TFRoot - The Elixer

by The Elixir (v1. 0) [lit]

  "Hey! Are you almost finished?” Tom opened his eyes. Standing over him in the aisle was Mr. Durlowski. “Are you almost finished?"

  "Oh, yeah ... sure,” said Tom resignedly. “You can lock up now; I'll get going.”No point in wasting any more time, is there? It's hopeless, really.

  "No,” said Mr. Durlowski, in response to Tom's question, unarticulated but no less evident, “it never hurts to pray. Take your time."

  Tom shook his head. “Thank you, but...” He started to get up.

  Mr. Durlowski placed a solicitous hand on Tom's shoulder, gently guiding him back down into the pew. “You want to talk about it? Sometimes it's better if we do it out loud."

  Tom shrugged. “Where would I begin?"

  "The beginning,” the old man offered, “is always a good place."

  "It's a very long story."

  "I've heard a few in my time,” he said softly, his blue eyes twinkling brightly. He sat down next to Tom. “I'm pretty old, you know,” he added with a sheepish little grin.

  Tom began to ramblingly relate to Mr. Durlowski the story of his life, or more precisely, of his life with Carole, culminating with this new and ominous issue which threatened to end it prematurely. Mr. Durlowski listened patiently, never saying a word himself but clearly hearing every one of Tom's. Nodding gently ... smiling occasionally ... his eyes never lost contact, inviting Tom to elaborate further, as if he knew he was leaving out a key element to the story, which he was, having omitted any reference to Lucinda Hobson or her elixir.But he'll think I'm insane! Finally, Tom capitulated, and related all of it in exhaustive detail, the supernatural chain of events that had transpired since that first fateful meeting in Barnstable.

  Mr. Durlowski shook his head. “Terribly ironic. That must be so hard for you,” he said with genuine sympathy. Surprisingly, he had totally accepted Tom's assertion about the elixir and its powers readily and without question, as if this were a perfectly mundane matter. Even more so, he seemed to perceive instantly all of the implications this carried, now preying rapaciously on Tom's mind. “Yes, very hard. You know what you have to do, but that doesn't make it any easier to do it."

  "How can you say that? I don't have a clue what to do now."

  "Of course you do, you've told me as much. You just have to take it one day at a time, for whatever happens, and however long it may be.” The puzzlement on Tom's face called out for elucidation. “With Carole, of course,” he added. His shining little blue eyes met Tom's. “You love her,” he said plainly. “And she loves you. What you have found in each other comes along once in a lifetime, and you could never replace that, not in another ten lifetimes.” He smiled paternally. “See, somehow it does help to pray out loud."

  The old man was right of course. Tom knew there was no point in even considering any other option. But as he pointed out, this made that one option not one bit easier. He nodded glumly. “So I'm right where Lucinda was, then, aren't I?"

  "Not exactly,” Mr. Durlowski demurred.

  "No? How is it any different?"

  The old man paused for a moment. “Well,” he said finally, “youhave faith, don't you? You certainly wouldn't be here if you didn't, would you?"

  "I don't know,” said Tom with exhausted resignation. “I have always tried to be positive, but...” his voice trailed off as he honestly examined his own heart; finally he said, with abject sincerity: “The truth is I'm desperate for help and I'm just hoping something's really there."

  Mr. Durlowski shrugged. “Well that's a start, at least. You know what they say: ‘act as if you had faith, and faith will be given to you.’ Of course,” he added almost apologetically, with a bashful little grin, “it's a lot easier to find that faith when things are going well, right?"

  "Right.” Tom forced a self-conscious smile.

  "Come on,” said Mr. Durlowski cheerfully, putting a friendly hand on Tom's shoulder. “I don't know, I just have a funny feeling that everything is going to be okay."

  "From your mouth..."

  The old man threw his head back with a smile, chuckling silently. “Come on,” he said, standing up, “we both had best be going now. There's going to be a Mass in here in a few minutes."

  Mass! In a few minutes?Tom stood up, his face bathed in the rays of the early-morning sunlight breaking through the stained-glass windows of the church. What time is it?He looked at his wristwatch.6:45 a.m.!What—have I been here all night!?

  "You really should get home to your wife now. She'll start worrying about you."

  "I would think so,” said Tom, nodding in agreement. “Well, thanks again, for everything."

  "I'm here anytime you need to talk,” said the old man, acknowledging him with a raised hand. “Anytime at all.” He grinned broadly.

  Both men stepped out of the pew into the center aisle and headed in opposite directions, Tom toward the exit at the rear of the church and Mr. Durlowski toward the altar. Suddenly, the old man stopped and turned around.

  "Oh, and one other thing,” he called back to Tom in a loud stage whisper. “Don't just assume that anybody, even the best doctor, can predict the future, at least not for certain. People can be pretty smart, you know, but not all that smart sometimes. We live in a world where anything can happen—anything at all."

  Tom kept walking and waved back at him in polite acknowledgement.Yeah, anything can happen ... and all I need is a miracle, right!?

  "Well Tom, you've already had one pretty good miracle in this life: you've found your soul mate. Most people never do, you know."

  Tom was taken aback.Did the old man read my mind? And he called me Tom. I didn't even think he ever knew my name . Tom abruptly turned around, but Mr. Durlowski had disappeared into the sacristy behind the altar.

  "Hey, Tommy! How're you doing? Tom had exited the church and was opening the door to his car when a very tall fellow about his own age called out to him. It was his childhood friend, Gene Daniel, who was himself exiting the rectory building located just across the narrow street from the church.

  "Hi, Gene!” said Tom with an amiable wave, stepping away from the car and moving into the middle of the sidewalk, in an invitation to stop and converse a bit. He was not particularly eager to make small talk at the moment, but Gene was an old friend.

  Gene crossed the street to chat. “What happened to you? You look terrible! I've never seenyou like this.” He threw back his shoulders and pulled down on his own crisp blue suit. “What, did you spend the night in the church?"

  Tom instinctively hitched his trousers and smoothed his shirt. Stroking the side of his face, he could feel a day's growth of beard. “Oh, I just stopped in...” he mumbled, gesturing off-handedly, “...you know, I just ... had a few things to do ... around here..."

  "So many homeless bums on the streets these days;” Gene deadpanned, shaking his head in mock disapproval, “you never used to see that around here when we were growing up."

  "Oh, very clever,” said Tom, not bothering to look for a snappier retort. “So, what brings you back to the old neighborhood?"

  "I'm signing up to play golf."

  "Golf?"

  "They're having a parish golf outing next week, the last one of the season. My dad asked me to play with him."

  "He still plays?” Tom asked. Gene was the youngest child of a very large family, and of all of Tom's friends his father had been one of the oldest parents. Tom estimated that by now he was probably well into his eighties, maybe even ninety.

  Gene nodded. “He plays once or twice a week. Front nine, no problem; he gets a little tired on the back nine. He can still break a hundred, though."

  "That's pretty good,” said Tom admiringly.

  "Yeah, not bad,” Gene agreed. “Of course, he doesn't get out on the course as much as he used to.” Gene frowned. “You know, it's kind of sad, at his age he's lost all his old playing partners."

  That's a comforting thought. “Oh, right,” Tom remarked blandly, “I remember he used to play with Peter McGuire, he
was gone before I left for Florida ... and with Tony Marino."

  "Tony's still alive; actually, he just retired to Florida. West Coast—Tampa, I think. Yeah, and Bill Durlowski, the old sexton."

  "Really!” Tom exclaimed. “I never knew he played golf with your father. I just saw him, in fact,” he added, gesturing back to the church.

  Gene looked puzzled. “Oh,” he said tentatively, “you mean the last time you were up here?"

  "No, I mean like two minutes ago, in the church."

  "Two minutes ago? That's impossible!"

  "Okay, Gene, we're talking about Mr. Durlowski, right, from when we were kids, the man who took care of the church? White hair ... we always thought he was really old ... thin, little guy, about my size?"

  "I know who you mean, Tommy,” snapped Gene impatiently, “and you couldn't possibly have seen him two minutes ago."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he's dead, Tommy. He's been dead for over a year."

  It was a little after seven o'clock in the morning when Tom finally arrived home in Manhasset. The earliness of the hour filled him with an odd sense of accomplishment. Tom was not a morning person but one who usually hit his stride much later in the day, so for him merely being up and about now was something of an achievement. He felt he had done quite a bit already today, but of course there was still a great deal more to be done.Today is the first day ... The old adage seemed particularly apt.

  He pulled his Cadillac into the driveway that looped around the house to the two car garage in back and parked in front of it. Yukon was already up. Tom could hear him barking inside the house as he walked up to the back door. The big dog greeted him happily as he entered the house.

  "Hey, Yu!” Tom whispered hoarsely as he amiably patted him about the head and neck. “How's my good boy, huh?” Tom headed for the stairs with Yukon following, barking all the while. “Shh! Don't want to wake up Mama!"

  "That's okay; Mama is up."

  Standing at the foot of the stairs was Carole.

  He moved towards her, and she to him, slowly and steadily, finally collapsing into one another's welcome embrace. They hugged very closely in complete silence. Then they took a step back, both of them looking deeply into the other's eyes, each wanting to speak but unable to find the words to adequately express all that was in their hearts at this moment. So they kissed—the act that had been invented for just these very moments.

  "I kept trying to call you,” Carole said finally as they released one another. “Your phone wasn't working."

  "I tried to call you too; it must have been out all night because of the storm. It was pretty nasty up there."

  "Yeah, it was here, too.” She smiled weakly.

  "I have it,” Tom said quickly. “I have Lucinda's elixir, all of it."

  "You saw her? How was she?"

  "She's dead. It's a long story."

  "I'm sorry,” she said, with genuine regret. She paused for a moment. “Dr. Michael called, and..."

  "Oh, Carole!” Tom cried, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “Please, Hon, try not to worry. We'll just have to take this as it comes, that's all. Everything is going to work out, you know, one way or another, but the important thing is that we have each other, and nothing can ever change that."

  "I know that, Tom,” said Carole softly. “I was just saying that Dr. Michael called, and..."

  "We'll get over there and see him and see what he has to say,” said Tom, cutting her off again. “Just give me a half-hour to shower and change clothes.” He started for the stairs.

  "Tom, listen to me!"

  "What is it?” Tom asked, turning around.

  "Dr. Michael called me last night, after you had left,” she said calmly. “It was all a mistake."

  "A mistake?"

  "What he told you, about me, it was a mistake. Apparently somebody in the office messed up, put some old report from somebody else with my first name with my records. He was so embarrassed, just couldn't stop apologizing to me. He really is a nice man, and I'm sure he's a pretty good doctor, but as for that office...” She shook her head.

  "So ... what are you saying?” Tom asked her haltingly.

  "Tom, I'm saying that there's nothing wrong with me. My tests came back perfectly normal."

  "Your tests came back normal?” Tom repeated, as if unable to comprehend.

  "Yes!” Carole shrieked delightedly. “I'm perfectly healthy, there's nothing wrong with me. I guess the elixir really was working, after all.” She smiled. “Lucinda was right, all along; wasn't she?” She looked to Tom for confirmation, but none was forthcoming; he simply stood there staring at her blankly. “Tom what's wrong?” she asked, puzzled. “Aren't you glad I'm all right?!"

  "What time did Dr. Michael call last night?"

  Carole shrugged. “I don't know, around midnight ... maybe a little later, in fact."

  Around midnight? Right around the time I passed his office, just before...

  "Of course, I was still wide awake,” Carole continued, “needless to say I wasn't going to get much sleep last night.” She eyed her husband intently. “And what happened to you last night, anyway?” she demanded, half-scoldingly. “What were you doing all that time?"

  Tom could only shake his head in awe. All at once, everything crystallized into perfect focus.Could it have been just a coincidence? No, it couldn't ! A transcendent sense of joy such as he had never before experienced enveloped his entire body. His most fervent prayer had been heard, and answered, and in precisely the way he had hoped it would be.

  "What were you doing all last night?” Carole repeated.

  "I guess I was looking for a miracle.” Tom reached out to his wife and took her by the hand, pulling her close to him. He gazed lovingly into her beautiful brown eyes. “And it seems that I found it."

  Carole nodded. “You were right, then,” she said softly. “You were right to take us back up north."

  Tom shook his head. “That's not what I mean. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be more thankful that you're okay, that you're not sick anymore. But even if you were, or if I were, for that matter, well, the truth is, it doesn't matter, not really. What matters is that we have each other, and we're together, and there's nothing, not RSD, or cancer, or even death, that will ever change that. Whether in this life, or after, it's you and me, the two of us, forever.That's our real miracle, Carole: you ... and me ... and our love."

  Tom and Carole, their hearts overflowing, fell into one another's arms, a wonderful, tearfully joyous, absolutely blissful embrace that lasted a good five minutes.

  "I really do love you, Carole, you know."

  "I know."

  "Well,” Tom said, with a slyly arched eyebrow, “do you think we should do something about this?"

  Carole nodded, and with a mischievous grin took her husband by the hand and began to lead him up the stairs.

  "Good idea,” said Tom quietly. “Let's work on starting this family of ours."

  Carole stopped abruptly and turned around. “Oh, Tom, Dr. Michael mentioned something else I forgot to tell you,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.

  "No."

  "Yes.” Then, in unison, both smiling broadly: “But we can have some fun practicing for the next one!"

  Author Bio

  Thomas Root was raised in the Little Neck-Douglaston area of New York. He graduated Summa Cum Laude from St. John's University with a B.A. in Philosophy, and later from the St. John's University School of Law. Following his schooling he was associated with two mid-town Manhattan law firms before starting his own law practice in Douglaston, New York. In 1995 he moved to Hollywood, Florida, where he currently resides. “The Elixir” is his first novel.

  Visit www.twilighttimes.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

 

 

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