The Rockin' Chair

by Steven Manchester

  Hank shrugged. “We never had much but Elle made do alright. The one thing I did insist on, though, was that they all finish their schoolin’. I wasn’t gonna raise any dummies.” Although it had never been labeled, Hank had been cursed with dyslexia, leaving him a virtual illiterate. It was a disease that loomed over him like the mountains that had imprisoned him his entire life.

  “I didn’t raise no dummy neither,” the old man countered.

  With a raised eyebrow, Hank accepted the unexpected compliment. “It’s true,” he agreed. “It’s nearly impossible to give ’em everything they need and still remain their friend.” Innocently, his thoughts formed an accusation before he could stop them. “But you was so different with my young.”

  John grinned at the onslaught of memories. “Sure I was. And why not? Some say it’s one of the few rewards for growin’ old.” The grin widened. “Truth is, I got after’em time and again, but it was your job to keep’em in line, not mine. When you hightailed it off the farm, my days of hollerin’ and ringin’ necks was through.”

  John patted his son on the shoulder, while Hank turned to catch the wink. It was the kind that meant an elder’s secret was coming. “You just wait ’til you spend some time with your granddaughter. It’s a blessed thing, I tell ya. You can spoil the heck out of her and there ain’t no guilt. You just wait and see, Hank. Take away the responsibility of makin’ kids do the right thing and it’s a real hoot, all of it.” John’s laughter revealed that he wasn’t through remembering the fun he and his grandchildren had shared.

  The old man stood slowly and cleared his throat. He grabbed two shovels and handed one to Hank. “You check in on your ma?” he asked, changing the conversation from reminiscent to reality.

  “Yes, sir, I did,” Hank replied, his eyes welling up.

  “That’s my boy,” John finished, and placed the cap back onto his head. It had been years—back when they raced pigeons together—since they’d shared more than a half dozen words between them. Despite the circumstances, John was thrilled.

  With a single nod, Hank rolled up his sleeves and tore into cleaning the barn. Neither man spoke another word.

  They spent most of the day out on the farm, getting a leg up on chores that had been overlooked. Hank put in four times the work the old man did. John didn’t mind. On the contrary, he was grateful—and so was his back.

  Once the hayloft was rearranged to make it easier over the winter, Hank headed for the house to grab Elle.

  It wasn’t long before John caught Elle and Hank climbing into the cab of Hank’s truck. He stuck his head into the passenger side window. Smelling like a pine-scented air freshener, Elle leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Ma’s resting easy now, Pa. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.”

  John sighed at the wishful thinking. Grabbing both her cheeks, he returned the kiss. “You’re an angel, for certain,” he told her, “and my son got as lucky as I did.” Looking over at Hank, he could see the terrible anguish his son was holding in. John knew it only too well. “Mighty obliged for the hand today,” he told Hank. “Me and your ma surely needed it.”

  Hank nodded but never uttered a word.

  John let them go with a wave. He then watched them pull out of the long drive before heading for the porch. Removing the handkerchief from his back pocket, he dusted off several inches of snow that covered his rocking chair. Strangely, though John had always felt that all things were a gift passed down from God—and, in turn, passing on each gift that was borrowed—for some unwritten law, nobody ever sat in the chair but him. Crafted of hard wood that had been beaten by the harsh, ever-changing seasons, it was certainly nothing majestic. Still, unless someone was sitting in his lap, they stayed clear of the simple throne. He read the four names carved into the seat and smiled. From the moment of each birth, they’d all spent their childhoods rocking, laughing and learning to love.

  John looked back toward the sky. There’s still a few hours of sunlight. He gave it a couple more brushes before he was satisfied the chair was clean. Nodding once, he stuffed the rag back into his overalls and stepped into the house.

  On the ride home, Elle could hardly contain her excitement. “So it looks like you and Pa made some real progress in the barn today,” she said.

  Hank shrugged. “We squared everything away for winter I suppose.”

  She grabbed his hand. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Hank.”

  He thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “My ma’s dyin’,” he explained. “I did the right thing by lendin’ a hand is all.”

  “Oh,” she said, studying his face. “I thought you boys were finally …”

  “Then you thought wrong, Elle,” he interrupted before turning on the radio.

  Elle was still shaking her head when they arrived home.

  When John stepped into the bedroom, he discovered that Alice was sleeping peacefully just as Elle had reported. So as not to disturb her, he carefully leaned over, gave her a kiss and then noticed the photo that sat on her nightstand. Dried remnants of her breakfast were smeared on the mouths of each of their grandchildren. Evidently, Alice had wanted to share her oatmeal with the kids. John stroked her hair and sighed. “Squaw, you always was a generous woman,” he whispered.

  He took a seat at the small oak table near the window and began searching for the best way to say it. Some time ago he decided to keep a journal and wrote when the spirit moved him. With all the feelings churning inside him, he was more than moved and needed to get them all out. Besides, there was so much that still needed to be said.

  One hour and two pages later, John felt the most horrible sensation rip through his body. He dropped the pen and looked back at his beloved wife. They’d been together so long that it was difficult to figure out whose feeling it was. It all blended together now. It was at that very moment he knew. He just knew. There ain’t no time to waste, he thought. Ignoring the ache in his heart, he wrapped Alice in every quilt she’d ever made, swept her up into his arms and whispered, “Let’s go dancin’, darlin’.”

  Like a baby nestled safely in his arms, he carried the keeper of his heart out to the front porch. He stared into Alice’s beautiful face and cried. God, am I gonna miss rockin’ with you, he thought.

  John closed his eyes and listened to the trees dance with the wind. He rocked slow and easy with Alice, her head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. With her every breath, he could feel her warmth on his throat. He remembered how their love had grown and swore he could smell lilac on her. The whiff nearly made him speak, but he’d already said good-bye. Ain’t no need to say it again, he decided.

  John matched Alice’s every breath and began humming a soothing lullaby. He hummed her favorite tune right up until her hot breath touched his skin no more. He sang until his crying would not allow it.

  In a moment that would change the course of time, Alice’s body had finally taken enough. At the very instant Alice’s spirit stepped out of her broken body, John could feel the better part of his heart die. She was gone and so was his purpose for breathing. For a second the air went still, while Alice’s wind chimes that hung on the porch began to sing. John cried with a grief that could have thawed the coldest heart.

  CHAPTER 6

  Elle picked up Evan, Tara and Lila at the airport. As she approached the threesome, she gasped at the sight of her emaciated daughter. For a few moments, Tara’s eyes scanned every inch of her mother’s face before she spread her twig-like arms. Elle hugged her, then pulled away and peered into her sunken eyes. “Are you sick?” she asked.

  While Tara shrugged, Elle grabbed Evan for a hug. “I’ll explain it on the way,” he whispered in her ear.

  Lila stood there, looking up at her grandmother—curiously.

  Elle bent down and smiled at the baby. “Hello, my love,” she whispered, “Grandma’s waited much too long to meet you.” The little girl was a living doll. She had Tara’s strawberry-blond curls and the same dark eyes
as Alice.

  Lila grinned. “Hi, Gramma,” she said, and never flinched when Elle scooped her up and kissed her cheek.

  Elle looked back at Tara and could feel her eyes swell with tears.

  “Grandma?” Evan asked, grabbing her attention.

  Elle shook her head, the tears beginning to cascade down her tired face.

  “When?” he asked.

  Elle reached for his hand. “Last night … right in Grampa’s lap.”

  “In the rockin’ chair?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  Elle nodded again.

  Evan’s eyes filled. “Where else?” he said.

  Elle noticed the confusion in her daughter’s eyes and thought, She’s so out of it.

  Before Elle could explain, Evan leaned into Tara’s ear and filled it with the bad news. “We’re one day too late. Grandma passed away last night.”

  Though delayed, Tara burst into tears.

  As they left the airport terminal, Elle walked alongside Evan. “How did you find her in New York?” she asked in a whisper. “Her cell phone’s been turned off for weeks.” She looked back at her daughter, who was already lagging behind.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he said, and shook his head. “Let’s just say … thank God I did.”

  On the way home from the airport, Evan sat in the passenger seat, while Elle drove. Tara remained almost comatose, with Lila sitting beside her in the back seat. The little doll stared out the window at the passing scenery. Elle turned to her son and searched his face. “You ready to talk about it?”

  Evan took a deep breath. “Ma, I’m sorry you wasted your money on a plane ticket you couldn’t use,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road before them.

  “Please, Evan,” Elle said. “That’s the least of my concerns.”

  “Pa must have been pretty steamed, though.”

  “Don’t you go worrying about your pa, either. Besides, he was fine with it.”

  “But you guys don’t have money to …”

  “Enough about the money, Evan,” she interrupted. “What I really want to know is … how are you doing?”

  He half shrugged. “Long story,” he sighed.

  Elle matched the shrug. “Long ride home,” she countered.

  He took a deep breath. “As I wrote you in my last email, I thought things were perfect. Carley’s family was planning the bridal shower, you were flying up for it and I couldn’t have been more excited.” He took another deep breath. “As a pre-shower gift, I sanded and stained an unfinished rocking chair for her.”

  Elle nodded.

  He looked at his mother. “I even tied a big, red ribbon on the top and surprised her with it. She cried when she read the card.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what did the card say?” Elle asked.

  Though Evan tried to fight them off, tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. “With this chair comes three wishes: that our children will enjoy a sound sleep each night; that throughout our lives together, this chair will remind us to sit back and relax once in a while.” He paused to compose himself. It was no use. “And finally, that it will find us in our twilight years, rocking our grandkids and counting the memories we’ve made together.”

  Elle’s eyes filled. “You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, Evan.”

  Shrugging off the compliment, he continued. “But Carley didn’t share my enthusiasm for the wedding. She said it was only cold feet but I knew it was something more.” He shook his head. “She changed the password on her email … and cell phone.” Evan couldn’t hold back any longer and began to cry.

  “And?” Elle asked, making him continue through the tears.

  “And my friend Rob followed her for a couple of nights and took some pictures of her and her old boyfriend, Paul.” He shook his head. “When I showed her the pictures, she was angry that I’d had her followed. Do you believe that?” Without awaiting an answer he said, “Anyway, that’s when I called you and told you that the shower was off.”

  Elle grabbed Evan’s hand and held it tight.

  He tried wiping his eyes, but they wouldn’t stop leaking. “A few days later … I’m not sure when … I packed up my things and headed down the beach to mourn. That’s when I spotted Grampa John’s letter on the front seat. He said that Grandma was preparing to venture into the Promised Land and that I needed to get a hold of my sister. So, I headed for New York City.”

  After a few moments, Elle said, “I’m not just saying this because you’re my son but you’re a good man, Evan … a very good man. I know you’re hurting bad but this was Carley’s failure and quite honestly, she doesn’t deserve you.” She squeezed his hand even tighter. “Your wife’s still out there, waiting.”

  Wiping his eyes, he nodded once and then turned to stare out the passenger window for the remainder of the ride. While he grieved, Elle never let go of his hand.

  When they got back to the bunkhouse, Evan hesitated before stepping inside. It felt like he was being dragged back into a bad dream. Tara just followed, seemingly unaffected by the change in surroundings.

  As they entered the kitchen, Evan’s skin crawled. He remembered how it felt when he got into trouble and his ma made him sit for hours on a kitchen chair to fear the wrath of his father. When the boozehound finally dragged himself home, Evan would have to tell his pa about it and then take his beating like a man.

  Evan shook off the feeling and greeted his father.

  Hank stood and extended his hand. “It’s been a while,” he groaned. “I finally get to congratulate you on finishin’ your college. You write any books yet?”

  Pa’s in worse shape than I’ve ever seen him, Evan thought, and he’s stone-cold sober. Evan shook his head. He always pictured—at this very moment—that he’d be telling his pa to go to hell. But from the look in his eyes, Evan thought, he’s already there.

  Pa’s attention shifted to Tara. “What in the hell did they do to you?” he asked rhetorically. He then shook his head in disappointment. Tara hardly noticed.

  There wasn’t much but small, meaningless talk for the rest of the afternoon. Ma and Pa were submerged in a coma of mourning, Tara was immersed in an even deeper coma and Evan’s grief alternated between his grandmother’s death and Carley’s unforgivable transgressions. Half of him yearned for her hug, while the other half—the sensible half—wished he could just get her face out of his head. It was going to take time.

  Tara was already in her room when Evan headed to reclaim his. Walking past his parents’ bedroom, he glanced in and noticed the bent, rusty nail that stuck out of the wall behind Ma’s dresser. His old friend was missing. Pa’s black belt has finally been retired, he thought, remembering all those times Pa yelled for him to fetch the leather strap. Each time, that walk was like heading to the electric chair—only to get beat senseless with the belt once he handed it over.

  Evan stepped into his bedroom and checked his cell phone for anything from Carley. Nothing.

  Per Pa’s orders, Grampa John was to be left alone for the day. “He’s takin’ it on the button,” Pa reported. Evan and Tara respected their father’s wishes. The following day, however, they marched across the creek bridge to visit the man they adored.

  As expected, Grampa John was rocking slowly in his chair with Three Speed by his side. Sawdust flew from his jackknife and a look of concentration was focused on his carving. He looked up, dropped the wood and stood. To Evan’s dismay, he stood slower than usual. Spotting the little one, Grampa John dropped to one knee and spread his arms. “Well … come on then,” he told Lila.

  She marched straight to him. It was odd—considering they’d never met—but Lila and Grampa John embraced, as if they’d missed each other for years. It was that secret pact kept between little children and older folks—like a shared truth that everyone of ages in between either forgot or didn’t have time to remember. Children were yet to experience most things, while elderly folks dumped everything they didn’t need from their min
ds and returned to an understanding of the world that only children saw. Grampa John and Lila hugged for a while.

  Lila broke the embrace. “You my Grampy?”

  Grampa John chuckled. “Nope. Your Grampy’s that nice fella that lives across the bridge. I’m just your Grampa John.”

  Lila nodded, but she was much too young to ever realize whom she’d just met. He wasn’t just Grampa John. He was the Grampa John.

  Evan was the next to approach. “I’m so sorry, Grampa John,” he said. “Grandma was an angel and heaven …”

  The old man pulled him in for a bear hug. The combined smells of peppermint and Ben-Gay told Evan that he and Tara were really home. Although the hug didn’t last long, his scent was still as comforting as a pacifier to a baby. “Your grandmother was the best woman I’ve ever known, the salt of the earth,” the old man said, “and wherever the good Lord chose to take her, then that’s good enough for me. I’d never want to be nowhere else.” The old man let Evan go and grabbed Tara for a squeeze.

  “Oh Grampa John, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, crying.

  “Temporary loss, sweetheart,” he corrected her. “In my soul, I know me and your grandma will be together again soon. We have to. It wouldn’t make no sense to share so much love between two people … every laugh, every kiss, every secret … only to lose it all to death. It can’t be the end. There ain’t no way.”

  “I believe you,” she said.

  Grampa John finished the hug and then reclaimed his seat. He picked up the carving and returned to his work. After a long, unusual silence, he quietly spoke on the growing price of grain and the latest trials of Three Speed. “And the weather’s been a little screwy, too,” he claimed. “Just can’t figure nothin’ no more.” It was sad. For a man who rarely used two words when only one would do, Grampa John never wasted his breath on the weather—ever. He veered from any talk of Grandma. Worst of all, he never even noticed the pain in his grandchildren’s faces. He’s in a terrible state, Evan realized. Losing a soul mate obviously does horrible things to a man.