
Probably about as bitter as I feel. “Right. I’m supposed to sacrifice everything because you can’t say no to your stepchildren.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Of course it is. You can’t say no. You’re too apathetic to put up a fight. And so you’re willing to give up everything you have here to do what they want. And now you expect me to do the same thing when you’re clearly prioritizing those spoiled brats who just take advantage of you over me. What? Am I supposed to find a new home there? What’s that going to cost me every month?”
“I would—”
“Don’t you dare offer to pay for me. You know better than that. I’m supposed to leave my family and everything I love here?”
“I thought you loved me.” He’s sulking now, like a child. I’ve seen old men do that over and over again when they don’t get their way, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of all of this. I’m supposed to be relaxing and taking it easy for my final years, and all I’ve had is angst and worry and frustration, and now this.
Heartbreak, I guess you could call it.
“This is not how love works.” I stand up, since if I stay here any longer I’m going to cry.
He turns his head to glare at me coldly. “So that’s it? You’re giving up on us?”
“You’ve already given up on us. I’m just agreeing to your terms.”
I turn and leave after that, knowing it’s over, knowing it’s hopeless, knowing I was foolish to ever think this could work.
We’re not young anymore, investing in a long life together. There’s not much left for us to even have, and the habits of a lifetime are simply too hard to break at this point.
I drive home and lock myself away in my room.
It’s funny how something so small can shatter what two people have worked so hard to build.
I was part of a couple just an hour ago, and now I’m not.
Now I’m alone again.
When I was seven years old, I spent two weeks dreaming of a trip into town. Our parents had promised the trip to my sister and me. We were going to see a movie and go to an ice cream shop for milk shakes.
I was so excited about the trip. The anticipation filled my head for days. I slept in rag curlers the night before so my hair would fall in pretty curls. And, finally, on the afternoon, my sister and I got dressed up in our best ruffled dresses and patent leather buckle shoes.
We went to the movie first, and the whole family enjoyed it. Then we went to the ice cream shop for milk shakes. Sitting at the bar was a boy of about twelve. He wore a leather jacket and looked sour and rebellious. I’d seen boys like that before, and I didn’t like them. I always gave them a wide berth.
I had to walk right past him to get to our table, though. I was holding my sister’s hand. The boy was looking right at me, and so—being me—I stared right back at him.
Looking away would be a defeat, and I didn’t like to be defeated even back then, even by mean boys of twelve.
As I passed, I heard the boy say under his breath, “Ugly cow.”
I was sure he was talking about me.
I was seven, and the words just decimated me. I spent the whole time at the shop trying not to cry, trying to figure out if I was really ugly, why he would have said something like that to me. I felt so sick I could barely swallow my milk shake. My mother was sure I was ill, but the truth was I was just so upset.
People have sometimes thought that I’m unfeeling because I don’t openly show what I feel. They think I’m not as emotional as more demonstrative people, that I don’t feel things as deeply.
And they’re so wrong.
That whole day was ruined for me—because of that boy’s comment. Even the parts of it I enjoyed, that I spent so long looking forward to, were tainted for me.
I sometimes wonder if I could have talked myself out of it, and I wonder the same thing again now.
Because I’m feeling the same way as I go to bed—like I’m sick, like everything that’s been so beautiful here at Eagle’s Rest is now tainted, that I’ll never get it back, like I’m still that little girl, devastated by one moment that changed everything.
I’m not a child anymore, however, and I tell myself it will be better tomorrow.
I hope it will be. Right now, hope is all I have.