The farther I walked, though, the more I realized the truth. It wasn't just unfair to him. I was also feeling sorry for myself. After all the years of dating and breaking up, I'd finally met someone wonderful, someone I really cared about, and odds were he wouldn't last out the month.
I checked my watch and headed back toward the motel. The sun was starting to set over the water, sinking slowly into a pool of orange and red. The sight stopped me, held me there. I stood for several minutes just watching it, taking it in.
Appreciating a sunset couldn't keep it from fading. But I couldn't turn away from something beautiful just because it wouldn't last.
At the motel, I unpacked the one dress I'd brought--one of those "just in case, what the hell, it doesn't take up that much room anyway" items. Thankfully, the fabric hadn't wrinkled, so I didn't have to risk the rust-edged iron that was pushed to the back of the closet shelf. The dress was sleeveless, sheer and summery, though the deep crimson color was pure autumn. I hoped the evening wouldn't get too cold, since the only jacket I'd brought was too casual to match.
When he opened his door and saw me, there was a delightful heart-skipping instant as he took in the sight. Did I look that way when I saw him?
"I feel so... underdressed." He thought a moment, then hooked an invisible zipper beneath his chin, unzipped his striped pelt, and stepped out of it wearing a tux.
"Oh, thanks. Now I'm underdressed."
He took my hand. "No, you're beautiful. Ready to go?"
I offered to drive, but he said it wasn't far. We walked along the water, sometimes on boardwalks and along docks, sometimes on a winding trail through sandy grass. Finally we came to a structure that looked like it had once been another vacation cottage, but now it could only be called a shack. It leaned to one side, the lit windows looking more diamond-shaped than square.
Terrence chuckled when he saw my expression. "Don't worry, it's safe. And a lot nicer on the inside, trust me."
He held the door open for me. Inside, it was still plain and a little run down, but at least the walls were straight.
A portly toon alligator in a white apron greeted us. "Evening, Terrence."
"Hey, Al. That table ready?"
"Ready and waiting. Special'll be out in a few."
It wasn't a big dining room, just a half-dozen round tables with plain white tablecloths. But in the back corner, one table was set with bone china and silver, and a bottle of chilled white wine stood beside crystal goblets. Candles shone in silver candlesticks, and a single red rose in a crystal bud vase completed the picture.
From somewhere unseen, Al dimmed the lights as we sat down. Everything caught the candlelight, reflecting it back in a thousand chasing glimmers.
Terrence smiled. "Al's angling for a big tip tonight."
"Is it always this... private?"
"You mean empty? We're being honest, remember." He glanced around the room. "In season, you can wait two hours for a table on a Friday night. This time of year, it's pretty quiet."
"The way you like it?"
He spread the linen napkin in his lap. "The way it suits me."
Al brought out shrimp cocktail for us to share. "I hope seafood's all right," Terrence said.
"Fantastic." I reached for the shrimp. "But what are you going to eat?"
The special turned out to be linguini and broiled scallops in a white wine sauce. "He's outdone himself," Terrence remarked, pouring another glass of wine. "For all I knew, we were going to wind up eating fish and chips off china plates."
The silences were comfortable. I realized neither of us needed, anymore, to fill every space with chatter. I was warm from more than just the wine. Before this evening, all I'd have been able to think about was how I was out on a date that hordes of fangirls--and boys--would have killed for. But now, when I looked at him, he wasn't the Terrence Tiger, star of Jungle Jam. He was just Terrence, himself. It was hard to separate out which one I was falling in love with--but the truth was, I loved them both.
Dessert was raspberry cheesecake drizzled with chocolate.
"Okay, no way Al made this," Terrence said.
Al came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "You doubt my wide range of talents?"
"Many things about you are wide, Al. Talents, not so much." Terrence took another bite of the cheesecake. "Besides, I know the Silver Strand's hot fudge when I taste it."
"Busted." Al laughed. "Anything else for you?"
"Just the check."
"Eh, it's on the house." Al winked at me.
Terrence smiled. "I owe you one."
"I'll add it to your tab." He headed back to the kitchen. "Have a good night, kids."
It was dark when we left, but Terrence whipped out a lantern to light our way back to his house. He also slipped off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. It was warm and smelled faintly of spice and musk.
I smiled at him. "We're just a romantic cliché, aren't we?"
"Maybe. But things only get to be clichés because they work."
At the house, he made coffee. We sat on the couch, set our cups on the table, and ignored them.
On the show, Terrence had been suave and cool and had always found the right thing to say. Now he looked almost nervous, and I loved that. "Remember... we're still being honest," he said.
"Of course."
"I know this is all--kind of sudden. It's just that..." He paused. "I came here not knowing how much time I had left. And I realize now that ever since I've been here, I've just been... waiting for it to happen. That's all. Not living, just waiting."
"But you're not gone yet."
"No. And I'm glad of that now."
"So am I."
He leaned closer. The kiss seemed to happen on its own, inevitable and perfect, deepening slowly, pulling us against each other.
Several long moments later, we broke apart, and I glanced down, then back into his eyes. "So where were you hiding that all this time?"
He gave me a playful smile. "Trade secret." And we kissed again.
***
When I woke, sunlight was filtering through the gauzy bedroom curtains. The bed was empty beside me, and for an instant I feared the worst, until I heard him in the kitchen.
I called my boss and told her I had a family emergency and would have to be out for the rest of the week. I figured it was close enough to the truth, and she would never have believed the truth anyway. I hardly believed it myself.
Each day blended into the next. We played miniature golf at the boardwalk, with Terrence taking on a new celebrity persona at each hole. He'd sweet-talked the owner, a toon poodle whose pink fur was going gray, into opening up just for us.
I was surprised by how many toons lived and worked close by. Terrence just shrugged when I mentioned it. "I told you; we're all drawn to water eventually."
A purple hippo in a zoot suit ran the single-screen theater downtown. He basically gave Terrence the key to the place, and we sat in the cool darkness for hours, watching Jungle Jam, Tom and Jerry, Top Cat, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck. Most of the time we watched the screen. Sometimes we didn't.
Dinner was always at Al's. (I had learned that his middle initial was, as I'd suspected, "E.") Once, when Al and I were briefly alone, the gator said suddenly, "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For what you're doing for him. He's a good guy. Always has been. It's good to see him happy again. He deserves that." And he took my empty plate and waddled back to the kitchen.
After dinner one night, back at the house, Terrence presented me with a big red box tied with a white bow.
"What's the occasion?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Just something I thought you'd like."
"This... doesn't explode or anything, does it?"
"Hey, I already learned the hard way not to let Jokey Smurf do my gift-wrapping."
I lifted the lid off gingerly, and there, on a bed of tissue paper, was a new plush Terrence, the tags still on it, the same
kind I'd had when I was little.
"It's perfect--where did you get this?"
"I've had some stuff in storage." He smiled. "Talk about needing therapy. I'm the one giving out stuffed animals of myself."
I hugged the toy. "He's adorable." Then I kissed Terrence, slipping my arms around him. "I like the real thing even better, though," I whispered, and drew him down to me.
All these days, I had been trying not to see it. I had hoped that somehow one person's love could take the place of a thousand fans' admiration. But the next morning, as he stood by the window looking out, I saw the morning sunlight slant through him, and I saw how his orange fur had faded to peach.
No.
Terrence glanced at me, and I was afraid I'd spoken the word aloud. Then he smiled, and I managed to smile back. I tried to hold on to that smile for the rest of the day.
Later that evening, we sat on the small deck out back overlooking the water, watching the terns dive into the smooth, sunset-gold surface, watching the ripples wash all the way to the shore.
"It's going to happen soon," he said.
I swallowed. "How do you know?"
"I know." His voice was strained. "Thank Al for me, will you? I never wanted to embarrass him, but he's been a good friend, and I want him to know that. I want him to know I appreciated it." He was silent for several moments, staring out at the water. "One more thing."
"Anything," I said, and meant it.
He turned back to me, his eyes shining. "Remember me."
I held him as if I could keep him with me by sheer determination. I forced my voice past tears, my jaw clenched against the sob that wanted to rise from my chest. "Always."
He lowered his face to mine, and I closed my eyes. In the kiss, I felt him dissolving, like sand slipping through my fingers. His warmth lingered on my lips, but when I opened my eyes, he was gone.
***
I never did write that blog post. I couldn't. Sometimes things are cliché because they work, and sometimes words are too small, too weak, to carry what needs to be said.
The plush version of Terrence sits on a shelf in my library, next to the DVDs of the show. Someday I'll watch them again. I'll smile at the jokes I know by heart, and hold the stuffed animal close, and feel as safe as I did when I was a child, as loved as I felt when he held me in that cottage by the sea. For now, the toy sits there, and I look at it, and I remember.
The child I was carried Terrence with her wherever she went. The woman I am now carries him with her still.
###
The Garden
"What're you doing?"
"Making a garden."
"You're gonna get in trouble, digging up the yard."
"Mom said I could."
"What're you planting, anyway?"
"Seeds."
"Stupid. That's just birdseed."
"Go away! You're messing it up."
She carries the heavy watering can with both hands, careful not to spill. She gives them a drink and whispers nice things to them, telling them how warm the sun is, how blue the sky is, how everything is waiting for them to grow. Every morning, she runs outside first thing, bare feet and pajamas in dew-slick grass. Every morning, the same stark patch of earth.
"Watering your dirt again?"
"It's not dirt."
"I told you it wasn't gonna grow."
"They will too. Just wait. Any day now."
"Right."
So many days pass. Excitement gives way to stubborn habit. She bites her lip and fills the watering can again.
"You can play my new game if you want."
"Don't want your game."
"Come on. It's boring out here. The seeds were probably old anyway. Hey--let's dig it up and see what it looks like. Maybe there's worms."
"No!"
"Cut it out! I was just kidding. Jeez."
The next morning, she does not run. She closes the screen door quietly behind her, slowly, putting it off a few moments longer, letting hope whisper maybe, maybe.
The soil stirs and shudders. She watches, chewing on one knuckle, eyes wide.
A flash of red--a scattering of dirt--a flap of new wings. The cardinal cocks its head, looks around a moment, and flies up to perch on the watering can.
Another, and another, and a dozen, and more: blue jays, sparrows, purple martins, goldfinches, bursting out in soft puffs of earth. A row of indigo buntings turns the clothesline into a sapphire necklace. The air bubbles with birdsong, each note clear as water, silver-bright.
She laughs and claps her hands, and at once they take flight, not startled but as if waiting for her command. For a moment, she stands within a swirling rainbow before they all break away toward the sky, leaving her staring into a blue so pure it makes her eyes ache, so wide it makes her feel tiny and huge at once. Her heart has broken into a hundred feathered pieces, but each one soars now, higher than she can see.
###
About the Author:
Renee Carter Hall writes fantasy and soft science fiction, with excursions into dark fantasy, literary pieces, and stories for children and young adults. Talking animals slip into her stories whenever they get an opportunity, and her work has been influenced by storytellers from a range of media, including Beatrix Potter, Steven Spielberg, Ray Bradbury, Jim Henson, Chuck Jones, Brian Jacques, Gene Roddenberry, and Stephen King. Her short stories have appeared in various publications, including Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine, The Summerset Review, Allasso, the Anthro Dreams podcast, and the anthology Bewere the Night. Her first novel, By Sword and Star, was published in 2012 by Anthropomorphic Dreams Publishing.
Renee lives in West Virginia with her husband Jeff and their cat Bijoux, where she works by day as a medical transcriptionist, a career that allows her to put her perfectionism to good use. She welcomes correspondence from readers and can be found online at:
https://www.reneecarterhall.com
https://twitter.com/RCarterHall
[email protected]
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"Real Dragons Don't Wear Sweaters"
All Dinkums wants is to be a real dragon, a fierce crimson-scaled firebreather like the ones living in the northern caves. Instead, Dinkums is pink, fuzzy, and cute--until Skye, a teen witch bored by school and ready for a challenge, finds a way to transform him. But Dinkums and Skye are both about to learn that being real is more complicated than they bargained for.
Six Impossible Things Page 5