Authors: Marc Buhmann
“Charm?” David said with a smile. “I doubt the regulars will agree with you there.”
“I wonder if Frank ever came here?”
She pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eye. The light mood they’d been sharing dissipated.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s not that,” she said glumly. “The doctors… they don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When did they tell you?”
“Today. Merry fucking Christmas, right?” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, lit one.
The bartender brought them their drinks then left them to talk privately.
“Of all days,” he said more to himself. Then: “Why do they think that?”
“Readings, I suppose. I don’t know. They tried to explain it to me, but it’s gibberish.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” she asked. “Remain hopeful. Doctors have been wrong before.”
“I’m sure he’ll come too.” He reached out and covered her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze. “If there’s one thing I’m sure of is that he can hear you—like Lilly can hear me when I talk to her—and he’s fighting to make it back to you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have to.”
David felt bad for Abigail. He knew she had no family. Both her and Frank’s parents were dead, she was an only child, and Frank’s older sister had run off with some guy never to be seen again. And she hadn’t had time to befriend any of the locals, besides him, that was. He was the closest person to her at the moment. Thankfully, the doctors hadn’t put him in that position yet, so he still lived every day as if Lilly would come back to him. He could only imagine what Abigail was experiencing.
They sat in silence, a regular and the bartender quietly conversing on the other end of the bar. Soon David and Abigail had finished their drinks, ordered another round.
“I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate life and death, and you want to know a funny thing?” she asked. “I still don’t have an answer. I can’t make up my mind. What do you think, David? Is there someplace we go, or do we just… disappear?”
While he had been raised Catholic, he’d made his choice years ago to believe that once his time was up that was it. He wasn’t sure that was the most comforting thing for Abigail at the moment, so instead said, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. God, the universe… what matters is we live our lives the best we can while we have the time. If we affect people in a positive way the rest will be sorted out in the end.”
A sad smile came to her. “I do wonder that if there is a God why then did he do this to Frank and me? What had we done that was so terrible to inflict this pain on us?”
“‘God works in mysterious ways,’” David recited. “I know you probably think I believe in nothing.” She opened her mouth, probably to deny his accusation, but he cut her off. “I saw the look you gave me, and trust me when I say it’s a look I’m familiar with. It’s not that I don’t believe in nothing, I just think we are given a short time here to be the best that we can be—to help one another. Everything else… poof.”
“That’s sort of cynical, don’t you think?”
“I prefer realistic.” The conversation had gone south quickly. If he was going to be miserable he preferred to be it alone, didn’t want Abigail brought down by his sullen mood. He held up his drink.
She raised her glass, tapped his with a
clink.
“Cheers,” and drank.
They continued to talk into the evening, sharing stories like they’d done at the hospital. As the hours crept by a few more regulars showed up. A clock on the wall showed it was nearing 1 AM when the bartender announced last call. David gestured to Abigail’s Tom Collins but she waved it off. “I think I’ve had more than enough,” she said. She opened her purse and pulled out a couple bills.
“Put that away,” David said. “My treat.”
“Absolutely not.” She offered him the cash but he pushed it back. “I insist.”
“How about I leave the tip?”
David put enough cash on the bar to cover the drinks and a generous tip. “I’ve got it covered. Consider it a Christmas gift.”
“David…”
“Please.”
“Alright,” she said, and put the bills back in her purse. They stood, he helped her with her coat, put on his own, and stepped into the chilled night. Their breath danced; the snow had slowed but not stopped. Abigail slipped, was caught by David, and let out a giggle. “I guess I had more than I thought.”
“Are you alright to drive?” he asked.
“I think so, yes.”
Both their cars were now covered in shimmering white. Abigail dropped her keys twice attempting to unlock her car. David picked them up and said, “Come with me.”
“What?”
He escorted her to the passenger side of his car. “I’ll see you home. I’d never forgive myself if I let you go off by yourself.”
“Are you alright to drive?”
The world spun a little but was nowhere near where he thought he’d be. “I’m fine.”
David held the door for her and she climbed in. He started the engine and dusted off the windows of snow before sliding into his seat. Abigail stared out the window, eyes unfocused.
“Abigail?”
“Hmm?” She continued to stare out.
“Are you alright?”
“Just thinking is all.” Her voice was quiet, distant.
“I need your address.”
“Why?”
“To drop you off.”
“Oh. Oh yes. Silly me.” She gave it to him, and he pulled out of the lot leaving tire tracks behind.
“Look out there,” she said after a while. “What do you think is out there hiding in the shadows?”
David looked and saw the shapes of trees and nothing more. “The usual forest creatures, I suppose.”
“Do you think we have shadows?”
He glanced at her—she stared at him.
“Not the kind we see out in the sun,” she said. “No. Inside. Things we hide from the people around us, sometimes even from ourselves.”
“I think they call that the subconscious.” He felt the air blowing from the vents. It was warming, but still had a bite to it. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The rest of the ride home was quiet. He was sure she’d fallen asleep when he pulled into her driveway. The gentle hum of the engine was making even him drowsy.
“We’re here, Abigail.”
“Are we?” She looked up and smiled. She ran her hand across her face, the veil that had covered her for the ride lifting. She turned to David and thanked him.
“I can swing by in the morning and give you a ride back to get your car.”
“You’re too kind, David. I’ll take a cab though. I appreciate the offer.” She opened the door and stood. “See you tomorrow at the hospital?”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said.
She was almost past the car when she slipped, hand slamming onto the hood, bracing her fall. David jumped out and hurried to her. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she giggled. “Ice, or these damned shoes. I’m liable to break my neck wearing these things.”
“Well we don’t want that.” He extended his arm to her. She accepted it, and he escorted her to the door. He noted that her house wasn’t that dissimilar from his own. Once the door was unlocked she reached in and turned on the hall light.
“I’d offer you a drink but I don’t have anything in the house.”
“That’s alright, Abigail. I should be headed home anyway.”
To the emptiness.
To my demons.
She reached out and hugged him. She was warm, and the smell of jasmine teased his nostrils. And then she was crying, her body shaking in dismay. David wrapped his arms around her and crooned. “It’ll be okay.”
“How do you know?” she sobbed.
“A feeling.” He held her at arm’s length and look into her eyes. “You asked me earlier what I believe. Truth be told I don’t believe in God, but what I do believe in is positive thinking. If we wish, pray, believe in something hard enough then it will come true. I believe with all my heart that Lilly will wake. I believe that about Frank too.”
Her eyes shimmered, the tears flowing. She reached up and stroked his cheek. Warm. So warm and soft. He closed his eyes relishing the touch.
The world spun.
The drinks. Had to be.
How I miss you, Lilly.
And then she kissed him, and he her. It felt wrong.
If felt right.
Their lips moist and wanting, needing, longing for companionship. To love and be loved.
This was wrong.
This is right.
Abigail pulled away, eyes opening, meeting his.
“Abby, I…”
She took his hand and pulled him into her home, closing the door behind him.
eight
(1958)
David got a phone call while at work—he’d better come to the hospital.
What is it?
he’d asked.
Is she awake?
Well… no. But she’s talking.
Talking? Like in her sleep?
Yes.
He’d rushed to the hospital making it there in under ten minutes. Running through the hallway he’d almost fallen twice, his wet boots sliding out from under him on the tiled floor. In his wife’s room was a doctor taking his wife’s pulse and a nurse jotting notes in a chart.
“Mr. Rottingham,” the doctor said standing up. “I’m Doctor Wilson. This is a little unusual—”
“Is she awake? Is she going to be okay?” He talked fast, practically yelling.
The doctor held up his hands. Slow down, they said. “Your wife shifted in her bed, and she did make some sort of noise.”
“The person on the phone said she was talking.”
“Mumbling is more accurate. Something about the number forty-six?” The doctor looked at the nurse for confirmation. She nodded. “Yes,” he said, turning back to David. “Forty-six. Does that have any significant meaning?”
Forty-six? He wracked his brain but came up with nothing.
“No. None.” Tears sprang to his eyes. “My wife is coming back.”
The doctor gave his “slow down” hands again. “While this is a strong indication your wife is healing, we still don’t yet know the damage she’s suffered from being in a coma so long. It is progress, but we have to stay realistic. While it may be looking good you should still prepare for a… less than ideal outcome.”
Satisfied he’d done his due diligence the doctor left, the nurse close in tow. David sat on the bed next to his wife and gently stroked her cheek. “Lilly? Honey? Can you hear me?” No response. “The doctor said you were talking. Can you do that for me now?” Nothing. “Come on, Lilly,” David said. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes. He whispered, “Come back to me. You’re so close. Please.”
Her head shifted. Not much, but a little. Was that his doing or had she done it herself? “Lilly?” He waited and watched, but no other movement followed—a final bow in what had transpired before his arrival. He collapsed into the chair and began to weep.
So close! He was so close to having her back!
Although he felt stupid, desperation brought him to clasp his hands, bow his head, and pray. He felt ridiculous—praying to an invisible man that probably didn’t exist—but he couldn’t take much more.
After what had happened with Abigail he’d lost the only person he felt he could talk to, the only person that could relate. He’d felt terrible for letting it happen, should have known better. Be it the drinks, loneliness, desperation, or all of the above, it had happened, and as a result he and Abigail had only spoken twice since. The first both clumsily apologizing to each other the next morning, both feeling they’d taken advantage of the other. The second happened while passing in the halls.
Idiot!
That was the truth. Yet as guilty as he’d felt the next day, and every day since, it had felt good. Being with someone, not thinking for a change, not wondering and worrying, just being in the moment. It had felt so good, so
right.
But it wasn’t. It never should have happened; there was no excuse. He promised himself that if—no,
when
—Lilly awoke he’d make it up to her every day.
Lilly’s eyes opened, fixed on the ceiling. His mouth dropped and he grabbed for her hand.
“Lilly?” He gave a squeeze and she squeezed back, eyes darting.
“Forty-six and two,” she mumbled. “Forty-six and two.”
“Forty… what baby? What?”
She looked around frantically, seeing but not seeing.
She’s not here,
David thought.
She’s not here, she’s somewhere else. What is she seeing?
A deep moan, deeper than any David had ever heard, escaped her. “Doctor! I need help!” What felt like minutes was only seconds. Lilly’s movements were frantic; she clawed at the air.
Then she began to convulse, her entire body shaking, the bedsprings groaning under the movement. And, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Her eyes closed lazily and she was still.