The Empty Jar(75)

“Shhh, Nate. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Nate wraps his arms around me and squeezes. I wonder if he thinks that if he holds me tightly enough he can somehow keep death from stealing me away from him.

But I know better. I know, and I believe that he does, too. Deep down.

We enjoy one another for several minutes, reveling in the feel of what it’s like to be in each other’s arms, warm and safe and alive. A family. A whole family.

Then, in the quiet sanctuary of the room we’ve shared for so much of our life together, I share with my family the end of a ritual that my father had started with me a lifetime ago.

I feel in many ways that I’ve come full circle.

Tracing a finger over my daughter’s sleeping profile, I whisper, “Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, lightning bugs. Come again soon.”

Holding fast to one another, the Grant family rests. In the silence that creeps in to fill the room, I hear the comforting familiarity of my husband’s voice. “I love you, Helena Grant. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone.” Although I hear the timber of his words shift and waver, crackling with emotion, I feel my lips curve in tranquil happiness.

“As I have loved you, Nate,” I reply. “As I will always love you.”

The soft flicker of firefly bellies, the joyous bundle in my arms, and the warm presence at my back lull me away from reality and into the fluid recesses of my mind. Past and present mingle in a confusing cocktail of memories.

I feel the vitality seep from my body, forced out by a fatigue I can no longer fight.

I’m done.

Finished.

There are no words left unsaid, no deeds left undone. Nothing that has to be seen to before I give up my battle.

I have only peace. Deep, soothing peace, like an endless midnight ocean that beckons me to come and float, to allow the current to sweep me away.

And so I do.

I let my mind stretch back to days gone by, to the beginning, and to the end, and I bask in reminiscence for as long as I can hold on.

I let my mind drift…





Twenty-five

You give Love a Bad Name

Lena



Nineteen years ago



“It’s hard to explain. It’s like there was just this instant connection between us. Like…sparks. It was awesome!” I exclaim, half-swooning as I remember the hot guy I met at the bank. My friend and coworker, Regan, laughs and rolls her eyes. I rush to add, “I know it sounds hokey as hell, but I’m serious.”

Regan looks skeptical. “I’m sure you are. You’re also a drama queen.”

I slap my friend’s arm playfully. “I am not!”

“Ummm, are, too.”

“Am not!”

“Are, too, but let’s get to the important stuff like what was his name? Are you going to see him again? And does he look like he’d be good in bed?”

“God, Regan!” I know I’m blushing furiously. While as a nurse I’m very comfortable with discussions about sex with patients, I’ve never been at ease discussing my own sex life. With anyone. “You think I could let him buy me dinner first, or should I just go back to the bank and jump his bones?”

“If you’re really asking me, then…”

“No, I’m not. I know exactly what you’d say.”

We both laugh. Regan is the type that does exactly what she wants, when she wants. She explains herself to no one. Although I envy her bravado, I could never be quite as…free as Regan. It just isn’t in my DNA.

“So? Are you going to see him again?”

I sigh. “I doubt it. I mean, it’s not like we exchanged numbers or he asked me out or anything. I was there getting pre-approved for a loan for Pete’s sake. I’m sure he has more respect for his job than to hit on a customer.” I turn sheepish eyes up to my friend. “Dammit.”

“Well, that just means you’ll have to drop by to ask him something else then. And you can ask him out.”

“I don’t know. What if our moment was just in my head? What if it’s just desperation or wishful thinking or a nine-month dry spell affecting my brain?”

Regan is no longer looking at me. Her eyes are trained at a point somewhere over my head.

“Uh, Lena, tell me again what he looked like?”

My mouth turns up at the corners, and I stare off into the distance as I think about the loan officer, Nathaniel.

“He was gorgeous! Short, black hair, jewel green eyes. Jaw made of steel, strong chin. Lips to die for. A smile that would melt a woman’s ovaries at ten paces.”

“Was he pretty tall?”

“Very. At least six three or so. Wide, wide shoulders, narrow waist. He was wearing this suit… Charcoal with a white shirt and an emerald tie that was probably the exact color of his eyes. Jesus, he was beautiful.”

My toes tingle with the memory.

“And what did you say his name was?”

“Nathaniel, I hope,” comes a velvety voice from behind me.

I whirl around so fast, I nearly topple my chair. I come to a sudden stop when I meet the laughing jewel-like eyes I’d just been describing. The sexy loan officer I met the day before is standing at check-in, not two feet away, smiling at me.

Good Lord, that smile!