Rip Your Heart Out

by Jeanne Glidewell

  Rip's birthday was two months away. Considering how he was behaving that evening, I wouldn't have bet a plug nickel he'd be around to attend his own party. By the way he was gasping for air, I doubted he could blow out more than three of the sixty-nine candles on his cake anyway. He appeared pale and clammy, and had the energy of a slug that'd just been showered with salt.

  Rip stating he'd prefer a pear to a juicy steak were words I'd never thought I'd hear come out of my husband's mouth. I'd have been less surprised to hear him say he'd prefer to spend the evening in the cabin; painting his toenails while we watched The Notebook on TV, after a day of being pampered at the onboard spa.

  "Are you okay, honey? You don't look well. In fact, you look pale and sweaty."

  "I've been resting outside for a while. If you'd been out here, instead of inside reading a book, you'd probably be perspiring too."

  "We're in Alaska, dear. Look out there to the right." I pointed to a large iceberg we'd just skirted past. "I'm wearing a jacket and you have a heavy blanket covering you because, according to the ship's channel on TV, it's fifty-two degrees out here. I hardly think there'd be perspiration pouring out of my goose bumps if I'd been out here on the balcony with you."

  "I'm fine. You worry too much, darling. Just a little worn down. Then again, perhaps it was the salmon I had for lunch. It might have had a touch of salmonella in it, or just didn't agree with me."

  "Nice try, Rip. We split a piece and I'm not ill. Besides, you've appeared under the weather for the last several days. Are you nauseated? It's rare for you to be 'off your feed', as my pappy used to say."

  "I'm a wee bit queasy. That's all. Could be a touch of seasickness from the constant movement of the ship. That's why I enlisted in the air force rather than the navy during the Vietnam War. Remember?"

  "Yeah, that's a possibility I hadn't considered," I said with a nod. Even though I knew it was merely wishful thinking, I convinced myself that Rip was right. Motion sickness probably was the cause for his discomfort, and once his feet were back on solid, non-undulating ground, my gray-faced husband would be back to his old self. Although I could sense no movement at all, as if I were in a hotel room rather than a cabin on a cruise ship, I knew some people were very sensitive to motion. And, as he'd just mentioned, I did recall Rip basing his decision to join the air force on the high probability of puking throughout his entire tour of duty if he chose to become a "swabbie". As it turned out, being a military police officer in the United States Air Force was what had inspired his lifelong career in law enforcement.

  "I'm going to the gift shop to buy some Dramamine, in case your self-diagnosis is correct. If it's not, we're going to visit the ship's doctor tomorrow. We'll be at sea all day so the timing is perfect."

  "But–"

  "No 'buts' about it, Rip. In the meantime, we can toast our anniversary tonight with a couple of glasses of 7-Up, which I have in the fridge." The carbonated soft drink had always been my go-to beverage when anyone in the family had a bellyache, served with three or four saltines on the side. "And I'll go down to the buffet and grab a few crackers, too."

  "All right, dear. If it'll make you feel less anxious, I'll share a 7-Up with you."

  "Um, thanks, dear, but no 7-Up for me. I actually feel quite good, and would feel even better after a shot or two of tequila. So, I believe I'll have Armando bring me a cocktail. In fact, I'll order two of them to make the trip to our suite worth his while." Armando was our personal porter, a soft-spoken, polite young gentleman from the Philippines. I could call him and request a poached egg and a fresh, thinly sliced kiwi at six in the morning, and he'd deliver it with the utmost courtesy and a pleasant, but probably forced, smile on his face as if I were the Venerable Mother Ignacia he was serving. I wouldn't do such a thing, mind you. The kind, hard-working man put in a long enough day without me requesting that he cater to some silly whim of mine.

  I must have had a hard-to-decipher look on my face, because Rip assessed my expression for a few seconds and read it all wrong. I was only concerned about his health, but with his next remarks, he made it clear he thought I was upset about missing out on our special supper. "I'm sorry, honey. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night. Okay?"

  "I don't give a flying fig about the anniversary dinner, Rip. It's you I'm worried about. It breaks my heart to see you feeling badly."

  "Honey, I appreciate your concern. I really do. Bring me an apple, along with the crackers, and between them they should settle my stomach. You know what they say. 'An apple a day keeps the ship's doctor away.' And other than a little tummy upset, I'm fine. After our belated feast tomorrow, I plan on dancing the heels off of those shiny new shoes of yours in the Lido Lounge, so you better get some rest, as well. Trust me, your old man's healthy as a horse."

  His words did nothing to ease my anxiety. For one thing, I'd witnessed a seemingly healthy horse keel over in mid-stride at the Sam Houston Race Track a few years ago, rendered dead as a doornail by a faulty ticker. While I felt bad for the filly and its owners, I'm still ticked off about the twenty-dollar wager I'd lost on her. The fact Lucky Lady was leading the race by three strides when both my luck, and hers, ran out on the final turn did nothing to quell my disappointment, either.

  Another cause for concern was that I knew from past experience Rip would tell me he was fine and to quit nagging him, even if he was dangling from a meat hook with a cleaver embedded deeply in his skull and an arm and six toes severed. I don't know if it's just a "man thing", or being a lifelong law enforcer, but he appeared to think the words "ill" and "injured" were equivalent to "weak". And the last adjective my husband wanted to be branded with was "weak".

  I didn't worry as much when he was moaning and groaning as if his next breath could be his last. If he was acting like a big baby, I knew he had some little short-lived bug and was milking it for all it was worth. Rip enjoyed being coddled and fussed over as much as the next man. However, when Rip withdrew from his normal activities and went out of his way to convince the world he was "just fine", I knew it wasn't just some little virus that would resolve itself in twenty-four hours.

  "Would you like me to have Armando bring you a Crown and Coke?" I asked.

  "Yeah, sure. A shot of whiskey always fixes anything that ails a person."

  I wasn't so certain, but was encouraged about his desire for a drink. Since shortly after we'd retired and hit the road as full-time RVers, we'd always made time for an afternoon cocktail. We'd relax over our drinks and discuss the issues of the day, whether it'd be the latest terrorist attack monopolizing the news or the size of a hairball Dolly had just hacked up.

  A couple of hours later, Rip was sleeping fitfully on his side of the king-sized bed. The bed was so comfortable, it had a tendency to knock us both out as if we'd each downed a half bottle of Nyquil before hitting the sack. The slight rocking of the ship lulled us to sleep like newborns.

  My sense of relief evaporated like early-morning dew on a muskmelon when I went out to the balcony to make sure everything was stored properly. I found an apple, with one small chunk missing, four of the six crackers I'd gotten for Rip, and a full glass of Crown and Coke that was watered down from the melted ice. I realized then Rip was sicker than he was letting on and had only requested the items to alleviate my worries.

  A full gallon of Nyquil would not have cured my insomnia that night as I lay staring at the ceiling and wondering if Dr. Herron's comments had been more of a prediction than a warning.

  Chapter 3

  The following day was, without a doubt, the worst of my nearly sixty-nine years of life. What was supposed to be a relaxing day—cruising Glacier Bay and enjoying the beautiful scenery on either side of the ship—turned out to be one of fear, anxiety, and dread.

  The horrible day in question started off with a scrumptious buffet in an exclusive restaurant aboard the ship that was only open for breakfast to suite passengers. It was a heady feeling to be treated as if we were VIPs. The variety of food at the
buffet was unbelievable. There were eggs and potatoes available in every way a chef could conceivably prepare them, and meat of every variety. The fruit bar was incredible, as fresh as if its contents had been picked just minutes prior to our arrival. Kiwi, papaya, mango, and pineapple aplenty. There were a few fruit options, like prickly pear and acai, which looked absolutely dreadful to me. And there were even a couple of scary-looking selections, such as "dragon fruit" that I wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole, lest I be spending the remainder of the cruise on the proverbial throne.

  I'd been pleased at how much better Rip appeared to be feeling after he'd awakened. Although still a bit pallid, he seemed more like himself than he had in several days. Just seeing Rip anxious to partake in a hearty meal had seemed a reassuring sign to me. I felt less assured, however, when he didn't end up eating enough to keep a bedbug alive. It was as if consuming a single scrambled egg and piece of toast had left him dragging his own wagon.

  When I expressed concern, Rip said, "We're not spring chickens anymore, darling. You've had me on the go for days. It's apt to take me a day or two to regain my strength and energy. Don't you worry your pretty little head, now, you hear?"

  "Okay, honey. I'm just not accustomed to seeing you so lethargic, and I never thought I'd see the day you turned your nose up at bacon."

  Rip laughed. "Well, don't tell Dr. Herron about it. As far as she's concerned, I've set the bar extremely low, and I want to keep it that way. I don't want the doctor to think I've taken her concerns to heart and turned over a healthy new leaf."

  I was so relieved to see his sense of humor had returned that I didn't want to argue, so I didn't remind him that Dr. Herron had warned him he was a ticking time bomb if he didn't make some lifestyle changes. Instead, I did as he implored me to do and chalked his lethargy up to five straight days of nearly nonstop activity.

  After breakfast, we proceeded to the gift shop. We planned to spend much of the day on our private balcony, but I had not expected Alaska's late spring to be quite as frigid as it was. My wool sweater wasn't cutting it. I needed to buy a thick sweatshirt to wear over it, preferably with a hood to prevent the sharp wind from chilling me to the bone.

  "While we're here, I'd like to buy you a souvenir of Alaska," Rip said.

  "I am. I'm buying this Alaska hoodie. I love the teal color, and it'll keep me warm while we cruise the bay today."

  "That's fine. But I'd also like for you to pick out something more meaningful."

  "Why?" After a disapproving glance from Rip, I added, "Like what?"

  "Something special to remind you of Alaska and our fiftieth-anniversary cruise."

  "I'll never forget this trip, sweetheart. I don't need some little trinket like a shot glass or magnet to remind me." It wasn't only the fact I'm financially conservative that made me hesitant to spend money on a souvenir. The limited space in a 240-square-foot travel trailer was also a factor. If I crammed one more trinket inside it, we'd have to find a home for Dolly because there'd be no room left for her to park both pairs of her chubby cheeks. "Besides, we'll have pictures, too. You know how every time we turn around one of the ship's photographers are snapping a photo of us."

  "Yes. And I'm also aware that you've yet to purchase a single one of those photos." Rip smiled as he spoke. He'd earlier agreed with me that fifteen bucks was too much to pay for an eight-by-ten-inch photo. After all, we could take our own pictures for nary a cent. And, if we didn't like them, we could simply delete them and snap more. I'd been doing exactly that throughout the entire trip.

  "Well, of course not, but we agreed that–"

  "Besides, a shot glass or magnet was not what I had in mind. Let me show you something I saw in a glass case back there." Rip pointed to the far corner of the store.

  I followed him until he stopped at a case full of jewelry. I glanced at a diamond and ruby broach and gasped at the price. "Oh my! We can't afford this stuff."

  "I want you to have a nice gem to wear in honor of our fifty years of happiness together."

  "And, I love you for that thoughtful sentiment, dear." I meant what I said, but my heart skipped a beat at the price his thoughtful sentiment carried with it. In case I'd misread the price, I checked it again. I hadn't. "It's so expensive. We could make a decent down payment on a new travel trailer for that amount. And everyone would probably assume the gems were fakes anyway. So why not buy something with fake gems to begin with?"

  "Considering how tight you are, you're no doubt correct. Everyone probably will assume the gems are phony. But you and I will know they're not. And that's important to me because my love for you is anything but phony, darling."

  "I know your love for me is true, as mine is for you. But I thought you were considering the idea of trading the Chartreuse Caboose in on a larger trailer? We'll want to put a good down payment on it, won't we?"

  "I am considering a new RV. Maybe a fifth wheel this time, with two or three slide-outs for the extra space to spread out in. But relax, sweetheart. We have more than enough money in savings to buy a new one outright and still leave plenty of padding in our emergency fund."

  "That's a relief. But, I still think we–"

  "See this ring?"

  I looked down at the ring he was pointing at. It was so stunning it took my breath away. It had a gold band and an oval jade stone anchored in the middle of it. On a shore excursion tour earlier in the week, we had visited a shop near a small jade mine. We'd been given an interesting demonstration on how many of the indigenous gems, including amethyst, fluorite, and garnet, were transformed into beautiful jewelry in their facility. Our tour guide had told us jade was the official state gemstone and prolific in certain areas of Alaska. And, as one would expect, gold was the official state mineral.

  "It's a gorgeous ring," I admitted. "But it's outrageously expensive."

  "Not nearly as much as a lot of these other pieces, like that broach you were looking at. Besides, I don't care what it costs. How often does a man get to celebrate his fiftieth year of marriage to the most beautiful woman in the world? If you like it, I want you to have it."

  "Oh, Rip, honey. You are so sweet. No wonder you swept me off my feet all those years ago. I do love this ring. But what can I get for you in return?"

  "Just yourself, my dear. You are a gem. My gem. And that's all I've ever needed, or ever will need, to make me the happiest guy in the world—not to mention the luckiest."

  Rip was being uncharacteristically romantic and emotional, bordering on cheesy, and I was deeply touched by his sincerity. It was almost as if he wanted to make sure I had something meaningful to remember him by should something happen to him. The mere thought made the hairs on my arms stand straight up like a zillion little flag poles. I wasn't looking forward to the "until death do us part" clause in our marriage vows. Although that sensation made me uneasy, I agreed to let Rip purchase the ring because I could see how much it meant to him to give me something that meant a lot to me. And I truly did love my dear husband–and the gold and jade ring, as well.

  * * *

  "Are you certain you feel up to going to La Buena Vida tonight, Rip?" La Buena Vida was one of the onboard specialty restaurants that featured steak and seafood. We'd cancelled our dinner reservations there the previous night, but were able to reschedule them for the following evening.

  "I promised you an anniversary supper, and I'm not going to renege on that vow any more than I've reneged on any other marriage vow. Besides, I'm starving. I'll need the energy for dancing in the Lido Lounge afterward."

  "But–"

  "Don't fret, honey. I'm fine now. If I drop dead of anything, it's going to be malnutrition."

  "But–"

  "But nothing. I've made reservations for six o'clock, so you best be getting ready. I'm going with or without you."

  Despite Rip's smile and the warm embrace that followed, I still had reservations–about his dinner reservations. But I didn't want to disappoint him, despite the niggling premonition tha
t the day was not going to end as happily as it had begun.

  I took a quick shower and struggled into a pair of panty hose, which reminded me of why you rarely see women wearing them these days. Next, I stepped into my new black dress. It had a black and gold brocade bodice, a straight silk skirt, and a gold belt. I slipped on the black heels Rip had promised to dance off of me and, lastly, I fastened a necklace around my neck, and proudly donned my new gold and jade ring. I couldn't recall the last time I'd dressed so sharply. Rip must have approved of my attire because he whistled at me when I entered the main cabin.

  At the time I'd purchased the outfit for our anniversary cruise, it had crossed my mind the dress would double as stylish attire for any funerals we might have to attend in the future. Now, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I prayed that opportunity would not present itself any time soon.

  Chapter 4

  "Your husband is having a heart attack." Seven little words that rocked my world. Those seven words made me feel as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest, stomped on by a pair of mad circus elephants, run over a time or two by a cement truck, and then shoved back into its original cavity in a tattered, bloody mess. Shaken to the core, I collapsed onto a nearby chair before my unsteady legs failed me.

  The last time I remembered feeling that petrified was when I was seventeen and my pappy caught me making out with Rip in the woodshed. At that long-ago moment, I feared Rip was about to meet his maker at my father's hands. Now I feared it was the Father, Rip's maker himself, that was about to steal my husband from me.