Just in Time

by Steven Manchester

  “I understand now,” Bill said. “It’s all in God’s time, and if it’s intended to happen…” He fought for his breath. “…then it’ll happen, for sure.” He shook his head. “To think back now…every moment I spent on what I thought was important…” He closed his eyes and took in more air before going on. “…life was going on all around me.”

  ~~~

  Besides a yacht-load of money, Bill’s greatest and final gift to his children was a final talk he shared with each of them.

  With Isabella, he admitted how sorry he was for everything he’d missed. “If I could live my life over, it would be as a poor man,” he explained in short, labored spurts, “so I could enjoy your love…your company… your life. The money was a curse.” He apologized for having failed her. “I should have been at every one…of your dance recitals. Please forgive me for that.”

  Isabella began to cry.

  It took a while before he could go on, but no one tried to stop him. These were words that needed to be said. “Though I missed your college graduation…I need you to know…how proud I am of you…of the strong woman…and the loving mother…you’ve become.”

  Isabella wailed and convulsed, while the anger and the hurt and the rage poured out of her.

  “I pray that you learn…from my mistakes, Bella,” he said. “Make sure that you capitalize…on every second with my granddaughters…that you tell them each day…that they’re the most important…thing in the world.” He shook his head one last time. “And use the money to make…your lives easier…” he struggled for air, “…not as an excuse…to make everything…more important than family.”

  With Emma, he confessed to the years of neglect, to the times he should have been there for her and wasn’t. He stared straight into his baby girl’s swollen eyes and pleaded between gasps, “Please forgive me, Em. I was a stupid…stupid man. I never realized…that I had everything…with you…and your sister.” He began to weep.

  Emma joined her father and couldn’t stop. Within her eyes, the rage had been completely replaced by love—both deep and eternal. “I forgive you,” she whispered, before sharing a collective sigh with her father and sister.

  In that one moment, she and Isabella were finally healed.

  “I’ll always love you,” he wheezed. “And know that I’ll…I’ll be looking after you.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy,” she cried. “We all do.”

  ~~~

  Bill had been suffering terribly and, in the final moments of his life, he made an inexplicable peace with his own departure. When he was ready to go, he awoke and scanned the room with eyes that were filled with love. As his lungs filled with fluid, the nurse hurried in to administer more morphine. Eunice stopped her. “No more,” she whispered. It was already too late and everyone knew it. A circle formed around Bill’s bed; loved ones shrouding him like a ring of sobbing angels. The room was enveloped in love, filled with a peaceful presence. There was nothing human or mortal about it. It was spiritual, inexplicable.

  To everyone’s surprise, Emma begged him to stay, screamed for it, but her selfishness was overlooked. “We just started to share our lives again,” she cried. “Please don’t leave us now, Daddy!” But this experience was bigger than any one person in the room.

  In turn, Isabella kissed her father’s emaciated face. “It’s okay, Daddy,” she whispered to him. “Go in peace. We’ll be together again soon.”

  In a weak, barely coherent voice, Bill called for Eunice.

  She kneeled at his side and grabbed his hand, kissing it.

  “Anything I haven’t said…you’ve found in my eyes…yes?”

  “Yes,” Eunice whispered.

  Not a half hour later, Bill closed his eyes, smiled a big smile and took a shallow breath. He looked toward the ceiling and his smile grew wider. He took two more shallow breaths, whispered, “Mama,” and the tone on the heart monitor turned to one, cruel note.

  Eunice swore she could feel Bill’s presence brush against her as he ran into his mother’s eternal arms. His entire family cried for having been left behind.

  Go in peace, my love, Eunice told him in her thoughts. Go home.

  In the end, Bill Stryker gave a wonderful gift: death did not have to be darkness. It could be experienced in the light of love.

  ~~~

  Family and friends stuffed themselves into the narrow church pews in a final show of respect for Bill Stryker. Reverend Bousquet offered a beautiful parable about a young Native American girl losing her grandmother and her father’s—the tribal Chief’s—beliefs about the impossibility of death.

  “The girl glowed with delight. She finally understood,” Reverand Bousquet concluded. “Because of her grandmother’s life, much of the other life in the village existed.”

  The entire congregation wept.

  As Eunice stared at her beloved husband’s mahogany casket and mourned, a feeling of serenity washed over her. It was a familiar comfort that could only be instilled by the loving man who’d captured her heart over a cone of black raspberry ice cream. Eunice looked toward the ceiling. Thank you for sharing the last months of your life with me, Bill. Tears streamed down her face. I’m really going to miss your smile and your touch and your… She cried harder.

  Eunice felt someone squeeze her shoulder. She looked up to find Jim and Rick standing there, offering their support. She wiped her eyes.

  “We’re here, Ma,” Jim said.

  “I know,” she said. “And I thank God for it.”

  As they shuffled out of the narrow pew, Eunice approached the casket and gave it one last kiss. I’ll be seeing you soon, Bill, she thought.

  With Jim’s strong arm on one side and Richard’s on the other, the new widow walked out of the church.

  ~~~

  At the reception after the funeral, Eunice gestured that Abby join her at the table.

  Abby took a seat beside her.

  Without warning, Eunice opened her soul. “Abigail, I’ve had two husbands in my life and I loved them both. Strange as it may sound, they were timed perfectly in my life. Leonard, Richard’s grandfather, showed up in the spring of my life. He was a good man, a great provider and a wonderful father for my son. He was easy going and kind, and I loved him dearly. Bill, on the other hand, arrived in the winter of my life, and even at his age he brought with him spontaneity, wonder and passion.” She stacked her hands, right above left. “I’m looking forward to sharing the company of both of them, and I have a strange feeling that they’re already getting along famously.” She fought back the tears.

  Abby placed her hand on Eunice’s.

  “With Bill,” Eunice went on, “life was whimsical and romantic—with Lenny, conservative. Either way, a deep love was felt.” She paused and stared into Abby’s eyes. “As long as it serves both people, the conditions of love don’t matter. My first marriage was exactly what I wanted, exactly what I needed at that point in my life, and had Lenny lived I’d still be happy with him. The love was no less real because there wasn’t a great romance. In my experience, being best friends is most important.” She nodded once. “In fact, I think that liking a person and sharing a mutual respect is more important than anything else.”

  Abby matched the nod in agreement.

  Eunice smiled. “But as I told you earlier, you and Richard have been blessed with the complete package.”

  Abby’s eyes filled. “I know,” she whispered. “If only my daughter Paige would see what a good man Richard is…”

  “She will,” Eunice said. “In time, she will. I promise.” She searched Abby’s eyes for a few long moments. “Just promise me that no matter how rough the road might become…that you and Richard won’t ever give up on each other.”

  Abby took a deep breath and nodded her vow.

  Eunice got up and placed her hand on Abby’s shoulder “Because the rare treasure you both have in front of you is more valuable than anything else you’ll ever discover in this life.” She nodded once, her own eyes
filling. “Trust me on that, Abigail.”

  ~~~

  Amid the howling winds and drifting snow, the weatherman’s voice turned from friendly to concerned. Static, green blotches on his map promised a long night. Eunice pulled back the curtains. The car in her driveway was already covered and the street could have been located in Alaska. From a small, frozen square of glass, she scanned the neighborhood. In New England, winters weren’t so much about living as they were about basic survival. Each was a test of endurance. The older one got, the more clothes they layered on to combat it. Eunice shook her head, stepped out of the window and turned up the heat on the thermostat. Turning off the light, she went to bed.

  The weather turned even angrier and began to hail, hurricane winds firing them at her bedroom window. Eunice closed her eyes and smiled. “Goodnight, Bill,” she whispered and then hurried to meet him in her dreams.

  ~~~

  Like all life’s seasons, the pain of winter eventually thawed into the new hopes of spring. For the first time in months, Eunice passed the threshold of the front door and braved the memories of the porch. The rising sun was sitting flat on the horizon when she spotted it. Tears swelled in her eyes. Beneath her and Bill’s bedroom window, a bunch of sunflowers were beginning to sprout. Shaking off a shiver, she hurried to them. Not even death can stop Bill from sending me flowers, she thought. A small white envelope, wrapped in a plastic bag and tied in purple ribbon, was half stuck out of the ground. She bent slowly and willed her gnarled fingers to grab it. The card read: I can still feel the warmth of your love on my face. Together forever, okay?

  Tears streamed down her wrinkled face. But these were not the tears of sorrow or even joy. They were tears of love—eternal love.

  Bill was right, she thought. I’m never alone.

  A Letter from the Author

  Although my grandfather never captured anything on paper, he was the greatest storyteller. As I grew up, I dreamed about telling my own stories one day and becoming a writer. Then, in 1991, I served with the US Army in Operation Desert Storm. It was such a brutal experience that I promised myself—if I make it home, I’m going to pursue my dream of being a published author. I’ve been writing stories for my children (to share with them as adults) ever since.

  Years ago, I heard that “a good writer makes readers think, while a great writer makes readers feel.” I have always strived to achieve the latter. Unless a book is going to move someone, it’s not worth the time for me to write it.

  I write for many different reasons, but the most important reason is that I can prove to my children that dreams do come true (though we never really get what we wish for; we get what we work for). It’s an amazing thing to be able to pour your heart and soul into something that touches the hearts and souls of others.

  I hope you enjoy reading my work half as much as I’ve enjoyed bringing it to you and that you enjoy the samples of my novels that follow.

  Sincerely,

  Steve Manchester

  Pressed Pennies

  Pressed Pennies is one of my favorite works because it’s so personal to me. And the excerpt—in which Rick and Abby are reunited as adults—is one of my favorite pieces of all-time. And if I didn’t admit to that, then I’m fairly certain that my wife, Paula, would have my neck.

  At its foundation, Pressed Pennies is autobiographical. After both suffering failed marriages, Paula and I were blessed with a second chance at love. Just like Rick and Abby, we met at the party of a mutual friend. And from the moment we laid eyes on each other, the adventure had begun.

  Although Rick and Abby’s conversation at the party and the scene details are completely fictional (also, Paula and I didn’t know each other as children), the feelings are the same. As a writer, my greatest goal is always to make my readers feel. By placing myself within the scene, I have a much better shot at successfully pulling that off.

  A mix of playful conversation and alcohol set the night’s happy mood. Rick was tipping his third beer at the season’s final bash when he looked up and saw her. He nearly choked on his drink. She was his age, pretty with an athletic build. She had gorgeous wavy chestnut hair with beautiful dark eyes that matched. She had a mysterious confidence about her and a smile that men would die for. Rick swore she had an aura from her head to her feet. At that moment, he thought, I have to meet her. His mind filled with questions that needed answers: Who does she know at the party? Who can I get her background from? Who can introduce us? As his mind raced, Carol walked over with the beauty. And as they got closer, it hit him. “Oh, my God!” he said.

  “Rick, this is…” the friendly hostess began to introduce with a smile.

  “Abby!” Rick interrupted. “I can’t believe it.” It was her. It was Abby Gerwitz, his childhood sweetheart. He searched her eyes and a thousand memories—happy childhood pictures—flooded his mind. And then he recalled the pain he’d felt on the day they were forced to say goodbye.

  ~

  After an unforgettable summer, Abby and the neighborhood gang received the terrible tidings. Rick—then known as Richard—gathered the gang in his backyard. He felt ready to cry. “I’ve got some bad news, guys,” he said.

  “Oh, God,” Tracy blurted.

  “Yeah?” asked Vinny.

  “What’s is it?” Grant asked.

  Richard looked at Abby. She was frozen.

  “My dad was promoted to lieutenant, and he has to transfer to another prison across the state.” There was a long, painful pause. “We’re going to have to move away…next week.”

  It was a lie. They were moving, sure enough, but Richard’s dad hadn’t been promoted. The hospital bills from his mom’s car accident—where a drunk driver had stolen away her life—had finally broken them. It was a matter of money or more precisely the lack of it. Richard silently vowed that he’d never be put in the same position—ever. No matter what I have to do, he swore to himself.

  While the rest of his friends hung their heads and complained, Abby burst out crying and ran for her house.

  As Rick recalled, it was well past midnight when he finally surrendered to the tossing and turning. Rolling out of bed, he maneuvered past several moving boxes, stepped up to the window and pulled back the curtain. Wilbur Avenue was deserted and silent. From left to right—as if he was branding the picture into his mind forever—he carefully scanned every detail of the place he could no longer call home. Although one good memory after another played out before him, a sharp pain pricked his heart. No one was watching, so he allowed the tears to flow. Once he’d arrived at the farthest reaches of his vantage point, he forced his swollen eyes to work their way back and absorb more of his past. “Why do we have to leave?” he muttered. “Why?” Before long, his shoulders rocked back and forth to the rhythm of his quiet sobs.

  The very next morning, gray clouds hovered over Wilbur Avenue. Richard’s dad and grandma made their goodbyes quick and waited in the overstuffed station wagon for Richard.

  Richard had never said goodbye before. The pain was alien. It hurt something awful to face Abby. Overwhelmed with emotion, it took him a while to speak. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

  “Well, I guess…” Richard muttered, and choked on the words. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the curled brim of his ball cap down further over his eyes.

  Through sniffles, Abby finally said, “You can come back and visit, right?”

  “Sure.” Richard was fighting to be strong and dared not speak more than a word.

  Abby lifted the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, Richard,” she whimpered.

  Richard placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No Abby…I’ll be seein’ ya,” he whispered, and with one surge of courage kissed her on the lips.

  While Abby’s eyes went wide, he pulled his baseball cap back over his eyes, jumped into the family station wagon and never looked back. One cruel moment later, the Giles family drove away.

  Though Richard and Abby promised to keep in t
ouch, frequent phones calls and detailed letters gradually became an occasional event until adolescence rearranged priorities and their communication ceased altogether.

  ~

  Back in the present, Abby gasped. “Richard? Is it really you?”

  Rick grinned. “It’s Rick now,” he said.

  Her smile turned mischievous. “Okay, Richard.”

  He stood to meet her embrace and squeezed her tight. “My God, it’s been so long. How have you been?”

  She pulled away to peer into his eyes and, without a word, returned to their embrace.

  While they hugged over the unexpected reunion, Carol was clearly pleased with herself—as if she’d known there was history between them. “Abby just moved into the neighborhood, Rick…three houses down from us. It appears that you two have a lot in common, so I’ll leave you to it.” Carol smiled widely before strutting away.

  “So you’re living on Freedom Avenue now…near these crazy people?” Rick asked. He couldn’t believe it, but his palms were actually sweaty. He looked into her sparkling eyes and experienced arrhythmia for the first time in his life.

  “I am,” Abby said before looking down at his left hand and then back into his eyes. “You’re not married?” she asked, blushing slightly over the impulsive question.

  “Happily divorced,” he answered.

  “Then you must have a creep for an ex-husband too?” she teased. Her tone was gentle and there was a soft light playing around her eyes.

  “I do,” Rick said. “His name’s Rose.”

  Abby chuckled and took the seat beside her old friend. Her laugh was absolutely contagious.

  For a few moments, neither spoke a word. And then Abby’s face blushed again when Rick caught her staring. She looked away. Rick was thrilled over the obvious chemistry between them.

  Rick cracked open a fresh beer and offered it to her. His hands were almost trembling. No one has ever had this effect on me, he thought. No one. He was legitimately nervous.