John Michael glanced at his ringing phone. The single name, Cyn, flashed across the screen. The sight gave him both a thrill and a feeling of dread at the prospect of having to cancel another date night with her.
Damn, he missed her. He ached at the thought of being able to hold her in his arms, of making love to her as he had at the hotel in Arkansas. The last time had been the morning of his mother’s death, on July 26th. Here it was, August 29th, and they’d barely had any time alone together since then. It was agony, knowing how good it had been, and would be again, once his Pop was back to his old self.
He tapped the onscreen answer button. “Hey, Cyn. How’s your day going?”
“Hey yourself. I’ve been busy, thank God.”
The sound of her voice washed over him like warm sunshine, filling him with the need to see her. “Why is it a good thing?”
“It keeps me from missing you every second of the day. How’s Mr. J.D. today? Any better?”
John’s gaze shifted over to where his pop sat in the recliner, reading today’s weekly edition of the Lake Erin Sun Times. He’d brought the paper to him ten minutes ago at two p.m. sharp, and he was already half-way through the darn thing. He figured when you had nothing else to look forward to, the local news made for highly anticipated reading material. “About the same, I’m guessing.”
“Are we still on for tonight? Or should I cancel the reservation at D.I.’s and bring over a rotisserie chicken for supper?”
“I think maybe that’d be best, Cyn. Do you mind?” Her sigh told him she did mind having to share him with his old man, every bit as much as he minded not having a second alone with her. The thought of another predictably mind-numbing evening of Wheel of Fortune, followed by Gunsmoke and Maverick reruns, made him want to tear his hair out. But her words gave him hope.
“As long as I get to sit next to you on his lumpy old sofa, I’ll be happy.”
He smiled. “It won’t be like this forever. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never. I love you, John Michael.”
As always, hearing those three words from her mouth put a smile on his face. “It never gets old, hearing that. I love you, Cyn. See you tonight.” He turned, had to take a step back at the sudden appearance of his dad inside his personal space. “Shit, Pop. Give a guy some warning, would you?”
His dad’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “Did I hear you break another date with Cynthia to stay home with me?”
“N-no. Pop, it’s fine. She likes spending time with us here.”
“Bullshit!”
“Pop—”
“Look, Son, it’s like Bess told me the other day. Between our family and Cynthia’s, we’ve had a lot of gray skies and hard rains. It’s high time somebody in this group gets a little clear weather. I’m kinda looking forward to running out of rain, aren’t you?” J.D. pointed at the phone in John’s hand. “Call her back. Whatever plans you two made for tonight, you go through with ‘em. I’m seventy-seven years old, and of sound mind and body. I don’t need a damn baby-sitter.”
“Really Pop, we don’t mi—”
“Boy! Did I raise you to disobey me? To treat me like an old fool?”
“No, sir.”
“Then hit a button on that smarter-than-you phone, put it to your ear, and tell her the date’s on. I’m not an invalid, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
J.D. turned to walk away, a steady diatribe of grumbles pouring from his mouth. “So, I’ve felt a bit down. It doesn’t mean I want to drag you down with me.”
“Pop—” One particularly hard glare from his old man cut off any further comeback. “Okay. I’m calling. Right now.” He left the room, wanting to keep his old man from seeing the bounce in his step.
He hit the redial button and she answered immediately. “Hey, Babe. There’s no need to cancel those reservations. I got an unexpected reaming from Pop. We’re on for tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yep, I’ll pick you up at five sharp. And Cyn?”
“Yes?”
“Wear your dancing shoes.” Her squeal of delight put a smile back on his face, one he couldn’t erase for the rest of the day.
J.D. stood at the door, sent his son one last wave as he headed off in his truck. Thank goodness he’d over heard him when he did, or he’d have been responsible for another night of boredom for those two. He’d tried to tell them he was okay, to go off and do whatever younger folks did these days for fun.
He was glad they were going for a meal and dancing at D.I.’s. He and Marilee loved that place. They’d had some mighty fine times dancing to good old Cajun music at quite a few clubs and dancehalls in this area over the first fifty years of their marriage. Here in Lake Erin, The Lakeshore Club had topped the list. They’d danced many a night there to live bands, eaten many a meal in its Anchor Room restaurant. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t purchased a bingo card or two so Marilee could play bingo while she ate her meal. Many a time he’d heard his sweet wife mutter mild expletives as someone else had “Bingo-ed” in the Anchor Room, when all she lacked was one lousy square.
They’d eaten many a meal at the old Wave Café at the south end of Lake Erin Avenue, passed many good times with friends at The Red Rose, attended wedding dances and receptions at the Knights of Columbus and VFW Halls. They’d spent the occasional evening with friends at Lu-Lu Broussard’s Lounge and the Circle Top in Gardiner when decent bands appeared. Neither of them had ever been drinkers, but they’d both loved to dance.
They’d showed off some fine dance moves at the Town and Country Club over in Riceville, a dot on a map just north of Gardiner. Some of the best Cajun bands they’d ever heard played right there at the place the locals had dubbed “Chicky Town” for whatever reason.
Some claimed it was because of the women that always seemed to gather there in the “old days”, others insisted its nickname was derived from the distinctive “chanky-chank” sound of the music, produced from the Cajun accordion and drums to keep the beat going. Still others said it was because of the Cajun dance moves.
Why, hell, they’d seen musical royalty there; the queen of country music, Ms. Loretta Lynn, as well as the king of Zydeco, Clifton Chenier.
It pleased him to know his son and grandson were both avid dancers of Cajun, Zydeco, and country music. He and Marilee had been thrilled to see them waltzing and jitter-bugging during Cat and Zach’s wedding reception last year. It had done their hearts good to see the young couple keep the old Cajun way of starting off their reception with the traditional Wedding March.
A new wave of sadness washed over him at the memory. He made his way to the bedroom he’d shared with his wife of nearly sixty years, and stopped in the doorway. His gaze settled on the cardboard box containing personal items from her room at the home. He sighed, reconciled to not having a damn thing better to do tonight.
Bess had called earlier, inviting him to supper, but he’d turned her down, of course. He couldn’t have people thinking he’d forgotten about his wife, even though he knew Bess was as much a friend of his as she had been Marilee’s. The old gal probably missed his wife as much as he did.
He dragged the box closer to Marilee’s overstuffed reading chair, the one she insisted on bringing with her once she’d made the decision to leave here—the same one Johnny had picked up and delivered back home because J.D. couldn’t bear to set foot in that room of hers again.
“This ain’t gonna get any easier, old man. Just get it the hell over with.” He got comfortable in Marilee’s ‘spot’, flipped open the box top. His breath hitched as his gaze fell on the top item in the box. Her treasured crocheted afghan—treasured because it had been her last gift from her beloved daughter-in-law. Bethie had taught herself to crochet and had thought enough of her in-laws to gift them each with the beautiful, hand-made blankets for Christmas. From that day on, Marilee’s blanket, in pretty blue and rose colors, had a place of honor on the back of her reading chair. He stood, unfolded the afghan and placed it on the back of the chair, where it belonged.
He sat again, peered into the box and his heart plummeted to his toes at the sight of his wife’s journal. Guilt ate at him. How the hell had he managed to forget about the one item that had been his wife’s constant companion throughout her stay at the home?
He picked it up, sat back in the chair and examined the book covered in the pink floral print, worn from her constant handling over the past year. She’d written in it when she remembered. Read from it when she didn’t. He’d only asked once to see the contents. She’d turned him down flat. Insisted it was for another time, after she was gone.
He pictured her gazing up at him from her chair, her eyes brimming with sadness and a trace of tears. “Read this when you’re ready, John. Not a moment before. Do you understand?”
He’d nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
“You must promise me, John. There are some important . . .” She’d flailed her hands then, frustrated at not being able to come up with the right words, finally settled. “It’s important you read this.”
She’d mentioned the same thing on many occasions since then, always forgetting she’d already told him.
He took a deep breath and opened the book. “Let’s see what words of wisdom you’ve left for me, sweet Marilee.”
Aided by his cataract-free vision, and new eyeglasses, he began to read. It was all there in blue ink upon bright white lined pages, sometimes a different shade of blue, but always blue ink, as was her way.
Her first entry hit him hard:
I almost killed my husband yesterday. I dropped a dishcloth next to a lit burner and walked right out of the house. Wandered around for God knows how long until the nice deputy I’ve known all my life (but whose name I can’t seem to recall) picked me up and brought me home. Thank God the smoke alarm had gone off and woke J.D. from his nap. He’d almost put out the fire by the time I got home. I shudder to think what could have happened had he not awakened when he did. I hate being away from him, but I’m where I need to be. I didn’t want to see it before, but I know this now. I love my husband too much to put him at risk again.
The next several entries were about the multitude of visits from him and Johnny, and Zachary and Cathryn. How overjoyed she was to see the earlier ultrasounds of the twins. How thrilled she was her grandson had found the love of his life. How sad she was her son had lost his so many years ago.
After the first twenty pages or so, she began to make notes of people who’d visited during the periods when she wasn’t “herself”. She’d asked her nurse to have them sign a separate spiral bound notebook so she’d know later on who’d visited with her. She’d check the list when she returned, and sometimes called her visitors to thank them.
J.D. knew all of this. They’d discussed it. He figured she needed to write it all down for her own peace of mind. By the time he got to the middle of the journal, things began to change. She began making references to a section she’d added to the back called John’s Guide to Life.
I’ve decided J.D. needs to remarry after I’m gone. He’s only 77 after all. The last four generations of Ferguson men have lived until their mid-90’s. I need to consider that he may also. I can’t stand the thought of him being alone. I need to find him someone. Not just anyone. It has to be someone I admire, someone I respect. This is my priority. I’ve started a section at the back of this journal called John’s Guide to Life (from here on out referenced as the Guide)
Several more references to her “priority” had him saddened. He hadn’t realized how much she’d fretted over leaving him alone. How hard she fought to keep returning. She spoke of how sometimes when she was herself it seemed like she was gone for seconds. She claimed to remember seeing a particular look on his face before she left him. It tortured her because she knew she’d return to him and he’d have to suffer losing her all over again.
Her notes became erratic, as though a panic had set in, anxiety over when God would answer her prayers. But one visit from an old friend changed everything, and she turned hopeful.
The first thing I did when I woke up as ‘myself’ this morning was look at my list of visitors. Bess Robicheaux’s name is on there several times, sometimes alone, sometimes with her daughter, Cynthia., who happens to be Johnny’s new girlfriend. I found snapshots in an album Zachary and Cat left here for me of Johnny with Cynthia. I’m thrilled! Our Johnny has found someone, and such a lovely young lady. Cynthia was always such a kind girl. Thank you God for small blessings.
Shortly after her entry, there was an addition to the journal.
New development! I’ve found my replacement. It is duly noted as #11 in the Guide at the back of this journal. Thank God for huge blessings. I have a plan for J.D. This has come just in time. I’m tired, so very tired of fighting my way back only to leave him again.
That would be her last legible entry toward the front of the book. There were some minor scribbles on the following page, as though she’d made an attempt, but failed. Heartsick, he turned to the back of the book. And there it was, in her neat penmanship:
John’s Guide to Life
1. Wake up every morning thanking the good Lord that you are still breathing.
2. Get up, Get dressed, and Get OUT of the house.
3. Try new things, meet new people, do not stay stuck in a rut.
He nearly laughed aloud reading the words, practically able to hear her preaching to him.
4. Get those cataracts removed (I know you’ve been putting off the surgery because I’m in this place but it’s time to do it if you haven’t already)
5. Get that prostate exam. Medicine will probably help with that problem if you have the guts and good sense to admit you have one.
He snorted. “Ha! I got you beat, ol’ girl. I’ve already had the cataract surgery and got my new specs.” He shivered at a particular memory—the dreaded prostate exam—and with good reason, too. The jury was still out on the meds his doc had prescribed. He adjusted his glasses and continued to read.
6. Spend as much time with our great grandchildren as you can. Youth has a way of rubbing off on people.
7. Do NOT spend the rest of your life mourning me John David Ferguson. If you only knew how difficult it is for me to come back to this place, you’d stop being so hard headed about this. I don’t want you to be alone.
He probably would have gotten a little weepy over number seven if number eight hadn’t made him laugh out loud.
8. Get out in the evenings, visit people, or take a drive. No Wheel of Fortune or endless reruns of old westerns all night long. The least you could do is watch Sex And the City every now and then. You can always balance it out with an episode or two of Gunsmoke. The point is, don’t plan your night by what’s on television.
His smile faded as he began to read the next item on her agenda.
9. Find someone new. I can’t stress this enough. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you all alone in that big old house without companionship.
10. I saw where Lavyrle Fruge came by while I was “away”. I know what that old tramp wants. Do NOT let that woman step one foot inside my house. If she comes sniffing around after I’m gone, you send her on her way and keep looking for something better.
“Now Marilee, how could you ever think I’d look twice at Lavyrle Fruge? If that old chienne ever came sniffin’, around I’d throw her a dog biscuit and tell her to be on her way.” He shivered again.
11. Bessie Robicheaux! She’s the one, John David. I want her for you. It’s nothing short of divine intervention. She’s always been such a good friend. She helped me so much when sweet Jenna was taken from us. She’s a good, kind person, and she’s alone too. She’s the one. She’s. I want. She’s for _______
He shook his head. “No, Marilee, No. Bess is a good friend, but she can’t replace you. No one can ever replace you.”
He started to shut the book, and stopped. Near the bottom of the page, in a barely legible scrawl, she’d somehow managed to add one last item. After some concentration, he finally managed to decipher number twelve.
12. Let me go
A sudden realization hit J.D. like a wrecking ball blasting into a condemned building. He sat forward in her chair, hugging the book to his chest, suddenly feeling much older.
“Oh, God. No.”
He couldn’t bear it.
He raked one hand in his hair, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, fisting it in his right hand again.
J.D. pictured Marilee scribbling in that book during visits when she was herself. She’d done that when Zachary, Cathryn, and the twins were there last, along with Johnny and Cynthia.
He remembered that visit with Bess, and how she’d stepped out of the room to give him and Marilee alone time. His wife had been writing in this journal like a mad woman, as though she had to get it all down before . . . before she left again.
He remembered the moment she had begun to leave him. Her pen’s movement had slowed, stuttered, the scribbling eventually turning into a somewhat straight line, almost as though her brainwaves had shut down for a moment before she lifted her gaze to his, without a hint of recognition.
He shook his head, used his handkerchief to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “So why the hell don’t I remember number twelve, Marilee?”
Where had he been when she’d written that last directive? The one much messier, much less legible than the others?
It could only mean one thing.
She’d been alone, totally alone, and had apparently been herself just long enough to get one last item on paper. It was her last message to him.
Her goodbye.
The very last time she’d been herself.
“And I wasn’t there for you.”
He flipped to the front of the book again, passed his fingers over the scribbles, examining the failed attempt to put down the words locked away in her mind. J.D. slammed the journal shut, collapsed back in the chair, suddenly too weak to stand, overcome by a flood of regret, and angry, so angry and bitter over the years that had been stolen from his wife. Eyes closed and head back on the chair, he wallowed in his own self-pity until he drifted off to sleep, with the feel of the book’s worn fabric under his fingers.
He dreamed of Marilee, the sweet sound of her voice near his ear—chiding him, insisting he stop feeling sorry for himself. In his dream he turned to her voice, opened his eyes, saw her holding an abbreviated version of that stupid “Guide”. “Look John David. Look!” she insisted. He did, because she was so unusually demanding, how could he not? The list was similar to the other, with the identical heading, but cut down to one item. Let. Me. Go.
“I can’t, Marilee.”
“You can. You must. I want this for you.”
“But, I love you.”
“I know. I’ve always known.”
“I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“It doesn’t matter. I said goodbye. Now wake up, J.D.”
“I can’t.”
“Wake up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Wake up!” She shook him.
“No.”
“Wake up, Pop!”
She shook him again, rougher this time.
“Pop!”
A loud clap sounded at his ear and he jumped. “Son of a . . . What the hell!”
Johnny stood there, hands in the air, his face twisted with a horrified expression. “Good grief! I thought you were dead.”
“Well, almost! You about gave me a heart attack.”
“Are you all right?”
J.D. sat up. “Of course I am.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “I’m a little dizzy, though.”
Concern etched Johnny’s face. “From what? Should I call an ambulance? Bring you to the emergency room?”
“I’m dizzy from whatever smell-good you drenched yourself in. Back the hell away from me, boy. You’re making my eyes burn.”
Johnny sniffed at his shirt. “Cyn likes it. She picked it out with me.”
“It doesn’t mean you had to take a bath in it. You could use a lesson in subtlety.”
“Well, I’m nervous, dammit.”
J.D. eyed his son suspiciously. “Oh, yeah? What for?”
“I’m taking Cyn dancing for the first time in a month.”
“So what the hell are you doing here?”
“I came by to see if you needed anything before I left town.”
“No. I’m okay.”
“All right, then. I’m gonna go ahead and go.”
“Okay. Do yourself and Cyn a favor. Drive with your windows down on your way to pick her up.”
“It’s still ninety degrees outside. I’ll be all sweaty by the time I get there.”
J.D. shook his head on the way to the bathroom. “It’s bound to be an improvement. Now get the hell out of here. You’re making me woozy.”
He entered the bathroom, came out a little later, freshly showered and shaved. He briefly considered putting on his pajamas to make an early night of it, but decided instead to put on a fresh set of clothes.
J.D. took a deep breath and lifted his phone. He hit the speed dial Cynthia had programmed for him and waited. It rang once, twice, and a third time before Bess picked it up.
“Bess, is that invitation still on for supper at your place?” He smiled at her answer. “I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes. Thanks.”
J.D. placed the phone in its cradle and stood slowly. He leaned over to pick up the journal, considered placing it back inside the box. After a moment of contemplation, he tucked it under his arm instead.
The way he figured it, poor Bess had every right to know what she was getting herself into.