Page 119 of Lake
I heard Bridget’s feet shuffling away but I couldn’t move to see where she was going. I heard her voice float my way in a low murmur and I couldn’t have been more grateful for her right now.
She stepped in when I needed her most.
I was at a loss at what the next step was and I didn’t even think I could hold it together long enough to try to figure it out.
But there she was, taking care of it without me having to ask.
If I wasn’t so shocked and sad, I would have realized that I fell even more in love with her right then.
“Why, old man, why?” I whispered.
It was then that I saw the white envelope sitting on the small table beside his chair with a mug right next to it.
My name was written on the front in blue ink. I reached over and picked it up with a shaky hand. My fingertips traced over the flowing cursive writing.
With a deep inhale, I flipped over the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of stationary paper inside.
I didn’t want to read the words that were there for me.
I didn’t want to hear his goodbye.
Because I knew that was what was there.
I looked back at his face again.
Yeah, the old man knew it was coming.
With tears clouding my eyes, I unfolded the paper and began to read.
Dear Lake,
You have brought an old man joy in his last minutes here on earth. Keep that with you always.
Gertie and I didn’t have any children but I think of you as one. Lucky as fuck you are though, you didn’t get my ugly face. I know she would have loved your dumbass as much as I do.
I have a lot of shit to say and you know how I love to talk, so get comfortable. And for fuck’s sake, stop blubbering. This is a happy thing. I know I will see my Gertie soon.
Thank you for helping keep her alive for me. This one here was my favorite story. It was the one that reminded me that love was endless. That no matter how many years I’d spent by her side, I could always fall harder in love with her. When you’re done reading this sappy shit, tell it to me. And tell it to Bridget.
Keep us alive in your hearts but don’t be sad that I’m gone.
Which reminds me, you better be calling me Ed. I swear I will come back and beat your ass if you didn’t bring her back with you, dead or not!
I don’t have much, but it’s all yours. Fix up the house and make it a home again. Breathe life into her because she has good bones. Take care of my mugs and keep the tradition alive with them.
And maybe collect your own now that you have someone to do that with.
Well, the good Lord is calling me home.
Take care of her.
And yourself.
I love you, son.
—Ed
Oh, and get rid of this recliner, someone died in it. And it’s ugly as shit!
