Final Grains of Sand

by David Harder

  “Sam came banging on the door after about two or three hours. When I opened the door, she was obviously very upset. She had Staci in her arms, and the kid was screaming her head off. Poor Stephanie and Robert stood on each side of their mom, looking shell-shocked and bug-eyed. Samantha wanted Jim to drive her to the hospital that instant; but when Jim tried to get up from the floor, he fell over the coffee table, drunk as a skunk. It was stupid at the time, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Sam went nuclear. She yelled at Jim, shoved Stephanie and Robert into my house, and told them to stay with their dad. She then grabbed me by the shirt collar and buried her face into mine. Meanwhile, Staci was screaming in my right ear. ‘You’re driving, Neighbor. This is your fault,’ she yelled at me. After that incident, Jim wasn’t allowed to visit for a few months.”

  Joe looked at Arleen, who was stifling her laughter.

  “Beginning that day, I became Stephanie and Robert’s babysitter anytime they needed to rush Staci to the doctor. It gave me time to teach the kids stuff they’d eventually learn in school. They, in turn, learned to trust me and were soon telling me things I didn’t need to know. Robert told me at some point that Jim moved into the downstairs study, converting it into his bedroom.”

  “When was this, Joe?”

  “I think about ten years into their marriage, Mike. Why?”

  “That’s odd because that’s when Jim started spending time with me. We’d have lunches and go for walks.”

  “Jim liked his time with you too, Mike. He said you and he would talk about things he couldn’t discuss with anyone else. I hoped he was talking to you about the issues between him and Sam.”

  Pastor Mike frowned and shook his head slowly.

  “Anyway, things seemed to get better because I heard less yelling after Jim moved downstairs. Plus, the kids didn’t share any more secrets, so I assumed they were getting along better. Not too long after that, Jim was promoted at work and started spending less time at home.”

  Mike couldn’t contain his thoughts any longer. “If what you’re saying is true, Joe, then what I know about this family doesn’t make sense. Almost every Sunday, Jim, Samantha, and the children would be sitting in the third pew from the back. They attended regularly and tithed to the church.”

  “What’s tithed mean?”

  “They gave money to the church. That’s what the word tithe means.”

  “Really? They give money to your church?”

  Mike began to pursue the conversation further, but Tony patted the back of Mike’s hand and smiled at the man.

  “I’m sorry. Tony is correct. It’s your turn, Joe. You may continue.”

  “No problem, Mike. Let’s see—at some point, Jim started liking port wine and cigars.”

  “Excuse me, Joe, you said James smoked cigars?” Tom interrupted.

  “That’s correct, Doc. Not often either—because Jim didn’t like just any port or cigar. He seemed to like expensive port and Cuban Crooks. I know the Cuban cigars are banned in the United States, but Jim was buying them in Asia someplace. When Jim was in Europe, he started bringing back bottles of port from Portugal.”

  Arleen let out a short burst of laughter.

  “Something funny, Arleen?” asked Tony.

  “The port wine were gifts from me,” said Arleen, smiling.

  “Oh, I see. Anyway, Samantha didn’t like Jim stinking up the house with the cigars, so he brought them to my house. One night, we sat on the back patio, drinking and smoking for hours. We must have had too many of both because the next day Jim complained that it felt like a dog dumped his business in our mouths.”

  “Serves you right,” said Mike.

  Everyone started laughing.

  “The cigars lived a short life, but now and then Jim continued to enjoy the port wine. Years went by, and the kids slowly headed off in different directions. Not too long after, I heard Jim and Sam going at it again. It lasted a few years and, eventually, it stopped. Right after that, Jim was on one of his extended business trips. I was working in the kitchen and spotted Samantha kissing a young man in their backyard. Several times, I saw the man drop by and visit; sometimes he’d be leaving early in the morning.”

  “Had you ever seen or met this man before, Joe?” Mike inquired.

  “No, Mike, and he never showed up whenever Jim was around either. This went on for almost a year, and it was way too quiet over at Jim’s house all the time, so I popped the question one evening. Jim said it was Sam’s boyfriend and that the young man was from her workplace.”

  “And Jim didn’t get upset or do something about it?” Nate asked.

  “Not to my knowledge, Nate. He seemed to accept the situation as fact. I’ve never married, but it somehow bothered me more than it did Jim.”

  “Did Samantha spend nights away with the man?” Now Arleen was curious.

  “Not to my knowledge, Arleen. I only saw them together whenever Jim was gone. If they worked together, who knows what happened after she went to work. It wasn’t any of my business, anyway.”

  “As just a neighbor, you seem to know a lot about their personal life.”

  “That’s true, Nate, but then Jim and I were buds. Did any of you know Jim was a painter?”

  This statement captured everyone’s attention. Tony straightened up.

  “Do you mean a painter—as in painting walls and a house?”

  “No. A painter—like an artist!”

  “Incredible.” Tony was surprised.

  “Jim was great. He and I were sitting around one day just talking. The subject eventually got around to things we always wanted to do but hadn’t gotten the chance—like a bucket list. I expressed a desire to become a writer, and Jim surprised me with a gift of several writing workshops. I enjoyed the seminars, and I’m now dating a woman I met there.

  “Jim expressed his desire to become an artist. So, without his knowledge, I purchased some canvases, paints, brushes, and an easel and surprised him one afternoon. The man started crying like a baby; he was so happy. If I had known something as simple as this would make Jim happy, I would have done it years ago. I cleaned out my study and set it up as Jim’s studio.”

  Nate looked around the table. “Did any of you know about this?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “Jim didn’t paint all the time, and, at first, the paintings were crude and similar to some of my students. I lavished praise, but Jim saw through my flattery. He’d set them on fire in the barbecue pit on the back patio, toasting a beer over their demise. Then, one day, I was watching TV and saw this infomercial. The next time Jim stopped by, I presented several instructional DVDs.

  “Well, in no time, Jim’s work started improving. In fact, his paintings were looking better than that guy with the big, fuzzy hairdo on the DVD. I was actually impressed. Shortly after that, Jim started getting creative, and the paintings improved even further. He still burned the ones he disliked, despite me trying to rescue them.

  “I never bothered Jim whenever he was in his studio and never entered the room when he wasn’t in there.”

  Tony’s voice was excited. “Are you telling us that Jim’s paintings are still in the studio? How many do you think, Joe?”

  “I don’t know. Of the one’s that have survived—thirty, maybe forty. They’re excellent, too. Gallery quality, if you ask me. I showed some to a friend who manages the downtown museum, and she loved them.”

  “This is absolutely incredible, Joe. Does anyone in this room object to having the paintings on display during the service?” Tony observed each face and received overwhelming approvals. “Joe, I’ll swing by tomorrow and check on the paintings if that’s okay with you.”

  “What are you planning to do with the paintings, Tony?” Tom asked.

  “To display them at the service, of course, Doctor, but after that, it will be up to the family.”

  “Well, I’d like to buy one,” said Dr. Nolan.

  “Me, too,” stated Joe.


  “So would I,” added Pastor Mike.

  “It would be terrific to have one in our office as well,” mentioned Nate.

  “If I may, I’d be honored to own one of the paintings,” said Arleen.

  Tony was overwhelmed. “Folks, let me take an inventory tomorrow. I’ll speak with Jim’s children and see what they want to do, but I will express your feelings to Jim’s children. Joe, were you finished?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, by all means, please proceed and excuse this interruption.”

  “Jim seemed to be in good spirits after his trips. I asked him about this, and I inquired if he had met a woman, but Jim just smiled and kept quiet. Now that I’ve met you, Arleen, I can see why Jim was so excited.”

  Arleen blushed, giving Joe a small nod.

  “The weekend Samantha and her boyfriend were killed in a car crash, something strange happened to Jim. He was neither happy about it nor sad. I went with Jim to Samantha’s service, but none of the kids showed up. I think that bothered Jim. Most of the people at the service were Sam’s work associates.”

  “I actually conducted the service. You don’t remember me, Joe?” Mike asked.

  “Sorry, Mike, but no. It was a sad day, and I was focused on being Jim’s friend. Did any members of your church show up?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Joe threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. “Why is that, Mike? You said Jim went to your church every Sunday. Then Jim says in his letter that no one from the church visited him when he was sick. Why?”

  Mike started getting defensive. “How should I know, Joe? Did you ever visit Jim at the hospice?”

  “Look, Mike, Tony just told us that nobody knew where Jim was until two days before he died. Did you ever visit his house? I did—several times. At least, I tried.”

  This sudden change in attitude caught Tony off guard. Mary quit typing on her machine and sat with her mouth open.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. This isn’t going anywhere.”

  “If James were a member of our church, we would certainly make sure we were available to be supportive,” inserted Tom.

  “You know, Doctor, don’t start in with your high and mighty, know-it-all attitude again,” said Mike.

  “Reverend, everyone has a point here,” Nate began. “Perhaps you should—”

  “Oh, shut up, Nate.” Mike folded his arms and stared at the table.

  “Reverend, I mean no disrespect to you,” said Nate. “But Joe is angry, and he feels disappointed in your church’s interest in Jim’s situation. Granted, most of us were not aware of Jim’s circumstances, except Dr. Nolan.”

  “And James made me swear I wouldn’t contact anyone regarding his condition,” said Tom in defense.

  “See, Reverend? Even I admitted to being a poor friend to Jim by not checking on the man. Can’t you even accept your failure?” implored Nate.

  Tony could not believe what had just occurred. He had thought everything was fine just a minute ago, but now things seemed to have gotten off-track somehow.

  Tony looked at Mike, who was breathing hard, arms folded, and ignoring everyone. Joe had his arms crossed over his large belly and was sulking like a child.

  Arleen stood and walked over to Joe. “You’re upset because you lost your dear friend. You feel helpless that you couldn’t change anything. Do you think by blaming the Reverend that it will make things better? We must all accept the fact that James is no longer here. Perhaps we could have done something different. Perhaps James could have shared his pain with us, but no, he was selfish. We all have reasons to be mad at James, yet we all have reasons to blame ourselves.”

  Arleen turned and put her face in front of Pastor Mike, but he shifted his eyes away from Arleen.

  “Reverend? I’m talking to you, sir. Please look at me.”

  Tony was shocked. This otherwise quiet and reserved woman was now in control of the room. Mike slowly looked up but refused to cast his eyes directly on Arleen.

  “I said look at me. I know you hate me, but you know nothing about me. Do you?”

  “I know what you are.”

  “Yes, you know that Jim and I were lovers. You know I am not his wife. But beyond this, you know nothing, Reverend. I am willing to admit my adultery with Jim. Are you ready to admit you failed to care about the man beyond the money he gave to your church?”

  Mike jumped to his feet and slammed his Bible on the table. “Enough!” Mike screamed. He finally locked eyes with Arleen and pursed his lips, breathing hard through his nose.

  Joe stood up. “Look, everybody, I overreacted. Please sit down and let me finish my story.”

  Arleen and Mike said simultaneously, “NO!”

  Joe slammed his palm on the table, making everything on the conference table jump in the air. The room was shocked by Joe’s reaction and his outburst. Joe was even surprised by the force he used.

  “You listen to me—all of you.” Joe’s sixth-grade teacher skills kicked in, and he was now addressing unruly students. His voice was loud, deep, and demanding immediate attention. “I want every one of you in your chairs this instant. Now! This is my turn to talk, and you’re going to sit there and listen. You’ll get your turn, but right now it’s my turn to talk.” Joe made his point by using hand movements.

  Joe continued. “You’re right, Arleen. I’m upset about Jim, but Nate is also correct. We all failed Jim. The question is—can we move past the pain and honor the Jim we knew before he got sick?”

  Mary was starting to gather her things and getting nervous. Tony was speechless. After a lengthy silence, Mike sat down. Nate sat back in his chair and relaxed. Arleen returned to her seat. As easily as one shifts gears in a car, Joe changed his demeanor to the smiling, pleasant person from earlier in the day.

  “Mary, I’m sorry, but I forgot where I was a minute ago. Would you be kind enough to read back the last thing I said?”

  Tony motioned to Mary. Her eyes were wide in fright. With some hesitation, the woman sat back down and read the lines from her stenographer machine.

  “I went with Jim to Samantha’s service, but none of the kids showed up. I think that bothered Jim. Most of the people at the service were Sam’s work associates.”

  “Now I remember. Thank you, Mary. I tried to be a friend to Jim, but he became a recluse. Jim changed from that day forward. He rarely was home, and he quit painting, except on rare occasions. Jim seemed to be absorbed in his work. He and I didn’t talk so much either. A few of his paintings took on this dark, ominous appearance.

  “A few months back, Jim came home in the middle of the day. His car was parked in the driveway and never moved. I called his house several times, but no one answered. I rang the doorbell twice and peered into the windows, but Jim never responded. After dark, there were no lights on. Just before midnight, I banged on the door and called out his name, but still no answer.

  “The next morning, I saw Jim, dressed for work, jumping into his car. I tried calling his cell phone, but he never picked up. That was the last time I saw Jim. I feel ashamed I didn’t know he sold his house and moved out. No movers ever showed up. Another couple started visiting the house, and I figured Jim was on one of his long trips, and the people were house sitters. I wish I had inquired more, but I thought Jim was upset with me.”

  Joe sat back down and looked around the room.

  “Look, folks, my blood sugar is running a little low, and I think it affected my emotions. I’m sorry about my outburst. I’m done, Tony.”

  Tony stood up. “Well, it’s been a long day. Can we meet tomorrow? Doctor, what time works best for you?”

  Mary hurriedly packed her things and darted out the door.

  “My schedule is open tomorrow, and I don’t usually see patients.”

  “Okay, does anyone have any objections to meeting at ten in the morning?”

  Nate asked, “May we end sometime in the early afternoon? That way I can get some work completed in
the morning, and then I can return later in the day to wrap things up at the office.”

  “Does anyone have any objections to Nate’s proposal?” Tony scanned the faces and saw people who were emotionally drained. Rubbing his palms together, Tony dismissed the group.

  “Excellent. Since we’re all in agreement, we’ll meet at ten tomorrow and end sometime early afternoon. Have a good evening, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Nate immediately headed for his office. Slowly, the room emptied as the individuals filed out of the conference room in silence.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “MR. MARTIN?”

  Nate looked up from his desk. His administrative assistant was standing in the doorway of Nate’s spacious office. Against one wall were rows of flat-screen monitors displaying various moving images, including the major cable news channels. Pressing the large remote control on his desk, Nate silenced the sound emitting from the wall of information.

  “Yes, Katherine?”

  The woman was tall and around thirty-five years old. Long, auburn hair accentuated the features of Katherine’s face, and she could easily be mistaken for a TV news personality. Extremely professional, Nate had also been impressed with her education and intelligence when he had hired her many years ago.

  “A Mr. Toncetti is waiting for you on line six.”

  “Thank you, Katherine. Did he indicate his purpose for this call?”

  “No sir. He only said the matter was urgent.”

  Nate became concerned and frowned. “Thanks, Katherine. Would you be kind enough to close my office door on your way out?”

  “Yes, Mr. Martin.”

  Katherine closed the door very gently and watched Nate through the narrowing opening as her boss got up and walked toward the large, glass windows looking outside. His arms were crossed with one hand resting against his lips.

  Nate loved his office sanctuary because the views of the city below were unobstructed. A brave construction firm once attempted to erect another building alongside Nate’s office, which would have blocked this grand view, but a lawsuit ensued. After extensive political manipulation, the errant firm was forced to halt construction two floors below Nate’s window. Nate’s office occupied the floor just below the CEO and the boardroom. Whenever Nate looked down on the stub below, he’d smile to himself. His motto was one victory at a time.