Lovers Forever

Most of my writing is from my own life. Here's a rare piece of fiction, inspired by a double suicide in the news.

"Listen carefully, my precious treasure. There will be a room somewhere. It will be exquisitely appointed, just as you would wish if you had all the money in this world. When we first arrive, there will be no one there, but once our joyful arrival is complete, guests will start to come. Your beloved mother, your sister, and our precious war-torn son. They will all be coming to see us. Our bodies will be young and vigorous once more, and your outer appearance will again match your inner beauty, as in our youth.
Sweet One, you may arrive before I do, but don't despair. I will be along soon, and time in this new place is very different. As we meet our loved ones, it will seem they have only been gone a few minutes, as if they had just stepped out of the room."
She weakly raised her head off the pillow a bit, straining her old, cloudy eyes to see his dear face. "Daddy, you are so full of nonsense. We don't know where we will go, except to the rest home. That's our next stop. And from there, only God knows. We are not meant to have this wisdom."
He started to reply, but heard a key turn in the lock on the back door. He felt a surge of irritation at Sonya, their daughter. She always stepped through the door as if expecting to find their dead bodies, calling their names and rattling her keys. As he listened to her clump down the hall to their bedroom, he took a deep breath and most of the irritation left. She was concerned for them and wanted to help, he reminded himself.
"What are all the lights doing off? Why are you sitting here in the dark?" she asked, without even a greeting first. She bustled over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp.
"Mother and I were just having our after dinner conversation. When you are almost blind, lights are less important, anyway. How are you, baby daughter?" He had risen from his chair by the bed and was holding wide his arms to embrace her. She quickly made a kissing sound near his ear and moved away before he could get hold of her. She hated to be hugged close to him. She could smell the decay in his body.
Sonya stood at the foot of the bed and pulled out her organizer. "We have some last minute business to discuss. The Community Center will be sending an ambulance for Mother in the morning at 8:00. I'll be over early to get her ready. Daddy, you will ride with me..." The old man started to protest, but Sonya raised her hand. "No, you may not ride with Mother in the ambulance. It is not allowed, and we will not discuss it any more. Remember when we visited the Center..."
“Why don't you call it what it is?” he interrupted. “An old folk's home. You are shipping us off to be cared for by strangers. Quit trying to make it sound like you are doing us a favor. We do not want to go. I can take care of Mother myself. I've been doing it for years. I don't understand why you and Claude think you can make these decisions for us. Why can't we come to your house?" He had lapsed into a helpless feeling, and realized he was whining. He was so weary of fighting her strong will.
"Now, Daddy," she said, as if talking to a dimwitted child, "do you remember what happened at the bank last month? You were trying to withdraw all your money and take Mother on a sea cruise. Do you remember that? We had to get power of attorney to prevent that sort of thing from happening. Thank goodness the banker called me at work! And Mother is not getting the kind of care that she needs..."
"I can give her better care than any stranger!" he shouted, as best he could. He suddenly recalled that when Sonya was a child she was sensitive to shouting. She would just crumple up and slink away. But not any more. This time she drew back her shoulders and stuck out her massive chest.
"I will not be yelled at,” she said slowly, as if trying to gain control. “We are doing what is best for you both. We have gone over and over all of this, and the time to argue is past. You WILL be moving to the Community Center tomorrow morning. We ARE putting this house on the market Monday and having a sale to get rid of what we don't want. You KNOW that Claude and I cannot have you with us, due to his heart condition. This is our only solution, and I'm begging you to please cooperate.” She was now yelling, her face bright red. He was glad his hearing was dimmed.
He thought she looked as if she could burst into tears. He had not seen her cry since the day, thirty years ago, that he had told her that her
worshipped older brother, Carl, had been killed in Vietnam. It softened him to her, just a bit. He watched as she struggled to compose herself.
The old woman had feigned sleep to this point, but now she lifted her hand from the bed and cleared her throat. "Daddy, it is time to accept this arrangement. We’ve discussed it for months and this is what must be done. I'm actually looking forward to being around people again. You know what a social butterfly I am." She smiled a hint of a smile and looked directly into his eyes. "We will be fine there," she said quietly and with great determination.
"OK, Mother, OK." He stroked her white hair and her face, then kissed her on the forehead. He turned to Sonya. "We will be ready to go in the morning,” he said quietly.
She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to go. "Don't worry about any housework tonight, Daddy. We will be cleaning all weekend. Just enjoy your evening, OK?" She stood in the doorway and looked at the two of them, holding hands in the circle of light from the bedside lamp. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning. Good night," she said, as she turned to go.
He listened to her heavy movement down the hallway and through the kitchen. He heard the keys rattle and turn in the lock. He turned to his wife. "I'm opening that bottle of fancy wine, Dear One. It's the last chance we will have to drink it, I'm afraid." When he had miraculously returned from combat duty in the Great First World War, he had brought with him a bottle of the finest French wine. For some reason, through all the celebrations of their lives, they had never opened it. It seemed there was always going to be some future event of such magnitude that it would warrant this special treat. The time to drink it had finally arrived.
He shuffled into the kitchen and took the bottle down from an overhead cabinet, where it had rested for many years. He had trouble getting the cork to come out, but it did, finally, with a jolly pop. He placed two glasses on a tray with the opened bottle. He eased back down the hallway to the bedroom, being very careful not to tip the bottle or the glasses off the tray.
They enjoyed the entire bottle over the next few hours, reminiscing about the house they would be leaving in the morning: the house that had held them through all their joys and sorrows for the last sixty years. Around 11:00 he gently picked up her frail little body and carried her to the garage. She was sleepy from the wine. He opened the passenger door to the big beige 1976 Cadillac that sat mostly unused, and gently placed her inside, wrapping a blanket around her legs. She did not seem to know where she was and he was glad for that.
He carefully placed the empty bottle of wine in the trash can by the garage door and opened the driver's side door. Settling into the seat, he started the engine as he lowered the two back windows. He did not know how long it would take, but he knew the garage was well insulated against the winter storms. The old engine rumbled smoothly as he took his beloved’s hand and spoke gently to her again of the room where they would meet. She stirred and looked into his eyes.
They found the room together.

©Jade Beaty, 1995