Page 14 of On Fire Island

“Didn’t he die?”

“Sometimes it’s just a means to an end.” Shep grinned.

I swear I saw a faint smile cross Ben’s lips as Shep continued announcing the buffet.

“Dotty Brown’s fried chicken, Millie Holtz’s corn salad—I could swear they all want to get in my pants. At least the ones who brought the covered dishes.”

Ben looked at him skeptically as he explained, nodding with conviction, “They get a second shot at me when they come back to pick up their casseroles.”

Shep piled an assortment of food on a plate and put it in the microwave as he continued, “It’s Caroline’s fault, you know. She was always telling everyone how good I was in bed.”

I was grateful I’d never been on the receiving end of that conversation but pondered who would have their sights set on Ben now that I was gone. There was a fair number of divorced and single women in our town and the next who I could picture vying for his attention (or inattention as the case may be). Another thing I should have brought up in the last few months: don’t rush, but don’t wait too long. Not that we ever had that kind of conversation. Whenever I tried to discuss life without me, he shut me down.

“We won’t go hungry this summer, I imagine, either of us,” Shep pointed out as they waited for the microwave to ding.

When it did, Shep put the plate, with a little of everything, in front of Ben, along with a fork and a napkin. He held up a beer. Ben declined.

“Just water, please.”

Shep inspected Ben while he ate. It was obvious how hard it was for him to swallow even a bite—nausea and despair pushing back against the hunger. Watching Shep watch my husband, I had to admit that Ben appeared to have aged ten years in one. It was hard to look at him. I noticed at the funeral that most people couldn’t hold his abandoned gaze for long. It was like staring intothe sun: you could only do it for a minute before you had to turn away. But not Shep. Shep wasn’t intimidated by Ben’s grief. As with everything he did, he took it straight on.

“You really look awful, Benjamin. You should try to get some sleep.”

“I actually slept today, in the car after the funeral, for the first time in weeks.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral.” Shep’s strong facade cracked, along with his voice. “With Caroline gone... there’s only so much—”

Ben interrupted him, aiming to curtail his misery. “Don’t worry. I understand. You must really miss her.”

“Hell, I missed that woman when she left a room.”

Ben pushed his barely eaten plate away. Shep scraped what was left of it into the garbage.

“You’ll eat tomorrow—we can even have a catch if you want,” he offered sweetly.

Ben’s eyes widened at the thought of it.

Shep encouraged, “Let’s get some sleep.”

I wondered if Shep would head home now that Ben had arrived, but he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Ben looked toward our second bedroom, but he needed to sleep in the bedroom that we’d shared. He studied Shep’s tired face and asked, “Have you been sleeping OK, Shep?”

“I fall asleep OK, here in this house, but it’s the waking up that gets me.”

Ben looked confused. Shep noticed and responded sadly.

“Life can be pretty subtle, Benjamin, but not death. Death really packs a punch.”

And with those last words of wisdom, the two of them turned in—together. I imagined Shep pulling up memories of Carolinein their first little cottage by the sea, and Ben thanking me profusely for my insistence on buying a king-size bed.

I wondered, now that he had been delivered safely home, albeit in the hands of an ornery octogenarian with questionable conduct, if it was my time to go. I stood by the candle and waited for my nana to appear again. There was no sign of her.

ten

The Bicycle Journey

After my diagnosis, I had shuddered at the thought of Ben sleeping alone in our gargantuan bed. We had endlessly debated the size when we bought it. Ben had fretted that we would never find ourselves tangled up together as we had in the queen-size—legs intertwined, a hand brushing against a breast or a thigh. Sometimes those errant touches would lead to us making love in the middle of the night—that soft and sensual type of lovemaking, not impaired by alcohol or the pressures of the day. And other times, it would have us peacefully wrapped in each other’s arms till morning. I promised I would search him out in the king-size bed to initiate both scenarios, and he eventually agreed on the larger mattress.

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