Chapter Eight
Richard lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his head over on his pillow and looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was fifteen minutes past five A.M. His head was still thick from the night he and his wife spent on the beach. He planned for the store hours to be from seven o’clock in the morning until six in the evening. It wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to make the drive. He wanted to stay in bed, but knew that he needed to be there to open at seven, if not earlier. Susan was fast asleep. He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. They both worked hard preparing for this day and he told her to sleep as late as she wanted.
Richard gently removed the comforter, slid his legs across the mattress and dropped his feet to the floor. Slowly he sat up so that he would not jostle her. Just as cautiously, he stood, trying to distribute his weight evenly onto his feet so that he would not cause the aged hardwood floors to creak, and walked at a snail's pace. When he was far enough away from his sleeping wife, he picked up speed, exited his bedroom and entered the kitchen. He went about his morning ritual of making coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. The water dripped through the filter while he waited patiently. He leaned with his hands on the counter and stared through the window at the white sandy beach behind the house. The gulf waters were perfectly calm. Richard watched as the smallest of waves surged against the shore and then ebbed. Sandpipers stood, searching for their morning fare. When one spotted a morsel it ran, its skinny black legs see-sawing back and forth before plunging its beak into the sand. Richard smiled. His eyes were drawn to his and Susan’s chairs. Everything was left undisturbed from their bonfire. It had completely burned itself out, leaving the pure white sand with a coat of grey and black ash. When the coffee maker beeped, signaling that its job was complete, his gaze left the beach and he found himself face-to-face with Susan’s stained glass heart. He walked back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, removed the creamer and poured it into a mug he had placed on the counter. After replacing it and closing the door, he began to pour. Without paying complete attention, he allowed it to breach the top of the mug and spill onto the counter. “Shit!” he whispered. He placed the coffee urn back onto the burner, walked over and picked up his bagel in one hand and the napkin underneath it in the other. Before cleaning his mess he placed the bagel onto the counter, and then picked up the coffee mug and wiped its bottom and the counter with the napkin. It became thoroughly soaked. Richard gently wadded it to keep from extracting any coffee onto the floor. With his coffee mug still in his hand, he spun his body and did a hook shot with the napkin across the kitchen, to-ward the trashcan. With a splat it stuck to the wall just above the canister and heavy drops of mocha colored liquid cascaded down the side of the wall. “Dumb-ass,” he muttered to himself.
After cleaning both messes he walked back into the den and sat on the sofa, mug in hand. He picked up the remote control from the table and turned on the television. Richard tuned to the local station he watched every morning. A smile grew on his face when he saw John Carpenter reading the local fishing report. He and John had gone to high school together. Richard held his friend, along with his twin sister Valarie, in high regard. They were both good people. It felt good to him to have such warm feelings.
When he bit into his bagel Richard’s eyes were drawn to a picture on a shelf in the entertainment center. He stood, walked over and removed it. It was a photograph of him and his mother. Richard had his arm around her shoulders. He was easily a foot taller than she was. A tinge of amazement came over him as he thought about how someone can grow, physically, so much larger than the one whom was the giver of life. “Whatever,” Richard said to himself. He replaced the photograph and walked back to the couch and sat down.
He drank his coffee and watched the morning news, but his attention was continually drawn to the photograph. It was taken on his twenty-fifth birthday. He examined his face in the picture. It was so young and fresh; naïve to a great extent. Richard thought about where his life had taken him and took great com-fort in knowing he had learned to live with his malady. He was exactly where he wanted to be and with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
The story behind how this particular photograph found its way onto a shelf in his den came to mind. Susan brought it into the relationship. Richard’s mother had given it to her five years before the couple met. Each of their mothers had tried, all that time, to get them together. Susan’s mother had shown him a photo of her, but did not allow him to keep it. He laughed as he thought about how they both refused to allow their mothers to set them up. It was way too desperate a move to find a mate. They showed their appreciation by getting married on Mother’s Day.
His heart filled with pride as he recalled Susan telling him that she had carried that photograph around in the glove compartment of her car all of that time. She had even transferred it from car-to-car when she bought a new one. He stood and walked to the door of their bedroom. Stopping there he peered inside. Susan slept soundly. Her face was as bright as the day they met. He looked at his watch. It was time for him to leave. Excitement and nervousness filled his soul as he worried about opening the store for the first time. He took one last glance at his wife and then walked through the living room, picked up his cup of coffee and continued through the kitchen to the back door. Next to it was a series of hooks mounted on the wall. Each one had a different set of keys. Instinctively, Richard reached for the keys to the Tahoe, but stopped and thought for a second. It was the newest vehicle the couple owned. Why not leave it for her? So, he took her keys, opened the door, walked out of the house and got into her car.
Richard placed the cup of coffee in a cup-holder in the console between the driver and passenger’s seats. He backed the car out of the garage and onto the high-way. When he felt comfortable doing so, he reached for the mug. He took his eyes off the road, momentarily. The left front tire hit a pothole and the cup shook in his hand, spilling coffee everywhere except on him. He would clean it up when he got to the store. Placing the mug securely between his legs, he continued down the highway. Suddenly, a car emerged from a driveway and into his path. He saw that there was no oncoming traffic and swerved into the opposite lane avoiding a collision. The sharp maneuvers caused the hot liquid to splatter onto Richard’s thighs.
“Shit!” He quickly tugged his trousers away from his legs.
Remembering that whenever Susan went to a fast-food restaurant, she put the leftover napkins in the glove box; Richard reached over, still driving the car down the highway, and opened the compartment. The door fell open to reveal just what he expected. Without removing his eyes from the oncoming traffic he grabbed a handful and placed them on the console. He pressed the napkins vigorously onto the stains.
When he finished cleaning his pants he smelled a pleasantly familiar odor. It was Susan’s perfume and it had a very distinct place in his heart. She wore the fragrance on the night they met. He looked into the glove compartment and saw an envelope, picked it up and sniffed deeply as he thought about holding her. She had obviously sprayed the contents. Eagerly, he removed the letter inside. It was three full pages written in his wife’s meticulously flawless handwriting. His joy was quickly overtaken by despair when he saw that the mes-sage was not for him, but Ralph. The depression he struggled with all of his life once again grew and he sank into his seat as he recognized the date in the upper right corner of the first page as the day before their romp together on the beach. Anger radiated throughout his body and his hands shook the paper. Nervously, he sifted through the note, unable to focus on any coherent sequence of words. Through all of his confusion a single sentenced radiated from the communication. I have never known anyone that filled me with desire the way you did.