A Work in Progress

by Nancy Shew Bolton

  The question no sooner left his lips when the sound of a guttural cough and a loud thud startled Julie. She turned to see Chris sitting on the floor, clutching at his throat, face shading to neon red while his eyes squeezed shut. Julie dropped her knife while Mark raced over to Chris.

  “God help us,” Julie cried out, fear rising at Chris’s obvious distress. Her entire body tingled with panic and her breathing came in terrified gasps. Was he dying? A heart attack? Please, no.

  Mark pounded Chris on the back, his face calm as he coaxed in a soothing voice, “Cough it up, buddy.”

  Air exploded from Chris, along with a glob of chewing gum that flew across the room and landed by the sink. At Chris’s calming expression, Julie’s weakened knees folded under her and she plunked down next to him, drawing in a shaky breath.

  Mark’s relieved laugh bubbled up while he kneaded Chris between the shoulder blades.

  Chris coughed a few times and asked him in a scratchy voice, “Did you have to whale me so hard? My back hurts.”

  “How else was that darn thing going to come out? I told you never to yell and chew at the same time, didn’t I?”

  Julie marveled at Mark’s relaxed, teasing voice and chipper expression. She, on the other hand, felt drained and weary.

  Chris reached a hand to Mark’s shoulder. “You’re right. Thanks for helping me.”

  “No problem. Need a hand up?”

  Chris shook his head and clambered to his feet. “I think Julie does, though.”

  She gazed up at their faces as both studied her. Before she could gather herself, Mark reached an arm around her back and scooped her up. “Okay?”

  His soft voice near her ear held a gentle tone she’d never heard. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through her head. She knew his snide, sarcastic voice, and his impatient one, his teasing tone, the way he barked out food orders and his laughs and chuckles. She blinked up at him to be sure it was actually Mark.

  Her voice wobbled out, “Thanks. I’m all right.”

  Chris took some gulps of water and grinned at her. “Nice to know you care. And I didn’t realize you scared so easily. You’re always such a brick.”

  Mark dropped his arm from her back and laughed. “That’s true. Chris squawked more about that mouse running around in the utility room than you ever did.”

  It warmed her heart to hear how they wanted to cajole her back to normal. The sight of Chris choking, and the fear it blasted through her still echoed inside with uncomfortable twinges and ripples. When she started back at dicing vegetables, her hands were unsteady.

  * * *

  Julie’s quietness and subdued energy caught Mark’s attention throughout the shift that night. Her continued preoccupation and vague manner puzzled him. It’s as though she were somewhere else. Her silence made him think of his own odd experience from the other day. What was she thinking about?

  Did their jobs cause more stress than he thought? No, it couldn’t be that. They all enjoyed their work, commenting often on how exciting it was. Maybe they had what Mom called “adrenal burn-out.” But except for choking on his gum today, and occasionally getting short of breath, Chris was always fine, and his life held more potential for stress than Mark or Julie, with his three little kids and long hours at work away from them.

  Mark had to stop letting his mind wander, or he’d overcook the night’s final steak orders.

  Julie would be fine tomorrow, like always. Mark studied her passive expression while she dished the garnishes onto the waiting plates. He slid the steaks on them and admired the picture they made before Tara whisked the food away.

  Chris grinned at him. “Nothing left now but desserts. Another day, another dollar. Right, guys?”

  Mark laughed. “After paying bills and everything else, that’s about all I’m left with.”

  “Dude, cut your bills down.” Chris shot him a good-natured scowl. “You live downtown, so you don’t really need a car. And why subscribe to the biggest cable package with all the extras? You only watch cooking shows anyway.”

  Mark shrugged. “Can’t very well date someone if you don’t have a car, or cable, either. Girls expect all that.” He cast a glance at Julie, expecting her to weigh in, but she continued to clean her station, and never looked up.

  “I didn’t have either one when I dated and got married. Still don’t have cable.”

  Mark piled pans into the sink and flipped on the hot water. “Well, I guess you got the last girl who didn’t care.”

  “Boo-hoo. Maybe you’re dating the wrong girls.” Chris scraped down the grill with energetic strokes. “Find a nice church girl like I did.”

  “No, thanks. Too judgmental and cold.” Awareness of how unkind his words sounded caused a stab of guilt. Julie’s expression never changed. Maybe she hadn’t heard.

  Chris shook his head and sighed. “You haven’t even tried. You pick women who only want to have fun, and that’s what you get.”

  “Okay, okay. You made your point.” Time to lighten the mood. He held up a greasy pan and grinned at it. “I’m married to this pan, and that stove.” He waved the pan toward the coolers. “And all the food in there. I know exactly what they can do, and what to expect from them. And if they could talk, they’d say the same about me.”

  Tara breezed in and stepped to the dessert cart. “What would who say about you?” She picked up two small plates of cake and turned to face him.

  Mark raised a playful eyebrow at her. “What everyone says. I’m cute and lots of fun.”

  Tara tilted her head, a sly smile playing around her lips. “That’s not what I heard.”

  Chris chortled while Tara sailed out. Expecting a laugh or some reaction from Julie, who rarely missed an opportunity to reinforce her disapproval of him, it startled Mark to catch a glimpse of her gaze. He’d never seen such an open, unguarded expression in her eyes before. It stopped him dead still.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Julie trudged home, carrying the usual cast-offs and leftovers from the restaurant. She couldn’t seem to shake the dismal feeling inside. Without the company of her normal optimistic thoughts, it seemed as though she existed in an internal desert.

  Following her daily pattern, she deposited the bags on the table, hung her coat, and sank onto the nearby comfy easy chair. Once she closed her eyes, a tide of emotion swept across the void inside her, washing away her control.

  Father, what is it? What’s wrong with me?

  Unexpected tears began. At first, she visualized Chris in her thoughts, struggling to breathe, but then a memory surfaced, vivid and terrifying. Her thoughts tried to escape the image while her stomach clenched in pain.

  A groan escaped through her tears and she covered her face. “No, no, no. Please, I don’t want to see it again.”

  But the vision stayed, replaying like a movie in her mind. Her favorite uncle, in his hospital bed, smiling his gentle grin at her as she entered with Mom.

  Mom had kissed her brother and smoothed his hair back. Uncle Jim’s chalky face held his ready smile, though weariness haunted his eyes.

  “We’ve been praying for you,” Mom said. “All of us.”

  A pang had thudded through Julie when she realized she hadn’t prayed for him the night before like she’d meant to. She was so tired from her eighth-grade swim meet, she’d fallen asleep instead.

  Jim reached for Mom’s hand. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s helping me.”

  Julie remembered the brightly lit room. Cards and flowers graced his table, along with the Get-Well balloon she’d brought him two days before. His and Mom’s murmured conversation stilled some of her discomfort at the sight of how ill he appeared. She stepped to the window and squinted at the bright sunlight. Such a nice day out there.

  A few minutes later, he pressed a thin hand against his stomach, his pallor changing to ash. His breath grew short and he rasped, “It must be time for my pain shot.”

  Mom rose, her brows drawing together. “They shouldn
’t make you wait until you’re hurting. I’ll tell the nurse to hurry up.”

  She hustled from the room, and Uncle Jim’s eyes softened as he looked at Julie. “I don’t like you to see me this way. C’mon now. Give me your smile.”

  Though dread began to clutch at her middle, she forced a smile. He answered it, but then a groan escaped him, followed by a spurt of blood that trickled from the side of his mouth. He reached for a washcloth near him, but stopped when a loud moan ripped from him, as a gush of blood soaked in and spread across the top of his hospital gown.

  His eyes locked with hers and she knew he was going. A scream erupted out of her throat, her legs shook and she pleaded, “No, don’t go, don’t die.”

  Compassion softened the pain in his eyes. More blood surged out and Julie couldn’t take any more and bolted from the room, shrieking for her mother. A nurse raced up, followed by her mother and another nurse.

  “He’s dying,” Julie screamed. She collapsed onto a bench, covered her face, and sobbed while rocking back and forth.

  “Oh, my God, no,” Mom moaned and sped into the room with the nurses. Soon, a loud sob sounded from her mother and Julie knew her uncle was gone.

  The storm of tears she’d had to quench in the days following Uncle Jim’s death released now and filled her apartment with the sound of anguish. Mom was too heartbroken to bear Julie’s pain along with her own, so Julie had pressed the agony and questions into her deepest inner hiding places. But the door flew open now.

  Spasms of sobs wracked her trembling body. A well of misery that seemed endless poured from her. “Why did he die, why? Mean people keep going, but he died. It’s not fair, God, it’s not. Why did You let him die?”

  Why didn’t Uncle Jim get better? Guilt flooded her. Maybe they didn’t pray enough. Scripture said to pray diligently.

  They did, but I didn’t.

  A fresh surge of sorrow broke over her. What if her prayers the night before they visited the hospital would’ve helped, but she fell asleep instead? A wild sensation, almost of panic, seized her. Once that wave passed, and her senses calmed, she realized that though her prayers might’ve helped ease him, Uncle Jim’s life or death didn’t hinge on them. That outcome wasn’t in her hands.

  Her tears slowed while she tried to make sense of her thoughts. Maybe she’d never know why he died, when the whole family prayed he’d recover. She remembered something Mom said to their pastor at the gravesite. “I can rest knowing he’s finally at peace.”

  Why did she say that? Uncle Jim seemed calm and happy to her, not someone who needed peace. She should’ve asked Mom why she said it, but wouldn’t let herself think about him for more than a few seconds. Every time she did, those last moments threatened to replay again, and she couldn’t bear that.

  She’d moved past that, now. Perhaps the time had come to ask. She picked up her phone.

  “Mom?”

  “Hi, honey. You sound tired.”

  “I am a little.” What an understatement. She felt as wrung out as a washcloth. “Mom, can I ask you a question about Uncle Jim?”

  A short silence passed between them. Mom’s voice was soft. “All right.”

  “I heard what you said to Pastor Benton at Uncle Jim’s grave about how you could rest, knowing he was at peace. Did you mean from his illness? Because it always puzzled me.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me before now, sweetheart?”

  A small sob escaped before she answered. “Because I couldn’t bear to think of him or talk about him. It made me remember.”

  “I know.” The compassion in Mom’s voice brought on more tears.

  Mom cleared her throat. “I wish I could’ve spared you that.” Her voice cracked a bit at the end, and Julie swallowed hard.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “So, what did you mean when you said it?”

  “He never wanted you to know about it, but I guess he wouldn’t mind me telling you if it will bring you some understanding.”

  “Tell me what?” She thought she knew everything about Uncle Jim.

  “After he graduated from college, he decided to bring his girlfriend Tammy back home with him, and surprise Mom and Dad with their engagement. It was a twelve-hour drive. They stopped for dinner, and Jim ordered some champagne to celebrate. They were only a few hours away by then, and he figured a glass of it wouldn’t matter.”

  Julie never heard of a fiancée. Dread gripped her stomach. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

  “They weren’t drunk or anything, just tired. Tammy fell asleep, then Jim dozed off while he drove. When he woke up, he was in the hospital, and Tammy was dead.”

  As though she were there, viewing the events, a horrible, empty sorrow filled her eyes again with bitter tears. Poor Uncle Jim.

  Mom spoke through her own tears. “He kept telling me it should’ve been him, that it was all his fault. Afterward, he hardly talked to anyone for the longest time, and never mentioned her. I didn’t see his smile again until I had you and your brother. You two made him happy.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Soft sobs claimed her as pictures of him rolled in her mind. How he doted on her and Matt. The way his face always lit up around them. And then came memories of how, whenever she’d come upon him staring off into the distance and viewed the sadness in his face, he’d changed it to a smile for her. In his last moments, despite his own pain, his eyes had held love for her.

  Guilt and remorse overwhelmed her. She wailed, “I should’ve stayed with him, Mom, not let him die alone like that.”

  “Hush, now. I was with him. He was still alive, and I was with him when he stopped breathing. Don’t you fret yourself.”

  “But, Mom. I should’ve stayed. He’d have stayed with me.” Her eyes closed, squeezing tears down her cheeks.

  “He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. There’s no reason to. I saw how peaceful his eyes were at the end. It comforts me. You think of that when you remember him. He wasn’t afraid to go.” Mom breathed in and let it out in a gentle sigh. “I think he was more afraid of a long life without Tammy than he ever was of death.”

  So Uncle Jim knew what it was like to yearn for someone you couldn’t have. That ache that pulled at the gut with bruising force. Julie took in a few deep breaths and tried to calm her hectic emotions. She needed to pull herself together and get her evening tasks done. Another few minutes of soothing talk with Mom helped her steady herself.

  “Thanks for telling me, Mom. Now I understand why he looked so sad sometimes.”

  “That’s why I said what I did at his grave. He missed her so horribly. I don’t think he was ever able to forgive himself for falling asleep. Maybe he did in his last moments. All I know is I saw peace in his eyes when he looked up at me.”

  Julie pressed a hand against her eyes and refused to cry anymore, though now it was tears of relief that threatened to fall. She needed to get busy now.

  “I love you, Mom. And thanks again.”

  “I love you, too, honey.”

  She set down the phone and stared at the wall for a few minutes, letting the memories of Uncle Jim settle into a more peaceful remembrance, free of the terror they’d invoked before. What a relief that she could think of him again, though the trauma of his death would probably always hurt.

  But now she could remember him alive. His gentle, loving manner. His broad smile. The reason for his sadness. She could once again feel thanks for having had him in her life, and not push away any memories. A sense of even stronger kinship with him bloomed inside. Someone close to her suffered with an unfulfilled love, too. She remembered the pain of her unrequited love for Kevin all through high school and beyond. But at least Kevin was still alive, and the constant ache for him finally turned into a strong, steady love, like what she shared with her brother.

  She sighed and shifted a bit. Why didn’t she feel complete relief now? Something still ate at her. She searched her mind. Mark. The sudden memory of his soft voice in her ear disturbed her and drove her into a flurry of a
ction.

  While she unpacked leftovers and set about her usual tasks, she forgot to turn on her music, loud inner thoughts taking over instead. Why did he say “church girls” were judgmental and cold? Did he mean her?

  She’d never stewed over any of his offhand comments before. But this one burned inside her. He’d said it in such a definite tone, so sure. And she was the only “church girl” at the restaurant. After a few attempts at flirting with her when she first started, he’d abandoned the tactic and never tried it again.

  Julie tried to remember what she’d said to rebuff him. Stopping her hands from their work, she stared at the ceiling, searching for a memory. Nothing really, only a vague sense of the discomfort she’d felt at his unwelcome attention. She’d thought him good-looking, but didn’t like his flirting. As though he possessed the right to expect her to respond. It angered her, she remembered that.

  Now she recalled her retort at his last flirting attempt. He’d said something about sneaking off to the utility room together and she’d stopped her work and let her disgust and disdain show. She’d said, “I thought we were adults here. We’re supposed to cook good food, not act like we’re idiots in junior high.”

  Chris had hooted and said, “You’re so busted, dude.”

  While Chris’s laughs echoed in the kitchen, Julie had smiled in triumph as Mark’s jaunty expression faded to a clenched jaw and eyes back on his work. She’d been proud of herself, but now a sensation of shame crept in. But how else would she have shut down his crass remarks?

  They shared a good working relationship now. They stayed out of each other’s way and focused their conversation on only work-related topics. Mark and Chris bantered and talked about personal things, but she always kept herself aloof from that.