I took the silence as Elizabeth agreeing. She was ready for me, too. The thought brought me an undeniable sense of peace.
I stood, genuinely smiling for the first time since I’d put Elizabeth in the ground. I was more sure now than ever before. I knew exactly what I needed to do.
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19
I stood at the counter and looked from one end to the other. I had no idea what was the difference between any of these pieces of metal, and it didn’t matter to me what kind of gun I got as long as it fired a bullet that could end my misery. That would make the gun perfectly fine with me.
“May I help you?” the man working behind the counter said.
I shifted uneasily. I don’t know why I was nervous. Probably because I had never owned a gun in my life. Though I was born and raised in Texas, and came from a family of hunters, I’d never been interested in guns.
“Yeah, ah, wh-what do I need to do to get a gun?” I stammered.
“Is it for protection or sport?” he asked. “That’ll determine what type of gun will be best.”
“It’s to shoot,” I replied. I leaned over and tapped the glass, pointing to a small chrome handgun with a black handle. “Matter of fact, just give me that one.”
He began unlocking the cabinet. “That one is perfect,” he said. “It’s one of our bestsellers. It’s a Smith & Wesson SW22 Victory. It’s a solid weapon, but it’s also engineered for superb accuracy and ease of use.”
I wanted to tell him to spare me the sales pitch and just give me the gun.
He laid the weapon on the counter. “And you’re in luck because this one is on sale, too.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, without even touching it.
“Don’t you want to get a feel for it?” he asked.
My expression must’ve been my answer, because he said, “Well, fine.” He slid a paper toward me. “I just need you to fill out a firearms transaction form. And unfortunately, you won’t be able to pick it up till Monday because the computer that we use to check backgrounds is down and the office is closed on Saturdays, so I can’t do a manual check.”
“Monday?”
“Yeah, usually it’s instant, but this is the bad side to technology.” He had the nerve to laugh.
“I can’t wait till Monday!”
The man raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, Texas law requires that I do a background check on you. You can’t get a gun until I’ve run that.”
“But I need it today,” I snapped.
He pulled the gun back toward him. “Well, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I didn’t have time for this. I had stopped at the ATM on the way to this gun shop—which I only knew about because I’d passed it once when I got lost trying to pick Jeremiah up from school. So I peeled off three one-hundred-dollar bills and slammed the money on the counter.
“Just give me whatever gun this will buy, please.”
The man looked around, and I thought he was going to take the money. But then he pointed back at a sign over his shoulder.
“You see that? Texas law requires a background check,” he repeated. “I can’t lose my license. Not only that, I could go to jail.”
“Okay. Fine.” I peeled off two more hundred-dollar bills and put them on the counter. It’s not like I’d need any of this after today.
He was fighting with himself. “Can’t do it,” he finally said as he pushed the money back toward me. His eyes made their way over my shoulder to a young black teen who had just come into the shop. “Sorry, I can’t help you,” he said to me, though his eyes stayed on the teen. “Whatcha need, young fella?” he called out.
The teen looked uneasy, then said, “Nothing . . . I was . . . I was just looking.” Then he turned around and left the shop.
The store clerk shook his head. “I know these thugs aren’t trying to rob me,” he said. “The last ones that tried ended up paralyzed for life.”
“What would make you think he was trying to rob you?” I asked.
The man leaned in and lowered his voice, even though it was just him and me in the store. “He has on a hoodie. Who wears a hoodie in the middle of the day?”
I thought back to my grandson and how he always had a hoodie on. And I wondered if this man would find my grandson a threat. I shook away that thought and said, “So, you can’t help me at all? I’m not a criminal or anything. I just really need a gun.”
“Sorry, mister. I wish I could,” he said, standing upright. He placed the gun back in the case. “I can take your application and you can come back on Monday—Tuesday just to play it safe.”
I snatched my money back off the counter and headed outside. What was I going to do now? I’d been prepared to execute my plan, and I’d never dreamed it would be difficult to get a gun. I thought about Bruce. I was sure he had one, but no way would he let me borrow it given the state of mind I’d been in lately.
I was about to climb back into my truck when the teen who’d been in the store approached me. He was still wearing his hoodie, but I wasn’t the least bit scared, even though he looked like he was up to no good. I don’t know if that’s what happens when you’re ready to die, but I just said, “Hello, how are you?”
The way his eyes darted around, I had no idea what he was about to do. Maybe he was a robber. Good. Then he could shoot me and save me the trouble.
“Yeah, I, uh, I saw you were looking for a piece,” he whispered.
“A piece of what?” I said, frowning.
The nervous way he was looking around told me he definitely wasn’t a robber. “A piece. A gun.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, but it’s some stupid law about a background check and his system is down,” I muttered. “Now I gotta try to find another gun shop.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “What kind of piece? I mean what kind of gun do you want?”
I raised an eyebrow. “One that shoots.”
“How much you trying to spend?” he asked.
“I just need a little something.” So, this is why he was looking nervous. He was illegally selling weapons.
“You ain’t trying to kill no old ladies or trying to rob nobody, right?” the teen asked me.
I frowned in confusion. “So you’re a gun dealer with a conscience?”
“Look, old man,” he huffed. “Do you want the piece or not?”
He lifted his jacket and revealed a small black pistol. “Don’t worry. Ain’t no bodies on it.”
I had no idea what that meant. His eyes darted around, and I could tell he wanted to hurry up and complete this transaction. I guess my hesitation bothered him, because he dropped his jacket.
“Look, either you want it or you don’t.”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I’ll take it.” I reached into my pocket and pulled a hundred-dollar bill out.
“Nah, man. Three hundred. Like what you were about to pay in there.”
I debated arguing with him. But this time tomorrow, money wouldn’t matter to me. I handed him the whole five hundred dollars.
He looked at me, stunned after he took the money. “Wow.”
“Can I have the gun now, please?”
He put it in my hand, and before I could say another word, he had taken off around the corner. I dropped the gun in my jacket pocket, then climbed into my truck. I was that much closer to being with my dear Elizabeth, and that thought made me smile.
I was about to start my truck when my cell phone rang and my grandson’s name came across the screen. I pressed ignore just because if I heard his voice, I might change my mind, and I didn’t want to change my mind.
I started my truck and headed to do what I needed to do.
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Things had drastically changed at the Markham Hotel.
This was the place where I’d begun my life with Elizabeth (both with the proposal and the marriage), so it was fitting that it would be the place wher
e I’d end it. It was actually prophetic that the Markham was the only hotel still standing in Houston from the 1940s. Granted, it had been modernized to the point that it almost looked like a new hotel. Thankfully, it still had its historic feel.
Elizabeth and I had come back here for our twenty-fifth anniversary. But we hadn’t been here in years. Life had gotten in the way. Oh, how I wished that I had brought her back here, at least once a year.
I made my way inside to the front counter. As I waited for the two people in front of me to complete their business, I tried to recall the room number that Elizabeth and I had spent our honeymoon night in.
Room 572. It came to me with a nostalgic smile. Elizabeth had always said that was our lucky number. Two years ago, she’d even won three thousand dollars playing those numbers on the Pick 3.
“Good evening, and welcome to the Markham Hotel,” the cheery clerk said to greet me. “How may I help you today?”
“I need a room,” I said, praying that they weren’t sold out. I hadn’t thought about that until this very moment.
My heart sank with relief when she said, “King-size or double?”
“A king,” I replied. “And I’d like Room 572,” I said. “No, I need Room 572,” I corrected.
The clerk tapped her computer screen and then her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m so sorry, but 572 is occupied.”
“No,” I repeated. “I need 572.”
Sympathy filled her face as she said, “I’m so sorry, sir. Room 572 is occupied. And it looks like they’re here all week.”
There had been very few times in my life that I wanted to cry. But this was one of them. It seemed like everything that could work against me was working against me. “I need 572.”
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Is there another room that will do?” She clicked on the screen. “We have 316 available. It has an amazing view overlooking the courtyard, where one of the oldest trees in Houston is preserved.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a history lesson or another room. “I don’t want . . .” And then it dawned on me—316. March 16 was Elizabeth’s birthday, and we were married underneath that tree. This was divine intervention.
“Yes,” I exclaimed, “I’ll take 316.” I whipped out my credit card and driver’s license and waited for her to check me in.
Within minutes, I was standing in the entryway to the room. Room 316 would be just fine. I surveyed the interior. It was nothing like it was when Elizabeth and I had saved all our money to afford the thirteen-dollar-a-night rate. I smiled as I thought of how we had saved for four months to enjoy a week at this hotel. My heart skipped a beat as I went and peered out the window. With the remodeling, I was sure the huge oak tree, which we’d stood under and exchanged vows, would have been decimated with modernization. But the front desk clerk was right—the tree stood with what looked like a historical marker in front of it. I couldn’t read what it said, but I figured the tree was the reason for the sign.
My heart warmed at the memories of Elizabeth and me with her father beaming by her side, and my mother struggling through it all, mortified that we weren’t getting married in a church, but trying to remain supportive. I chuckled as I remembered her reaction when I first told her that we were getting married at a hotel.
“That’s blasphemy,” she’d said. “You’re going straight to hell. What God has put together, let no man take apart. If you’re not standing before God, how can you put a stamp on your marriage?”
“Mom, I thought you were always the one that said God was everywhere.”
I’d stumped her with that one, because she just muttered, “That marriage won’t last,” as she walked off.
I reached my hand to the window as if I could touch the tree. Not only had we lasted, we were time-tested. And now it was time for us to be together again.
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Granddad, where are you? Call me.
The text was from my grandson, followed a series of calls—all of which I ignored.
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah,” I said as I turned my phone off and set it on the desk. I pulled open the desk drawer and placed the gun inside until I was ready for it.
I’d swung by my house and grabbed a few items before I went to the gun store. I’d wanted to get Elizabeth’s favorite suit. A gray pinstripe that made me itch, but she loved me in it. She’d picked it out in Woolworth’s in 1977. She’d bought me plenty of suits over the years, which I seldom wore because I worked in construction until I retired and then usually wore khakis and a polo to church. I might have had nicer suits, but this suit was special.
I pulled it out of my bag and carefully laid it across the bed, along with a purple tie that Jeremiah had given me for Christmas last year. This tie was special, too, because Jeremiah had used his own money to have it made with a U.S. Army medallion on it. I smiled as I thought of how proud he’d been to present that tie to me.
I showered, dried off, then turned on the TV as I got dressed. Elizabeth and I used to watch Let’s Make a Deal every evening before the five o’clock news, so I wanted to end things doing something she and I used to love.
It took me longer than normal to put my clothes on. I guess it was because I was just moving slow, because I wasn’t nervous. In fact, I was ready.
I released a heavy sigh after I surveyed myself in the mirror. The suit, which I hadn’t worn in at least two years, was a little snugger than I remembered. But otherwise, it was fine.
I slowly ran the comb through my thinning hair, patting it down until I was sure that it, too, was just as Elizabeth used to like it.
I moved back over to the window, a nostalgic smile across my face. There’s something about knowing today is your last day on earth that brings a sort of peace. You would think as I stood there, looking out into the courtyard, my mind trying to paint a mental picture of my wedding, that I’d be sad.
But knowing that I was moments away from joining Elizabeth, I felt happy and at ease. The joy of no longer having pain front and center in my thoughts. All that was left now was to leave a note for my family. Honestly, I’d rather have just done what I had to do. But my family was dysfunctional enough. I didn’t want to add to the drama. I had a will that would settle the disputes over what little possessions and money I had. But I hadn’t told anyone where that was, and I wanted to minimize the fighting after I was gone. I left the window and went over to the desk, pulled out the hotel’s notepad, and began writing.
To my dearest family,
I know you may never understand my decision today. I hope that it does not cause our family to erupt in turmoil. For years I have lived doing what’s best for you all. Now I have to do what’s best for me. You all were right about one thing—I have been depressed, sad, and living in a world that I have no desire to be a part of. The only thing that I want is to be with my wife again. I don’t expect any of you to understand my decision. But this last year has been the most miserable year of my existence, and I do not wish to live another year in that pit of despair.
Do not weep for me, as I have lived a good life. My will can be found in the back of my closet in a brown shoebox on the top shelf. Please honor it accordingly.
Until we meet on the other side, forever my love,
Dad.
I thought about leaving a snide remark about how they were free to sell my house now, or mentioning how them trying to push me out of my house was the wind that pushed me over the cliff. But this would hurt enough. No need to leave a trail of guilt.
I needed an envelope so that the letter would be sealed until whoever found me could take it to them. I opened the desk drawer, found a hotel envelope, then placed the letter inside.
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It was time. I had strolled down memory lane for as long as I could. It was time to carry out what I had come here to do. I had showered and changed into my suit and was ready to meet my maker . . . and dance with my wife.
I stood and straightened my tie. An image of my children flashed through my head. I said a quick prayer that I was doing the right thing, that I wouldn’t create any more chaos in their world. I also wondered whether I should write a note for Jeremiah. Something encouraging because, while the others would be sad, my grandson would be heartbroken.
And yet that thought wasn’t enough to make me change my mind.
Deciding against a note, I walked over, pulled the gun out of my duffel bag, then sat on the edge of the bed. I had just placed the gun in my lap when a book on the nightstand caught my attention.
I leaned over to pick it up. The tattered pages . . . the chipped gold embossment. This looked exactly like the Bible that had been in Elizabeth’s family. The one she’d been frantic about on our wedding day.
If I didn’t know better, I would think this was her book . . . lost here all those years ago.
“Ollie, come quick! Elizabeth needs you!”
The sound of Elizabeth’s maid of honor, Carol, jolted me out of my seat, where I’d been nervously smoothing out my pant leg as I prepared to marry the love of my life.
“What’s wrong?” I said, panicked. Images of my soon-to-be wife changing her mind about marrying me ran through my head. No. Elizabeth loved me. She wouldn’t be backing out.
“I don’t know,” Carol said. “Her father showed up and said something, and Elizabeth just lost it.”
I took off down the hall to Elizabeth’s dressing room. I pounded on her door.
The Book in Room 316 Page 10