On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  “Then you tell them, Abby. You don’t need to be embarrassed—just tell them how you feel. Describe Zack to them in the way only you can. Those people, if they really do have only football on the brain, could use a dose of reality. You tell them how he really was—that there was more to him than just a stupid game.”

  Abby sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  “But what if I don’t want to talk about it?” she countered.

  “Then you don’t, Abby. If you don’t want to talk about Zack, just tell them that. I would think they would respect that. You’ve certainly respected me that way lately, so I speak from experience.”

  “Mom, don’t—“

  “No, Abby. I know I probably haven’t been able to give you the support you need this last little while. I don’t need to tell you how hard all of this has been—on all of us. I am trying hard to be strong, but, well, some days are harder than others.”

  “I know that, Mom. You don’t have to explain it. Please. We are all hurting. You’ve got to handle it the way you need to handle it. I understand it, I promise.”

  Susan smiled.

  “But it’s not a stupid game,” said Abby. “It’s a great game, and Zack loved it, and he was great at it, and people loved him. Not in the way I do or you do, but they still loved him. I don’t know if I can live up to that.”

  “Abby, look, you’re not Zack. No one should expect you to be. I know how hard this is for you. I know how close you two were. In fact, it made me jealous sometimes that you two relied on each other so much,” Susan said, smiling.

  “But he’s gone,” she continued, voice trembling. “And we’ve still got to move on. Don’t you think that’s what he would have wanted?”

  Abby nodded. “Yes, of course, he would. He’d have called me a ‘Chucklehead’ if I didn’t!”

  They both laughed. Abby lay back down in bed and nestled her head under her mother’s chin, breathing in the comforting smell of the familiar jasmine skin cream.

  “I just wish,” Abby started, “I just wish I could say goodbye to him.”

  “I know, Sweetie, I know,” her mother replied, tears forming at the edges of her eyes. “We all do. But we’ve got to find our own way now—our own way to let him go. We’ll never, ever forget him. But I don’t think he’d want us to stay like this.”

  She gently rubbed Abby’s back for several minutes until they both fell asleep under the comforter.

  Chapter 7

  Veronica made it to her Manhattan office early, as usual. It was only 7:15 and most of the staff wouldn’t be arriving for at least an hour. She enjoyed the quiet time alone and used it to plan for the day ahead.

  She sat down, dropped her purse in a desk drawer and logged into her laptop. Her desktop picture, the photo of a clownfish she had taken last year in Cozumel, came up on the screen as the computer loaded. That photo used to make her long for the warm sand and aqua waters, but recently the waters in the photo looked cold and mean.

  The ringing of the phone startled her. She looked at the phone’s display. It was John.

  Probably wants to review the notes for today’s budget justification meeting.

  She realized he knew she was in already, because he was also in. John was one of the few (the very few) people in the office who was more of a workaholic than she was. She let it go to voicemail.

  “If it’s that important, he can come see me.”

  Like clockwork, John appeared in her doorway and started a conversation without even a mention of the phone call.

  “Hey, I’ve got a two o’clock conference call with Production that will probably run right up until the budget thing. Can you take care of getting us set up and stuff?”

  “Good morning to you too, sir,” Veronica answered, smiling to soften her sarcasm. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it. I’ve got the slides right here—I polished up the details one more time last night.”

  “Cool, thanks. Send it to me this AM. I’ll check it out and send you any changes.”

  “Will do. Coming to you. . .now,” she said, pressing the send button in her message.

  “Cool, thanks,” he repeated, turning to leave. He grabbed the doorway and paused.

  “Hey, Veronica?”

  “Hmmm?” she replied, not looking away from the lengthy list of messages in her In-box.

  “Are you okay?”

  She looked up.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, you know, about your Mom and all. . .”

  “Ah, yes. I’m fine.”

  “But, I mean, your Mom died. . .and you only took a few days off.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing,” he shrugged. “You haven’t said much about it since you got back. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, John.”

  He looked at her. She turned from the computer to face him across the desk. She sighed.

  “Look, John, here’s the deal, okay? My mother and I hadn’t been close in years. She always wanted me to get married right out of college, like she did. I didn’t want to.”

  She shrugged and continued.

  “The lure of the ‘Big City’ was too exciting for me. I figured that marriage, family, wasn’t a fad, so there was no reason for me to rush into it, right?”

  John nodded.

  “And after a few years, my sister filled the grandkid quota, and my mother pretty much let me off the hook. We kept in touch, but not much more than that. I think she disapproved of my moving to New York, and living here,” she said, gesturing to her office desk.

  “Yeah, I get that part,” he said, nodding.

  “She was a firm believer in small town life. Did I ever tell you that she came to visit me once?”

  John shook his head.

  “Just once, right after I started as an intern at Time. It was like twenty years ago. But she was scared of everything—the people, the buildings, the smells, the sounds. It all got to her, and fast. She only stayed for a few days.”

  Veronica shook her head.

  “I was sad to see her go, but truthfully, it felt good too, y’know?”

  John nodded.

  “I dunno,” Veronica continued. “I guess it was like I was severing that last tie to small-town life. The big city sent her packing, but I loved it! I was living proof of Ol’ Blue Eyes’ song. If I could make it here, I could make it anywhere, do anything. It was exhilarating!”

  John leaned against the doorway and listened.

  “And so life went on. I made it home for holidays, well, the major ones anyway. We always talked and were polite. She never asked me again about coming back home. It was like she knew I’d never come back for good. So from then on out, it was always light. We stuck to safe subjects, like religion and politics.”

  Veronica paused.

  “And now, well, she’s gone,” said Veronica, her voice husky. She turned back toward her email.

  “Wow,” said John. “Do you know that we have been working together for almost eight years, and that was probably the first time you have ever talked about anything personal?”

  Veronica raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, well, don’t let it get out or our dear sweet co-workers will try their hand at walking all over me. I’ve worked hard to get this force field around me just right. I don’t need the likes of you throwing a wrench in it.”

  John grabbed his lips and pinched them closed.

  “No problem, I won’t say a word. Okay, well I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, you know if you need a break or whatever, I can cover for you.”

  “Thanks, John. I appreciate it, really, but I’m fine.”

  She turned and smiled.

  “Okay then,” he answered. “See you at four.”

  He turned and left her doorway. She watched him go and then turned back to her work, eager to get on with the day’s crises and triumphs.

  Chapter 8

  His pace was slow, but steady as the desert dry roasted the earth under h
is black boots. Each step down raised a small puff of orange dust. The asphalt of Arizona’s Concho Highway swam in the intense heat. The black cassock he wore drew in the heat. Sweat matted the wispy white hair under a wide-brimmed black hat as it slid down the nape of his neck and under his black and white collar. He found it exhilarating and welcomed the burning heat.

  “My Lord smiles upon me,” he said occasionally, as if this were the appropriate response to an unheard question.

  Long legs carried him forward across the parched dirt on the side of the blacktop, mile after mile. In his left hand, he clutched a worn, leather-bound Bible to his chest. Large, close-set eyes framed a hawkish, long nose. Perspiration beading on his pale forehead found its way through his bushy, white eyebrows and into his eyes. The pain made him smile—it was merely another signature of his mission.

  A drop of sweat slid to the tip of his nose and hung there, swaying with his gait as if trying not to fall. His steps never faltered, nor did he attempt to wipe it off. He relished the feeling of delicious anticipation, and laughed when gravity won and pulled the droplet down into the dust at his feet. Mile after sweltering mile he walked, eating up the desert expanse like a ravenous dog eats a stolen meal.

  Occasionally, a car would pass him on the road. Thirty miles east of Snowflake, the alarm on his wristwatch began beeping. He smiled as he read the numbers, pressing a button on its side. “Excellent. Time to feed.” His pace quickened.

  Moments later, a teal blue sports car whizzed by, stopped quickly and pulled over into the dirt. The driver opened the sunroof and stood up in her seat, looking over the back of the car toward the preacher as he approached. The strong desert winds whipped over the hood of her car and wrapped her platinum blonde hair around her frowning face. She pulled the strands back and shouted over the wind.

  “Can I. . .” she stumbled. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” Cassie was confused. They were her words, in her voice, but they felt false, as if she were reading a script. “After all, this is a long, lonely road we’re on.”

  When he neared the car, he stopped walking and took off his hat. His wispy white hair danced in the warm desert breeze. His voice had the cadence and easy volume of a true pulpit master.

  “Child, my Lord is all around us,” he replied, gesturing at the land around him with his hat.

  “He is in the gulley. He breathes this desert. He lives in those cliffs.” He stooped and picked up a handful of the orange dirt and let it trickle out of his hand. The dust cloud trailed in the wind as it fell back to the earth.

  “He is in the ground beneath my feet. He revels in your toxic soul.”

  He raised his head and breathed deep.

  “He is in the very air that we breathe. Never have I been so far away from him, yet never have I felt so close.” His beak of a nose crinkled at the nostrils as he peered at her with a toothy grin. His teeth were narrow and long, with a tremendous overbite. The combination of nose and mouth reminded Cassie of an enormous rat’s snout.

  “It. . .is. . .GLORIOUS!” he shouted.

  He raised his arms skyward and laughed loud and long. Bringing his hands back to his side, he nodded at Cassie.

  “Yes, child, you will provide me with what I need.” He resumed a slow walk until he reached the passenger side door. Cassie sat back down in her seat. She was conscious of her actions, but they were automated, and not at all what she wanted to do at this moment.

  She contemplated putting the car back in gear, and speeding onto the blacktop, leaving him in a cloud of dull dust. She wanted that dust to fill his nostrils and burn his eyes. Instead, she reached across and opened his door.

  He slid into the car with a quickness that surprised her. After he had removed his hat and placed it in his lap, atop the weather-beaten Bible, he flashed another ugly grin at her, which she forced herself to return. He smelled like a pile of wet, rotting leaves in the fall. She felt her stomach tighten—adrenaline. It was the same feeling she got when the men in the club got too friendly and put their hands in places where they weren’t welcome. But there was no bouncer here. Just her, alone with him and miles of open road.

  Cassie put her hand on the gearshift, and he placed his long fingers over hers. Gooseflesh rippled up her arm. Alarms beat her brain. She wanted to snatch her hand back and run. He moved his hand and folded it neatly atop the other one in his lap, cradling his hat. She put the car in gear and eased back out onto the highway.

  “Take me to her,” he commanded. Not knowing how to respond, she mumbled back.

  “I’m Cassie.”

  “Yes, you are.” He stared out the side window. After a few moments of silence, he began to sing.

  “Surely the presence of my Lord is in this place. I can feel his mighty power and see his burning face,” he sang.

  Cassie did her best to hide the tears that fell from her eyes as she sped down the Concho Highway.

  Chapter 9

  Steve returned to work exactly seven weeks after Julie’s death. He needed to be “doing” rather than “thinking.” Setting up hardware, troubleshooting network latency issues and taking the occasional help desk call would keep him busy.

  On his first day back, he spent the morning at the tech bench, catching up on the backlog of new servers waiting for him to load an operating system. He went out to lunch by himself, grabbed a sub sandwich and took it down to Freedom Park in downtown Charlotte.

  Julie’s days had kept her mobile, so they had rarely met for lunch. Long ago, Steve had discovered how much he enjoyed the peace and quiet of a solitary lunch sitting on the edge of the small creek that traced its way through the park. The birds overhead, the fish below and the sounds of dogs barking in the background made for some nice Zen moments before he tackled his often-busy afternoons. Today, he was glad to be back, and even more thankful that it still felt good to be here creekside.

  He spent most of his afternoon responding to help desk requests: replacing a network cable, installing print drivers or tweaking a projector. Usually he left the direct customer work to the technicians, but he was happy to pitch in today— anything to keep doing.

  Randy had already issued the corporate email letting everyone know that Steve had lost Julie in a “truly tragic auto accident.” His co-workers were respectful of his privacy. He had not shared much of himself in the past with them, so he knew they were not going to pry for details. He got the occasional awkward, but sincere, questions of “How are you doing?” and “Is there anything I can do to help?” But most of them kept it strictly business. Death was a funny thing: it wasn’t generally contagious, but you certainly had to be careful when treading around it.

  Making it to his desk at the end of the day, he was exhausted. His efforts at normalcy combined with countless restless nights had worn him down. Tired as he was, he was afraid to return home. He knew what would be waiting for him, and more important, what wouldn’t. Microwave dinners and nightmares didn’t make for a warm invitation.

  Instead of leaving, he sat down at his desk and leafed through the piles of mail waiting for him. On the top of the stack, he saw the pale yellow envelope that he had known would be there before he had even entered the door that morning. He tore it open to reveal the generic “we-all-signed-it-even-though-some-of-us-don’t-really-give-a-rat’s-ass-about-your-problems” sympathy card that he knew all too well. But he couldn’t be bitter. He himself had been the signer of many of these in the past.

  He closed the card and put it in a drawer. He didn’t want to keep it. It wasn’t as if he could whip it out at the office Christmas party to remember the good times. He guessed he’d probably never open it again, but somehow it seemed wrong to throw it away, at least this soon.

  He dug through the rest of the mail, scanning the teasers on the trade journal covers. Nothing exceptional grabbed his attention. At the bottom of the journal stack, he found another envelope. It looked out of place among the glossy magazine covers. Small and lavender, it carried a simple handwritten lab
el: Steve.

  He opened it and found a matching single page of stationery, with a note written on it in the same hand as the label:

  Say Goodbye One Last Time

  Do you miss a loved one? Did someone you care about die without any warning? We know that pain—we’ve experienced it ourselves. That’s why we built Say Goodbye To Me (www.saygoodbyetome.org). Say Goodbye To Me is simply a way for you to send that last message to your loved one. It’s not a gimmick; there is no catch. There is no cost to use this service, and you can remain completely anonymous. Through experience, we’ve learned that an abrupt end can leave deep and painful scars, scars that will last a lifetime. Say Goodbye To Me is simply an online forum that will allow you to address some final words to your loved one, and let them know how you feel. No one else will ever see the message. It is your private opportunity to add closure to this sad chapter of your life.