An August Harvest

by Ben Marney

  I turned over and laid down on my back in the sand, staring up at the stars. Charley curled up next to me, resting his head on my chest. “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

  He lifted his eyes and stared up at me. “That’s why you didn’t like all those other beach houses. You were bringing me here...to Melissa...because you knew all along. What are you, Charley? Are you my guardian angel?”

  “Thank God! You finally stopped running!” I looked up to see Marshall standing over us, holding his side and breathing hard. “Are you all right?”

  I sat up. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t feel much of anything right now. My mind is blank and my body is sort of numb.”

  He sat down on the sand next to us. “Well, you sure scared the shit out of everybody when you jumped up and took off running like a friggin’ rabbit. Why in the hell did you do that?”

  I sighed and laid back down on the sand. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the thing to do. To be honest, I don’t remember doing it. I remember what you said, and then the next thing I know, I’m sitting here petting Charley. I guess I owe everyone an apology for taking off like that.”

  “I think that would be a good thing to do.”

  “How is Melissa?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I don’t really know. When you took off, she didn’t know what to do, so she went home. Brenda’s with her now.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I stopped talking and stared up at the sky. Marshall took the hint, rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky with me.

  After a few minutes of silence, he said, “This reminds me of when we were kids, laying on those blow up floats out on the lake at Huntsville State Park. Remember that?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah. That seems like a million years ago. Sometimes I wish I could go back. We didn’t know it, but we had it made back then.”

  “Yes, we did,” Marshall said, “but I wouldn’t want to go back. I like where I am now.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said, grinning, “you were pretty geeky back then with those coke bottle thick horn rimmed glasses and all those pimples.”

  He sat up and threw a hand full of sand at me. “You weren’t exactly a babe magnet yourself. I never could figure out what Rita saw in you.”

  We both laughed. “I never figured it out either. She could have dated any guy in school, but she chose me.” My voice cracked and my eyes filled with tears. I turned away, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, Grant. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “It’s okay,” I said holding up my hand. “Those are not bad memories, those are the best memories I have, and the ones I hope I never forget. The ones I love to think about. I do it all the time and I know how lucky I was that she chose me.”

  We laid there quietly not saying a word, staring up at the sky for ten or fifteen minutes.

  “Marshall, I’m not upset. I’m glad you did it.”

  He frowned. “Did what?”

  “I’m talking about the harvest. Rita would have wanted that. And I know why you didn’t tell me about it when it happened. I was such a mess back then I couldn’t have handled it, but I got better and moved on with my life. The only thing I don’t get is, it’s been over two years. Why haven’t you told me before now?”

  He raised up, knocking the sand off his back. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. When Brenda and I came to visit you here in Saint Augustine that first time, I had planned on telling you then, but it never seemed to be the right time.”

  “I understand, but I wish you’d told me.”

  “I wish I had, too. The last thing I’d ever want to do is cause you more pain in your life. And I’m really sorry for that.”

  “Marshall, I’m a little stunned to find out about Rita’s harvest, but you need to know that at the same time, I’m happy about it. There’s no question in my mind...she would have definitely wanted it. It’s just the other part. Hell, I can’t think of a word to even describe it. The odds are just so...so impossible that Melissa...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. I’ve double-checked. When her liver was harvested, it was flown directly here. I’ve talked to her surgical team. It was Rita’s liver.”

  “Do you think that’s why...when we touch...the shock?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe, but that doesn’t make any sense, either.”

  I didn’t respond. I just laid there quietly, slowly shaking my head, dumbfounded at the impossibility of it all.

  “Grant, I know you well,” Marshall said. “I can almost hear your thoughts whirling around inside your head from here. You’re trying to apply logic to this, but none of this is logical...it’s spiritual. That’s the only explanation.”

  “What’s the old saying, ‘God works in mysterious ways’?”

  Marshall smiled. “You really want to know what I believe happened here?”

  “Well, old buddy, you’ve always been the smartest one between us,” I said, grinning, “So absolutely yes, please, Doc...help me understand all of this.”

  He stood up and looked down at me. “I’m a man of science, a doctor of medicine and not supposed to believe in things like God, spirits and angels. To most of my colleagues, this would be explained simply as a huge coincidence. And maybe it is, but it’s too impossible for me to believe that. I’m convinced that there has to be more to this than simple coincidence. It’s bigger than that, the odds are too astronomical.” He pointed up at the sky. “Grant, I believe that this was an au-gust harvest.”

  “A what?” I said, confused. “August? Rita died in February.”

  “I didn’t mean August like the month. I meant au-gust, like something marked by majestic dignity, something very, very special...magnificent. That’s the definition of au-gust.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and looked at me. “Grant, no one can explain why, but it was Audrey and Rita’s time. But it was not Melissa’s. If Rita hadn’t died that day, Melissa would have. And as hard as that is to hear, it has to mean something. It has to be God’s plan for you. I believe this was an au-gust harvest and you are supposed to be here…now…with Melissa.”

  I sat silent on the beach processing what he had said. “An au-gust harvest,” I whispered slowly as I stood and brushed the sand off my clothes. “I’m still not sure I understand any of this, but I think this might be what Rita was trying to tell me when I was drowning in that water. I guess I do have much more to do. Let’s go find out what that is. I think I’m ready to go home now.”

  When we made it back to the house and walked in the door, the second Melissa saw me, she burst into tears, ran up to me and jumped into my open arms.

  17

  It Doesn’t Matter

  Melissa and I didn’t talk much for the rest of that night. Instead, we just held on to each other tightly and listened to Marshall and Brenda, when they could think of something to say. Truthfully, they didn’t talk much either, but the long periods of silence between us wasn’t awkward, it was peaceful, something we all needed. The blissful peace between all of us continued the next morning through breakfast and our long walk together, strolling through the shallow water from the waves crashing on the beach.

  All the tension that had been so obvious in Marshall’s eyes was gone, and he was back to his old self. He was actually smiling when he shook my hand and hugged my neck. Then he followed Brenda down the front staircase, squeezed into his tiny rental car and left for the airport. After I waved goodbye to them and turned around, Melissa was standing in the hallway with a somber expression on her face. She was holding Molly’s hand and Donna’s leash.

  “We’re gonna go, too,” she said softly. “You need to get back to work and I’ve got a lot to do around my house.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, I do need to head to the office, but before I go, I was hoping we could talk a little. I know I should have talked about this last night...I’m sorry,
but I was just too overwhelmed to think straight. But I’m better now and I thought...”

  “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said, stopping me, “but I don’t want to talk about it right now. I need some time to think about it...alone.”

  “Sure,” I said a little surprised, “Take as much time as you need. I guess I was wrong, because...well, the way you were acting around Brenda and Marshall, I...I thought you were okay with all of this.”

  She dropped her head. “I didn’t want to upset them and you know Brenda. I love her, but she just can’t stop psychoanalyzing me.”

  I bent down and kissed her. “You don’t have to explain. She does it to me, too.”

  “But I want to explain. I am okay with it...I think,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t know what I think. Please, Grant, it’s a lot to take in. It’s not just about the transplant, it’s all this crap about what Jerry did to me, too. I need some time to absorb it and figure out what I’m going to do next. Please, just give me a few days. Do you understand?”

  Melissa’s “three days” turned out to be almost three weeks. During that time, we saw each other occasionally, waving back and forth from our decks, but we never got close enough to touch, and we never talked.

  I had spent the three weeks catching up with my work on the Beverly Beach Project, working almost around the clock, sleeping more nights on the couch in my office than in my bed at home, so the time had actually flown by before I realized it.

  Being so busy had kept my mind occupied, but not completely. Out of nowhere, more than once, the thoughts of Rita’s organs being harvested, Au-gust or not, caused me to lose it and break down. When I did this, Charley would either lay his head on my lap and let me cry, or bring me his leash and bark until I took him out for a walk. He always seem to know exactly what to do that would bring me back.

  On our walks, my mind would drift with thoughts of Rita and Audrey and the life we had spent together. Then it would jump to thoughts of Melissa and Molly and what my life might become with them. When I thought of Audrey and Rita, it was never bad or sad; I had somehow successfully locked those horrible memories away. I only recalled the good ones, the fun ones, the happy ones. I guess it was therapeutic, because it always made me feel better, stronger somehow.

  After many of these walks with Charley during those three weeks, I only had one unanswered question in my mind, and it’s not what you may be thinking. Now that I knew that there was a part of Rita alive, living inside of Melissa, the question wasn’t was it Rita, or was it Melissa that caused that shock that rushed through my body when we touched? The question was...was I truly in love with Melissa...and if I was...did it matter where those sensations were coming from?

  I hadn’t seen Melissa in almost a week. I had finally caught up with my drawings and was actually ahead of schedule on the Beverly Beach project. It was Saturday morning and instead of jumping up, rushing around and leaving for the office, I hit the snooze button on the alarm clock when it went off. Unfortunately, Charley didn’t have a snooze button and wasn’t about to let me sleep. I could feel his presence, and when I opened my eyes, he was standing next to the nightstand about a foot away from my face staring at me. “Woof!”

  “Charley, it’s Saturday. We’re not going to the office today. Go back to sleep.”

  He didn’t move. “Woof, woof, woof.” He nudged me with his nose. “Woof!”

  “Come on, Charley, let me sleep just a little longer.”

  He bit down on the sheet and drug it off me to the floor. “Woof!”

  I knew it was a losing battle, so I rolled out of bed, walked to the kitchen and made some coffee. I was barefoot, only wearing my boxers. When I lifted the cup out of the coffee maker and turned around, Charley was standing behind me, holding my jeans in his mouth.

  “What in the hell is your problem this morning? What’s the big rush to get dressed? I told you we’re not going to the office today.”

  He dropped my jeans at my feet. “Woof!” he said, nudging them closer to me with his nose.

  “Okay, okay, you crazy mutt! I’ll put them on, for God’s sake.”

  The second I pulled them up and got them zipped, the doorbell rang. It was Melissa and Donna.

  “Hey, good morning!” I said, opening the door. “What’s up?”

  Donna ran up to Charley and after a few excited circles and sniffs, they both took off running through our legs, down the staircase toward the beach.

  “Come in,” I said, “want some coffee?”

  “I’d love some,” she said with a shy smile, “and maybe a little breakfast?”

  “Is that some kind a hint that you want me to cook?”

  She lifted her eyes.“ I’ve been thinking about your world famous pancakes since I woke up this morning.” She handed me a plastic grocery sack. “I even brought the ingredients, just in case you were out of something.”

  I took the sack and she followed me to the kitchen. “Where’s Molly?”

  “I just dropped her off at a play date with one of her friends from school.”

  I pulled out my recipe and together we measured the ingredients and mixed the batter. When we finished, I turned on the stove and heated up the griddle.

  “Whose handwriting is this?” she asked, holding up the old, worn 3 by 5 recipe card in her hand.

  “That’s my grandmother’s. I loved her pancakes so much, she wrote the recipe on that card and gave it to me when I was about twelve.”

  “And you’ve kept it all these years?”

  I set a plate stacked high with four steaming hot pancakes in front of her. “You bet I have. I even have a Xerox copy of it in my safe.” I picked up the card and looked at it. “I probably should be using the copy, but I like holding it when I cook them. It reminds me of watching my granny singing and cooking in her kitchen. I loved that. This card is priceless to me.”

  She smiled. “One more,” she said.

  “One more what?”

  She took a bite and moaned. “Oh my God! These are amazing.”

  Talking with my mouth full, I mumbled, “Yummy!”

  The room fell silent while we gorged ourselves eating the hotcakes. When I finished and pushed my plate away, I said, “You didn’t answer me. One more what?”

  She put down her fork, wiped her mouth with the napkin and grinned. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  “Too bad,” I said with a chuckle, “because I did. Come on…spill it. One more what?”

  She looked into my eyes. “One more reason on my list to love you and another reason I know you are the right one.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You have a list?”

  “Sort of,” she said shyly. “It’s not written down or anything, but yes, it’s a list of reasons why or why not.”

  “Is it a long list?”

  “It’s getting longer.”

  “May I ask...what was the item you just added? What was the ‘One More’ thing?”

  She reached down and picked up the recipe card. “It’s this card. Grant, I don’t think you kept this card all these years just for the recipe that’s written on it. You kept it because of whose handwriting is on it. You are sentimental. That’s not a common trait for a man. And just one more thing I love about you.”

  “What else you got on that list?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “I think I can handle it. Go ahead, but tell me the good stuff first.”

  She reached across the table and took my hand. “That’s my problem. There’s only good stuff.”

  I laughed. “That’s because you haven’t known me very long. Just wait, you’ll see.”

  “Well, here’s what I have so far. You love Molly, you are smart, kind hearted, a hard worker, a great cook and apparently sentimental.”

  I threw up my hands. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got. What about the ruggedly handsome and amazing lover part?”

  She stood up, walked around the table and sat in my lap. “That’s the best pa
rt.” She took my face in her hands and kissed me on the lips.

  “Do you still feel them?” she whispered. “I do.”

  I took her hand and pressed it over my heart. “Feel that? It’s jumping like crazy.”

  She laid her head against my chest. “I can hear it.” Then she raised up and stared into my eyes. She wasn’t smiling and her eyes were full of tears.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked softly,

  She looked away, “I love you, Grant, I really do, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Now that we know whose liver is inside of me…that changes things. I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Changes what?” I jerked my head up, frowning at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? What can’t you do? If we’re not supposed to be together, then how do you explain these feelings when we touch?”

  “That’s sort of my point. Can you look me in the eyes and swear to me that what you feel when you touch me...is because of me...and not because Rita is part of me?”

  I didn’t answer and held her gaze for a long time until she finally looked away. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  She tried to move away, off my lap, but I held her there. “I didn’t say it was Rita. I didn’t answer, because I don’t know where it comes from. Does it really matter?”

  “Yes!” she shouted. “It matters to me.” She pulled away harder, so I let her go.

  She walked outside to the deck and leaned against the rail. I followed her and put my arm around her waist. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it that way. I know it sounded harsh, but I’ve thought about this a lot, and apparently you have, too. I can’t explain where these feelings come from and neither can you. Maybe it does have something to do with a part of Rita living inside of you, who knows, but what I was trying to say was...it doesn’t matter to me. It’s you that matters to me now.”

  With my hand, I wiped the tears away from her cheek and pulled her into my arms. “Isn’t that enough?”