by Ann Tatlock
Jane pulled into the station and allowed Truman to gas up the car. After they rolled back onto the street, she turned right at the light. “Do you think you’ll ever live in Travelers Rest again, Truman?” she asked.
Truman squinted slightly as the corner of his mouth turned up. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
The house Truman grew up in was gone, razed to make room for a strip mall on the far outskirts of town. Truman took the change in stride, saying it wasn’t much of a house to begin with, and who knew but maybe it had even fallen down on its own.
From there they traveled south of Travelers Rest to find the Saluda River. It took them awhile of driving and backtracking, but Truman eventually recognized the slight bend in the river where he and Maggie had set down their picnic basket on that long-ago day.
Jane parked by the side of the road, and the two of them got out of the car. She followed Truman a short distance until he stopped several yards from the water’s edge. He poked at the ground with his cane. He looked up the river and down until he was satisfied and then said, “This is it. This is the spot.”
The riverbank was shaded by a variety of leafy and pine trees. The river itself was narrow and rocky; bubbly in spots, quiet in others. The place was one of benign beauty, not particularly memorable, yet worthy of an afternoon for a young couple in love.
“This is where your whole life changed,” Jane said.
Truman nodded. “Yes.”
She tried to imagine the day: a young Truman and Maggie and a picnic basket on a blanket, the anticipation of a quiet afternoon together, and then the abrupt intrusion of gunfire, a car door slamming, an engine revving, and a man left bleeding in the grass. If only Truman had chosen another place, another time. If only.
“If you could do it all over again,” Jane asked, “do you think you would help Tommy Lee?”
Deep in thought, Truman’s eyes narrowed and his brow sagged. Finally he said, “I don’t have an answer to that. If I say I wished I’d done it differently, then I’d be living with regrets, and I don’t want that. My life turned on a dime and headed in a different direction, but who’s to say it was the wrong direction? In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m satisfied everything turned out the way it was supposed to. It’s been a good life and I can’t complain. Anyhow, you know what Maggie always said.” His eyes rolled toward Jane. “‘Life’s gearshift’s got no reverse—’”
“‘So you have to just keep moving forward,’” Jane finished. With that, they shared a smile.
Truman looked back out over the water and sighed deeply. It was a sigh, Jane knew, of contentment and not of longing. After a moment, Truman said, “You know, I think I could use a drink.”
Jane nodded. “We passed a Dairy Queen a few miles back. I bet they could mix you up a tall glass of chocolate milk.”
“Well, then”—Truman turned and headed toward the car—“what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
43
They sat in the brown leather club chairs in the library, the small empty table between them. The clock on the mantel showed the hour to be near midnight. They’d put 154 miles on the Honda in their tour of the Upcountry. After the stop at Dairy Queen they’d driven well into the afternoon, catching lunch in a small café in Pelham, a postage stamp of a town somewhere between the larger cities of Greenville and Spartanburg, which they also visited. Now they were tired.
“What time do you want to head home tomorrow, Truman?” Jane asked, leaning her head against the cushioned chair.
“Not too early,” Truman replied. “These old bones are rather fond of sleeping in.”
“My bones feel the same way,” Jane said. “But listen, you don’t have to go back tomorrow, you know. Laney said you can stay as long as you want.”
“Hmm-huh,” Truman said. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”
Jane lifted her head and looked at Truman. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m just trying to . . . well, to give you some time, is all.”
“Time for what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To be home again. To get a little better acquainted with Bess—”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on, Truman, you know she’d like you to stay awhile. Or stay for good. I saw the way she was watching you at supper tonight. She’s brokenhearted because you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Truman looked down at his hands and shrugged. “My home’s in Asheville now. I’ve got to go back.”
“And what about Bess?”
“What about Bess?”
Jane feigned an exasperated sigh. “She’s attractive. She’s funny. She’s available. She’s Maggie’s little sister.”
“She’s not Maggie.”
“She doesn’t have to be, does she?”
Truman thought a moment. “No, she doesn’t have to be. But, Jane, I’m too old for all that now.”
“Don’t be silly, Truman. You’re never too old for love.”
Truman laughed lightly. “Well, young lady, just wait till you’re my age and see if you still believe that. Love’s not so easy when you’re falling apart.”
Jane leaned her head against the chair again. “You know something, Truman,” she said. “I don’t think love’s ever easy.”
Truman nodded, stuck out his lower lip. “I think you’re probably right about that.”
“I thought I was going to have a lifetime of it with Seth. Now I know there are no guarantees.”
“Nope. No guarantees. You can’t place a warranty on something so fragile.”
“And yet the crazy thing is, Truman, we’re always . . .”
“Always what, Jane?”
She thought of the words of the poet. “We’re always crying after it, you know? We’re always crying after love. It’s such a fundamental desire, but there’s nothing to satisfy it, is there?”
“Well.” Truman looked up at the ceiling, offered a sigh. “Humanly speaking, probably not. Momentarily, maybe. Sometimes maybe for years. But not for a lifetime, no.”
“What then, Truman? Why are we always looking for something that isn’t there?”
While waiting for Truman to respond, Jane shut her eyes. That was the irony, she thought. Like everyone else, she was looking for fairy tales in a story of heartache, a dime-store-novel ending to what was one huge Shakespearean tragedy. Everything was doomed to fail. And yet, for Truman, there had been a sort of redemption, hadn’t there? Hadn’t the answer to his prayer meant something?
Truman was speaking, saying something . . . she wasn’t quite sure what. She should listen, would listen if her own thoughts weren’t weighing her down, lulling her toward sleep. She wanted to know his answer but . . .
———
Footsteps approached, moving down the long uncarpeted hall. Someone was coming. Jane opened her eyes, sat up straighter in the chair. Who was coming to the library at this hour? Laney, maybe, with tall glasses of sweet tea on a tray? Clapper, making the rounds, checking on doors and windows before bed?
The footsteps stopped in the doorway. Jane gasped at the figure captured in the hallway light.
“Seth!” Her heart thumped as her breath quickened. She wanted to jump from the chair and run to him, but her body wouldn’t respond. “Seth, I don’t understand. How . . . what are you . . . ?” She stopped, unable to find the words.
Seth made no move toward her. He lifted his hands, palms up, as though to show her he could do it. “I’m all right now,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that.”
“But how, Seth? How?”
“Look,” he said, “I can’t stay long, but I have something for you.”
“What?”
Seth nodded toward the table between Jane’s chair and Truman’s. On it was an open bottle of wine that Jane hadn’t noticed before. “Wine?” Jane asked.
Seth smiled. Jane thought of the Penlands’ cabinet, all the bottles lined up inside. “But I don’t want it, Seth. I’m sorry, but�
�”
“It isn’t wine, Jane.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. It’s what you’ve been looking for. It’s love.”
“Love?”
“Show her, Truman.”
Truman seemed at ease with what was happening, as though he were used to paralyzed men walking and wine appearing where there had been none. Serenely, he picked up the bottle and poured a small amount of wine into two miniature glasses. Setting the bottle back on the table, his hands moved to an uncut loaf of bread that lay beside it. Jane hadn’t noticed the loaf before either.
Truman tore off a piece and gripped it for a moment, his lips moving as though in prayer. Then he extended his hand to Jane, offering her the bread as he said, “This is His body . . .”
———
Before she could take it, a phone rang somewhere, knocking Jane into a dazed wakefulness. She stretched her cramped muscles, felt her skin rub against the cool leather of the club chair. She slowly became aware of birdsong and of dawn struggling to come in through the gauzy curtains covering the windows. She saw she was alone in the room, though in the next moment Laney was there, standing in the doorway in a white cotton robe, holding the cordless phone in both hands like it was a wounded bird. Before Jane was even fully awake, she knew that Seth was dead.
44
Two Weeks Later
Jane moved down the familiar hallway of the Community Living Center, made no less bland by the occasional cheap painting and other attempts at hominess. She thought for the hundredth time that Truman deserved to live out the rest of his life in a better place, a real home, maybe even a house in Travelers Rest.
She took a deep breath when she reached his room, paused at the door, knocked on the doorframe.
He greeted her with a smile and a wave. “Jane, come on in.”
“Hi, Truman.”
He was sitting in his chair, eating his lunch from a tray on the overbed table. He paused as Jane approached, his fork poised over the remains of a fish stick, a small mound of potatoes, and a few scattered peas. Beside the plate sat an untouched dinner roll and a pat of butter cradled in paper.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch,” Jane said as she sat in the opposite chair.
“On the contrary,” Truman said, glancing down at the food. “Thank you for interrupting.” He settled the fork on the tray and leaned back, clasping his hands at his waist. For a moment he seemed to be studying her. Then he asked, “How was it?”
Jane nodded, one small lift of her chin. “It was a beautiful service. Exactly what Seth would have wanted, I think.”
The two weeks since their return from Travelers Rest had been a storm of activity for Jane. She had gone back to Troy to help Jewel and Sid plan the funeral and afterward had helped write thank-you notes for the deluge of flowers, meals, and condolence cards that had poured in.
“I wish I could have been there,” Truman said.
“Me too. You picked a bad time to have the flu. How are you now?”
“Better,” he said simply. “More importantly, how are you?”
She offered a small, brave smile. “I’m all right, Truman. I really am.”
He looked skeptical and waited for her to say more. When she didn’t go on, he asked, “And Sid and Jewel? How are they?”
“Heartbroken, of course. But at the same time, strong. They’re such strong people, really. Whenever I saw Sid, he was comforting someone else instead of the other way around. And Jewel . . . well, she just kept saying they hadn’t really lost him because they know where he is.”
Truman pressed an index finger to his lips in thought. “She has a good point.”
“And their other son, David, came back from Alaska for the funeral, of course. He’s decided to stay put in Troy for a while, which is a good thing for Sid and Jewel. Having David there will be a comfort for them.”
“I’m glad, Jane.”
“I am too.”
A brief silence before Truman pressed, “And you’re sure you’re all right?”
Their eyes met as Jane nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I miss Seth. I miss him a lot. But by the time he died I had already been grieving the loss of him for a long time. I think I’m ready to begin moving forward.”
“And what will you do now?”
“I’m going to finish out the summer here, taking care of the Penlands’ house and their dogs. When Diana and Carl come home at the end of the summer, I’ll go back to Troy, back to my teaching job there.”
“While you’re here, will you continue to visit me?”
“Of course I will. How could I not?”
Truman nodded, glanced toward the window, back at Jane. “Something tells me, even after you return to Troy, this friendship of ours is a keeper.”
Jane smiled. “No question about it. I think we’re bound together for life. So don’t worry. After I go back to Troy, I’ll come up to visit as often as I can.”
“And what if I’m not here? What if I’m in Travelers Rest?”
“Travelers Rest?” Jane’s eyes widened. “Do you think you’ll move back there?”
“Lord willing, I just might. Eventually, that is.”
“Is it Bess?”
Truman chuckled. “As the young folks say today, we’re talking.”
“Burning up the airwaves, are you?”
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I have unlimited long distance.”
Jane laughed out loud. “I thought you said you were too old for any of that, Truman. You know, it’s hard to fall in love when you’re falling apart.”
Truman chuckled quietly. “It seems I’ve discovered a little spunk of my own, a little bit of spunk I didn’t know I had until I met Bess again.”
Jane looked at him a long moment before saying, “I’m really glad for you, Truman. You deserve some happiness.”
“No.” A shake of the head. “That’s the thing. I don’t deserve it. It’s a gift, plain and simple. A gift I never thought I’d have.”
They were quiet then, though the silence didn’t seem awkward to Jane. It just seemed peaceful. Finally Truman said, “Did you hear about the kitty?”
“The kitty?”
“The kitty from the chess tournament.”
“Oh? Did someone win?”
“No, not yet. The tournament’s still going on.”
“What about the kitty, then?”
“Everyone involved in the tournament decided to donate the money to Children’s Hospital as a memorial to Seth. It’s been earmarked for the spinal cord unit.”
Jane drew in her breath. “Really, Truman?”
He nodded. “Really.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ll have to thank everyone. If Seth knew, I’m sure he’d be thrilled about it.”
Truman nodded. “I like to think he knows. Somehow.”
“Speaking of Seth,” Jane said, “I’m supposed to let you know about the concert.”
“The concert?”
“Yeah, it just kind of happened. Some of the guys on five wanted to do something for Seth, so they asked Jon-Paul to come and play as a tribute to him. There’ll just be a few of us in the atrium, but do you want to come?”
“Of course. When?”
“Just a few minutes, I think. Jon-Paul and the other guys are spreading the word in case anyone else wants to join us.”
“I’m supposed to play a game of chess with Stan Griffin right after lunch, but we can postpone. He’ll probably want to be at the concert anyway.”
“Great. Jon-Paul said he’d call me when they’re ready to start.”
Jane laced her fingers together and rested them in her lap. She gazed out the window at the gazebo surrounded by the midsummer gardens of roses, day lilies, delphinium, and forget-me-nots. “You know,” she said at length, “right before we left for Travelers Rest, Seth had a dream he said was very real, so real it was almost like he was there. He dreamed he and I were walking on the beach, and he could feel the sand and the wind and the water, and
he could feel his hand in mine. Well, at the inn, I had a dream like that. It was so incredibly real.” She looked at Truman and gave him a bittersweet smile. “You were there too.”
“Oh?” Truman said, leaning forward slightly in the chair. “What was the dream about?”
“I dreamed that Seth was healed. He could walk again. He was just like he was before Iraq only—I don’t know—better somehow. I can’t explain it. But anyway, you and I were at the inn, and we were sitting in the library talking when we heard footsteps in the hall, and suddenly there he was. Just standing there in the doorway like he’d never been hurt. And he said he was all right now.”
Truman looked at her a long moment. “Anything else?” he asked.
She thought about the wine and the bread, and though she didn’t fully understand it, she wanted that to be her gift alone. She wanted to keep it to herself, like a love letter meant for no one else. She looked at Truman and shrugged. “I like to think Seth really is all right now. I mean, that he’s with God and he’s all right.”
Truman nodded. Before he could respond, the tapping of Jon-Paul’s cane in the hall announced his arrival. In another moment, he was at the door. “Jane?”
Jane looked toward Jon-Paul and smiled. “I’m here.”
“And, Truman?”
“Here. How are you, friend?”
“I’m doing well, thanks. Did Jane tell you about the happenings in the atrium?”
“Yes, she did.”
“We’re ready to start.”
“Wonderful. I’ll be there. You two go on ahead. I’ve got to call Stan and tell him we’re postponing our game.”
“All right. We won’t start till you get there, though.” Jon-Paul turned slightly and held out an elbow. “Jane?”
Jane stood to go.
“Oh, before you go, Jane,” Truman said. “Just one more thing.”