Suicide By Death

by Mark Anthony Waters

  “I can manage on my own.”

  “Okay, mom. I'll see you in the morning.”

  Rae stroked her hair one last time and thought to herself, “I hope so.”

  She rubbed Clair's back for a few minutes until she went into a deep sleep. Rae struggled to get to her feet and inched back to bed, crawled in, and prayed in silence.

  “God, take care of my little girl and make this pain end.”

  She was exhausted, then took a long, strenuous breath and ended her prayer with a request. Her final prayer was that during sleep, she'd have beautiful dreams. Rae took another breath and fell asleep. During her slumber, her prayer was answered.

  Throughout Rae's time at the hospital, Clair and Thomas became the best of friends, and their friendship strengthened. He was not only a good companion, but in a lot of ways he became her surrogate father. It was though her mother stepped aside and allowed another to take her place.

  Chapter XVII

  Clair chose the five-year anniversary of Stanley's death to visit him. Though she had never been to his grave site and didn't attend the funeral, today seemed like a special occasion. It was a somber, gloomy, cloudy afternoon, almost winter, with drizzle mixed with sleet. She had a grave map and wandered around for some time looking for it. Beyond a small hill, she noticed a bird flying in a tight circle.

  “It couldn't be. Okay, Stanley, I'll bite.”

  She walked over where the bird had been flying and there it was: his monument. It was a small, rectangular granite stone buried in the ground. At the top was a carved image of Jesus, his name, and date of birth; absent was the day of death. There was a simple inscription below:

  Here lies one of God's angels and angels never die.

  Clair believed guardian angels were a myth, but now felt there was no doubt they existed. Fighting back tears, she sat near his grave and spoke to him.

  “I will love you forever.”

  She remained with him for several more hours like she did when watching him sleep.

  “I figured I'd find you here.”

  She stood up, brushed herself off, and wiped a single tear.

  “Oh, Hi Glenn. Yeah, I wanted to come and see Stanley. It's been a while.”

  “I know, me too. I haven't been back since the funeral.”

  She knelt again in front of the grave marker and cleared away a few fallen leaves.

  “It's beautiful.”

  “It's simple — that was his wish. Dad had an expensive one picked out, but he wanted the extra money donated to the home for the others. It was a chunk of change.”

  “He always thought of others.” said, Clair.

  Glenn reached for her hand and helped her up.

  “I couldn't go; it was just too hard. I hope you understand.”

  “I do.”

  They walked through the cemetery, and Glenn started some idle chat.

  “You changed your hair.”

  She fluffed it and shook her head to readjust it.

  “What do you think?”

  He looked it over and gazed at it from side to side.

  “I like it.”

  “I saw Pulp Fiction last summer and figured it was time for a change.”

  They kept the slow pace, and after a thirty-minute stroll, they got back to Stanley.

  “I heard several people attended the funeral, and that the service was very sweet.”

  “It did, and it was.”

  Then he chuckled.

  “What's so funny?”

  “He loved Barry Manilow and insisted they play 'Daybreak.' They did, and everyone thought it was nice. Afterward, there were a few words from the priest, then more Daybreak. We figured it was a mistake, and perhaps the sound guy forgot to play a different one.”

  She perked up a little.

  “Sounds like an honest mistake.”

  “It gets better. There were two songs left in the service. Guess what the next one was?”

  “I give up.”

  “Daybreak. The crowd laughed a little, along with some quiet chatter.”

  Glenn was laughing so hard; it was difficult to get the words out.

  “After the priest gave a brief sermon and a final sign of the cross —one more song.”

  Clair laughed too.

  “Let me guess —Daybreak?”

  His laughter stopped, and so did hers. Glenn and Clair looked into each other's eyes, both sets flowing a river of tears.

  They reached for one another and fell into an embrace, and he whispered, “Yes, Daybreak.”

  The two stayed together for the next several minutes never letting go. Glenn felt comfortable, and Clair felt safe. They were still in each other's arms, and Glenn tried to reach around to wipe his nose.

  He was still sniffling and said, “Alrighty then.”

  He let her go and asked if she wanted to get a cup of coffee.

  “Are you asking me on a date?”

  “No, just coffee.”

  Clair lowered herself to the ground and placed fresh-cut flowers on Stanley's grave. She kissed her index and middle fingers and planted them on his marker.

  “I'll see you next time.”

  Glenn helped her up, and they went to their cars. He opened the door for her like a perfect gentleman. Before she got in, he reached for her arm.

  “There is something I've been meaning to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  He squirmed, and thought, “Feel the fear and just say it,” then fidgeted his words.

  “Well… I'm not too sure how to say it… but…”

  “But what?”

  He squirmed even more.

  “I like you.”

  “That's it?”

  She gave him a quick pat on the back and in a casual tone, said, “I like you too.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “I don't think you understand. I like you a lot and have for years. The truth is, soon after we met. I couldn't get you out of my mind.”

  Clair was not aware where this was going but had an idea.

  Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead, and like a teenage boy, said, “What I am trying to say is that I like… like… like you. You know, the 'big like' ”

  She repeated him.

  “Like… like.”

  “Yeah, a bunch.”

  He pulled out a handkerchief and padded his brow.

  “I'm burning up. Are you hot?”

  “Glenn, it's forty degrees.”

  She walked around him and leaned against the hood of the car. There was a crack in the clouds, and the sun shined on her face and used her hand as a visor. Clair stood there and thought for a moment. Continuing to shield her eyes turned toward Glenn. She stared him down and seemed a little upset.

  “Why didn't you ever tell me?”

  “Because I was your therapist; we're taught not to like our clients. I don't mean we can't be empathetic or even sympathetic, and besides, it's a huge no-no. Licenses have flown out the nearest window when counselors got too involved.”

  He leaned over the hood, and in his usual nerdy self, winked an eye and said, “If you catch my drift.”

  “Makes sense. You sure have a way with words.”

  She pushed herself from the car, stood in front of him, face to face.

  And with a cheeky grin, she said, “You're not my counselor now.”

  He returned the grin and said, “Nope. Are you in a big hurry?”

  “No, I'm not. Why?”

  “Me either. There is a 'crick' beyond the parking area. You want to see it?”

  “A what?” She said with a giggle.

  “Excuse me, sometimes I forget where I am. Let me start over. Do you want to see…?” then emphasized and stretched out his words, “… a creeeek?”

  “Much better, and yes that would be great.”

  They walked across the parking lot, and on the way, unknown to Glenn, she made fun of him.

  “Now, exactly where are you from?”

  “Penn
sylvania. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  The jab flew over him. They made the short journey, and at the edge of the parking lot, there was a small pathway within the tall brush and shrubbery. At the end of the trail, was a narrow stream of water, complete with a downed tree that served as a bridge.

  “Let's cross it!”

  Glenn obliged but said to himself, “It looked a lot bigger when I was a kid.”

  It was narrow and wide enough for one at a time, then she reached for his hand.

  “Come on! Follow me!”

  When they got to the other side, she didn't let go, and neither did he.

  “Now that we're here, I want to show you something else.”

  Glenn led the way, and a few steps were the wooden remains of a small structure.

  “This is what's left of a fort Stanley and I built when we were kids.”

  “You used to be a kid?”

  Teasing him again, she said, “I figured you popped out of the womb as a full-grown adult.”

  “Not really, I did it the regular way. Got born, learned to walk and talk, then went to college.”

  “What about the stuff in the middle?”

  “That's a different story. You know about my mother, I'll tell you the rest later, but not now.”

  They spent a while looking at the scenery. Clair picked up a small pebble and tried to skip it across the creek; it went plop and sank. She sat beside Glenn with little distance between them.

  “I'm curious. Why did you become a counselor?”

  “In high school, I was much of a nothing; I didn't fit in with the crowd. We had the socials, freaks, and goat-ropers. I couldn't afford to keep up with the socials, didn't do drugs, and don't own a cowboy hat, but I was on the debate team.”

  “I bet you were a pro at that.”

  “No, I wasn't. I don't like to argue. But I was the one everyone came to with a problem and seemed to have a knack for it and gave most of the right answers. In my senior year, a light went off. I figured handing out advice was a good thing, so I should get paid for it. So, I went to college, got my counseling degree, then a masters, and now I'm working on my Ph.D.”

  “Very impressive, Dr. Glenn.”

  “I guess so. Counseling doesn't pay much, but it keeps the bill collectors away; besides, I like helping people.”

  Glenn continued.

  “Aside from the stuff that was going on in your life, I know little about you. What do you do for fun?”

  “I love my work as an artist, but I also like to play tennis, go camping with friends, and rock climb.”

  “Rock climbing? Weren't you afraid of falling?”

  She glared at him.

  “Me? Scared of falling? You have got to be joking!”

  Glenn let out a hint of a laugh.

  “I guess you're right. You did become the group expert.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I did. You know a few more things about me. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

  “Me and some of the gang play bridge during lunch at the center.”

  “Oooh, that's sounds exciting. Do you have to wear padded protection?”

  “No, just regular clothes.”

  “It was a joke.”

  “Oh, I get it. Ha. Before you make too much fun of it, a bridge game can get nasty. I yelled once.”

  “Wow.”

  Then she thought, “He really is a nerd, but still cute.”

  “I'm also taking tennis lessons. Maybe I'll get good enough to challenge you to a match.”

  “Get good quick. I was number one on my high-school tennis team my junior and senior year. I was also offered a college scholarship to play.”

  Glenn lowered his head and said, “Great.”

  Then he perked up.

  “Do you want to learn how to play bridge?”

  She placed one finger under her chin, looked up and said, “Let me think.”

  About two seconds later looked back at him.

  “Okay, I thought about it. No!”

  “I can't say I blame you. Hell, I'm not sure why I play. My parents played all the time and taught me the game, now it's only something to do.”

  Glenn took a firm stance and stood his ground.

  “From now on, no more bridge. I'm sticking to tennis.”

  Clair warned, “It can be dangerous.”

  “I don't care. I'm throwing caution to the wind and take a risk and doubling my tennis lessons starting this week.” Then he mimicked a sweeping tennis racquet back and forth.

  “Oh great, I've created a monster.”

  It was getting late, and they had to go. Glenn and Clair crossed back over the log, but this time, he led. They held hands every step of the way to her car. Again, he opened the door, and before stepping in, Clair moved in close to Glenn, put both arms around him and gave him a little peck on the lips.

  “Why don't we get that cup of coffee and see where this goes.”

  * * *

  They dated for a few months, and one evening after a quiet dinner, Glenn placed a small wrapped gift box beside her plate.

  “This is a surprise. What is it?”

  “Guess.”

  “A pony?”

  “You're close. Guess again. Never mind, just open it.”

  She did, and it was empty.

  “I don't get it.”

  Glenn reached into his shirt pocket, got down on one knee, and placed a small engagement ring on her finger.

  “Will you?”

  Clair gazed into his eyes with more intensity than ever before. She wasn't thinking or confused about an answer; just taking in the moment. A happy tear rolled down her face that signaled her answer.

  Clair took a chance and let another one in. Six months later they got married, and Thomas made sure it was a lavish wedding. Lots of invitations and a lot of guests. Big cake, big dress, big reception, and to top it off — a big limo. Glenn was comfortable with all the extravagance except for the fancy car and put his foot down; his Plymouth was all right with him. Clair had other plans, and after a brief discussion, Glenn agreed. They took the limousine.

  * * *

  Near the beginning of the service, the priest asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

  Arm in arm, Thomas responded.

  “Her mother and I.”

  He kissed Clair on the cheek and whispered, “We love you so much. Have a wonderful life.”

  He left her side, and Glenn took over. Rae sat on the front row and was grinning from ear-to-ear. Her cancer scare was in the past and was in full remission.

  Funny moments at a wedding aren't rare, although this one got everyone laughing out loud, including Thomas, Rae and the bridal trio.

  At the end of the ceremony, right after “you may kiss the bride,” the priest introduced the couple.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Glenn Paulston Bayer and his new bride.”

  Glenn requested the priest to not use his middle name, but he either forgot, or it fell on deaf ears. Glenn was paralyzed where he stood.

  Clair turned to him and whispered, “Paulston?”

  Stone-faced and speechless, he ignored her and stared straight ahead.

  Before the wedding, Clair dropped her maiden name and used Glenn's —a decision she humorously regretted.

  “And now may I introduce the new bride….”

  In a flash, she yelled in her head, “Oh my God!”

  Then here it came, “… Mrs. Clair Bayer.”

  This time, Glenn turned toward her.

  “Clair Bayer?”

  The three were petrified, staring motionless toward the crowd. There was not the usual applause from the guests; they were stunned too. By this time, the priest was getting loopy from all the wine.

  He gulped down the last of it, tilted his head between them, chuckled, and whispered, “Sounds like a stuffed animal. Get it? Care Bear, Clair Bayer.”

  Trying to keep a straight face, she whispered, �
��Yes, Father, we get it.”

  His comment got the two grinning, but he also forgot to turn off his microphone; then came a round of applause and roaring laughter… and the three at the altar as well joined in the laughter.

  Yes, her name sounded funny to all, but it was the sweetest one in the world, at least to her.

  Conclusion

  It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and the weather was perfect. The sun rose from the east, and a warm breeze blew from the west. Clair spent the time picking flowers and pruning her plants. Glenn came out juggling a tray of iced lemonade in one hand, two tumblers in the other, and a tennis racket tucked under his arm. He placed the tray and its contents on a nearby table, gave her a peck on the cheek, and was off to play tennis with his buddies.

  Clair stood beside him and said, “I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why don't you invite a few of your OCD group members over next weekend?”

  “My, who?”

  “Your compulsive, disorder clients. We'll have a cook-out,” —then whispered — “and see who wants to help clean the house.”

  “Oh, yeah. I'm sure it would be fun, and they would do a great job, but, Clair, do you think that's a good idea?”

  She laughed, “Probably not.”

  “Well, I need to skedaddle.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Before he left, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him so hard, he feared it would cut blood flow to his brain. Cheek-to-cheek, she whispered in his ear.

  “You saved my life.”

  He moved away and cupped her face with both hands.

  “No, Clair, you did.”

  Again, she wrapped her arms around him.

  “I love you so much.”

  “Me too, sweetheart.”

  He kissed her again, this time, right on the mouth.

  As Clair continued to heal physically and mentally, she realized it wasn't just the marriage that helped her; it was the crème de la crème. After he left, and for a few moments, thought about his words. He was right; Clair had saved her own life. She held her arms out straight, palms down and turned them over. Her scars were healed and served as a reminder of the torn days left behind.

  The day was getting warmer, and she was a little tired. Clair made herself comfortable on a lawn chair next to the tray and poured a glass of the refreshing drink. She was relaxed, took a sip, and daydreamed.