Grace Osgood

Chapter One
Blanch Jenkins grabbed the sides of the twin mattress with all her might. Her knuckles turned as white as the sheets she was laying on. Her hair, dripping with sweat, hung from her head as if she had just stepped out of the shower and her bangs were plastered to her forehead. The salty drips trickled down her nose and cheeks and rained in big droplets onto her heaving chest and swollen stomach. She was tired, exhausted to the point that even death sounded good.

Blanch let out a primal growl that impressed the attending nurse. The sheer voracity of it covered the sound of the ripping fabric as her fingernails pierced through the sheet. She was humped over. Straining. Pushing. Each contraction seemed to be getting worse. Whenever her stomach tightened so did every muscle in her weak overworked body.

A nurse stood beside her bed as much for moral support as medical help. Husbands were not allowed in the sterile confines of the delivery room. Her name badge introduced her as Agnes. She took great pride in being on the maternity floor of the hospital. And she did her job very well. She was extremely gentle and supportive each time she had to hold Blanch forward. She coached her by saying, “Short quick breaths, Sweetie. Pant like a dog on a hot summer day.” She even demonstrated the action, to the point she even had her tongue sticking out.

“Shut up, you twit!” Blanch snarled. Agnes looked so ridicules Blanch wanted to laugh but the pain was too god-awful. “I’m not a damn dog!” It did not bother Agnes to be talked to like that, she had heard it all before.

“Ok, you can relax,” Doc Silverman said. “It’s almost over. I promise. The head is starting to crown. One or two more good pushes and it will be all over.”

Not soon enough for Blanch. In 1934 every birth was natural. A numbing shot to the spine to ease the pain seemed about as likely as a man walking on the moon. Blanch ached. She had been at this for close to ten hours. She was bone weary tired. Tired of the white walls; tired of hot wet sheets; tired of Nurse Agnes; and tired of Doc. Silverman. She was ready for the doctor to reach up there and grab it and yank it out. She was sure that one more good push would probably split her open and kill her. If it didn’t, then at the very least, she would push all of her internal organs out from between her legs. Then the doctor would have to pick them up and cram them all back in again.

Between contractions she imagined her husband, Arthur, suffering just as much as she was. She pictured him writhing on the floor, delirious and out of his mind. Wracked in inconsolable flames of pain. His face contorted to the point that even his own mother wouldn’t be able to recognize him. His stomach muscles cinched up tighter than a new two dollar corset. Sweat pouring off in buckets. She could see him plain as day and a small thin smile made the corners of her mouth perk up just a bit.

The truth was, Arthur Jenkins sat on a nice over stuffed couch in the “Stork Club”. He passed the time chatting with the doctors and nurses at the nurse’s station. He read some magazines. He took an occasional nap when the boredom became too unbearable. He smoked a pack and a half of cigarettes. Then every couple of hours he would use the pay phone down the hall to call his wife’s sister and tell her, “Nothing yet. She’s still in there taking her sweet ole time, like I don’t have anything better to do.” Then he would ask her call and tell the others. By others, he meant the busy bodies. Those are the ones who would see to it that everyone else heard the news. All in all, it was safe to assume Arthur’s demise was merely a case of wishful thinking.

Another contraction started. Blanch tilted forward with the aid of Agnes and again grabbed the edges of the mattress. Agnes positioned herself behind Blanch so she could push on her back. Blanch’s stomach clenched into a twisted knot. The strain on her face muscles made her lips separate to expose her teeth pressed together so tightly they were starting to grind. She could literally feel the sweat popping out on her forehead.

“Quick breaths!” Agnes reminded.

Blanch began a long drawn-out growl, “NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!”

“Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo!” Agnes panted.

“I can see the top of the head! Any second! Almost there!” Doc. Silverman encouraged.

“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

“Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo!”

“The head is out! You’re almost done! Just a bit more!”

“AAGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!”

“Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo!”

“Just a little more! A little more! Don’t give up yet!”

“GGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

“Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo! Wwhhoo!”

There was a sudden release of pressure.

Doc Silverman exclaimed, “You did it!” Blanch heard the sound of a pair of scissors. Then the doctor laid the newborn on Blanch’s stomach. “Congratulations,” he said, “allow me to introduce you to your daughter.”

Blanch was in awe that something that small could cause that much pain. And yet, if she could get the same result, she would go through it all again. Blanch was overwhelmed by the little life she was holding. She couldn’t stop looking at her. She counted her tiny fingers and toes. She examined her from stem to stern, top to bottom, front to back. She found nothing missing, nothing irregular, and nothing abnormal. She tried to picture who she looked like more, her or Arthur. Then she began to imagine how her life would change. She questioned if she could even handle the enormous responsibility of raising this child. Of course she knew she could. Everything grows with love. And right then every shimmering ounce of love in her entire being belonged to the newborn angel cradled in her arms. She could feel the bond. The bond Blanch knew she had when she felt the first kick from this little miracle. After two miscarriages this little girl was indeed a gift from God.

Arthur peeked into the room. At least Blanch thought it was her husband. He was wearing a surgical gown, shoe covers, and a mask. Yes-sirree-bob, no germs were going to infect this brand new baby.

Arthur looked at his wife and asked her how she was doing. He could tell from the look on her face that she was completely drained. He kissed her on her sweaty forehead and told her he loved her. Then he glanced down at his daughter. She was wrapped in a warming blanket and the only thing showing was her angelic face, Arthur did not have a lot to do throughout the pregnancy, other than satisfy his wife’s cravings or stay out of her way during one of her hormonal readjustments. So there was not the same kind of bond that a mother feels. For Arthur, it took almost two blinks of an eye to surrender his heart. His desire for a son was swept away the moment he laid eyes on her. She was six pounds, nine ounces, with corn silk fine auburn hair, puffy cherub cheeks, and if her eyes would have been open he would have seen they were a soft sky blue with a morning star twinkle in them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Arthur asked Blanch again.

“I’m fine now,” she replied. “A bit tired and beat up, but I’ll be okay. We have a little girl. What do you think of her?”

Arthur looked at the baby and then back at Blanch. “She’s the second prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on.”

“What do you think we should name her?” She asked.

This stumped Arthur to no end. He would have bet his bottom dollar they were going to have a boy. That was all he ever thought about was boy’s names. Not a single girl name crossed his mind. “Well,” he hesitated just a bit. “I guess we could name her after my mother.”

Blanch looked at him as if he might have fallen in the Stork Club and suffered a severe brain injury. “I know you loved your mother. And I’m sorry she passed away. But I’ll be confounded if you think I’m going to name this sweet angel from God, Gertrude!”

Arthur looked a little sheepish. If Gertrude was a no-go, than he wasn’t even going to suggest her mother’s name, Hildegard. “I don’t know,” he said rather slack jawed. He decided to play it safe and let Blanch do the naming. “I just can’t believe we have a baby. It’s hard to imagine what you must have gone through for nine months and now this. We sure were blessed.”

Blanch looked down at the sleeping bundle in her arms. “It is a miracle, ain’t it. This just goes to show the power of God’s amazing grace.”

Blanch and Arthur looked at each other. The answer suddenly became crystal clear. They would name her Grace.

So at 9:49 PM on an unseasonably cold November 17, 1934, 6 pound, 9 ounce, Grace Louise Jenkins came into the world to change their lives forever.

Chapter Two

Grace grew up on a small farm just a couple of miles outside Eden, Illinois. It was a rural hamlet with a population of 273. It had a mercantile store, one bar, one gas station, one school, and two churches, one Lutheran and one Baptist. Grace attended the latter. But she by no means grew up alone. Being on a farm she was raised up along with a few pigs and cows, a bunch of chickens, a collie named Scooter that followed her everywhere, and two cats that showed about as much energy as doorstops, at least until they spotted any field mice or Grace showed any interest in them.
Life for Grace was slow, normal, and wonderful. She went from an infant with a teething ring, to a little girl with a tire swing in the front yard elm tree, to a preteen with her own chores, to an adolescent in high school. By the summer of 1950 Grace had blossomed into a lovely young lady of seventeen. She wasn’t model gorgeous but pretty enough to make the boys take notice. She had grown to a barefoot 5 foot, 7 inches, 121 pounds, her baby silk fine hair had changed to shoulder length, and her blue eyes had turned to hazel. Her nose would wrinkle up and dimples appeared whenever she flashed her ready smile. And during this summer of firsts, that dimpled grin of hers would get her two things … her first job and her first true love.

She was going to be a junior in high school during the next school year. She managed to maintain a good enough grade average during her sophomore year that her dad finally agreed to teach her how to drive and let her get her license.
Armed with her driver’s permit, her parent’s car, and her freedom, Grace drove into town and got her first job. She was a roller skating carhop at the Burger Heaven drive-in restaurant. Being a burger bunny at the most popular hangout in town was the equivalent of being a rockette at the Radio City Music Hall. She looked like she would do well with getting tips in her short red and yellow pleated skirt, white T-shirt with the Burger Heaven logo, and hamburger shaped tam with the elastic chinstrap. She only worked three or four days a week and was never scheduled on the weekends. Those busy nights were saved for the girls with seniority. But she often volunteered to cover for girls who wanted a day off or called in sick. Grace didn’t mind, it meant more money. She was saving up to buy her own car so she wouldn’t have to rely on her parents and their car. Every time she borrowed it she had to practically fill out an evening itinerary and swear on the bible to obey the couple hundred rules that came along with it. Grace would have worked herself to death if it gave her the opportunity to get out from under their thumbs.

One of the perks of working at the Burger Heaven was the most popular girls from school also worked there. Grace had the chance to hobnob with the high school elite of the “it” crowd. Of course that made Grace the envy of all her fellow female sophomore classmates. Plus, as an added bonus, she was getting noticed by some of the available cute school jocks. Crayola hadn’t invented the shade of green this made her envious friends turn to. Grace was actually enjoying all the attention she was getting. She reveled in the wolf-whistles and catcalls she got as she zipped around on her roller skates. The more experienced girls showed her how to increase her chances of getting bigger tips. First they taught her how to do a fast spin to make her skirt twirl up. They told her when she takes an order from a car next to some cute guys, she should bend over the car door just a little so they can get a bit of a peek. If she did the same thing to an old man she could almost bet her tip would double. But make sure his wife didn’t see her do it or she wouldn’t get anything. Another good tip getter was when she takes the tray to the car hold it just about boob high and arrange the condiments so it kind of shows them off. Grace etched every one of their pearls of wisdom into her brain as if they were gifts from above and Moses just forgot to put them on the tablets.
Grace did very well in tips … very well indeed. But money wasn’t the only thing she picked up off her trays when she went to get them. She also received the phone numbers of some of the more popular guys. Sometimes this created a bit of a dilemma. She had to screen them very carefully because every once in a while she got one from the boyfriend of a coworker wanting to “test the waters”. Other times they were from nerds or guys who were uglier then mud fences.
One night she used the sneak peek trick and dimpled grin on a carload of “hotties” and got the phone number of one, Clint Carter. He would turn out to be her first true love.

Chapter Three

Clint Carter was a year older than Grace and was going to be a senior the next school year. He was a defensive lineman on the Eden High Vipers football team. (Rivals dread the gold and red, GO! Fight! Win tonight!) His five foot, ten inch, frame held up one hundred and seventy pounds of solid muscle that made him agile enough to get past the opposing blockers and swift enough to catch and sack their quarterbacks. He too was a farmer’s child the same as Grace. He had a dark tan, from working the fields, which made his light gray eyes stand out like harvest moons. His sun bleached hair was cut in a flattop and his sideburns faded into the scruff on his face that he was proud to call a beard. Of course that would be gone as soon as football practice started.
After a few long late night phone conversations, some face-to-face flirting and boyish attempts at trying to show off, Clint asked Grace if she would wear his class pin. Grace could not believe it! She was going steady with a member of the football team! Sure he was only on the defensive line, but still he was on the team. And true he wasn’t the quarterback, but then she wasn’t stacked or as popular as Irene Ellen Betterton either. Grace couldn’t be happier. She was walking on air. This wasn’t just a crush, oh no! This was true love. It was a love that would last forever. The kind of love where she caught herself writing every possible variation on Mr. and Mrs. Clint Carter she could of, surrounded by little hearts with arrows through them, while talking to him on the phone until one or two in the morning, repeating over and over, “No, I love you more.”
Clint brought with him a myriad of firsts for Grace. He gave Grace her first hickey. A quarter sized bruise on the side of her neck. She hid it from her parents with a scarf tied fashionably around her neck. Her friends at the Burger Heaven showed her how to cover it up with a little bit of make-up and ingenuity. After that she made Clint confine his displays of affection to areas of the body that were easier to hide or could be convincingly explained as the result of bad bumps and spills on her skates at work.
Clint also introduced her to her first real taste of alcohol. It all started at a popular swimming hole called Fielder’s Creek. It was a place out of sight and earshot of grown-ups. So naturally it was a magnet for the kids. This particular muggy evening, Roger Stample and Josh Ames managed to get their hands on some beer. The beer was chilled and it had that oh-so-good-taste for a night such as it was. Grace had sneaked sips from her dad’s beer when he wasn’t looking. But this beer was all hers and it went down so smooth and refreshing that she had another … then another … then another. Before she knew it, she was enjoying her first beer buzz. Followed closely by her first word slurring drunk. Which lead to her first, “Oh God! I think I’m gonna puke!” episode. That finally took her the next day to her first head splitting hangover. Grace decided right then and there to keep her drinking in check to just the feel good buzz stage.

Several nights later, Clint and Grace were with the others at Fielder’s Creek. Clint invited Grace to try her first cigarette. He lit two and handed one to Grace. She took it between her thumb and forefinger and looked at it like it was a burning snake about to strike. She slowly put it to her pursed lips and took a puff. The tip of the cigarette glowed a cherry red as the smoke filled her mouth. She held it in her mouth for a few seconds then blew it out like a little teapot. With a bit more air pressure she could have whistled while she smoked. Grace thought that wasn’t so bad at all. She didn’t see what the big deal was about smoking. Then she looked around and seen that some of the others were laughing and shaking their heads.
Clint leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he whispered in her ear that she wasn’t really smoking. To really be smoking she had to inhale. Then he took a drag on his cigarette while Grace watched. He opened his mouth and Grace saw the smoke swirling inside. Then he took a quick breath and the smoke disappeared down his throat. Her eyes widened. She had never seen anything like that before in her life! Clint held it in for a couple of seconds then slowly blew it out.
“Now you try,” he said.
Grace put the cigarette to her lips. She could tell everyone was watching her. The smoke, drifting off the tip, disappeared as the end glowed brighter. It was quiet. Grace could almost hear the crackle of the burning tobacco and paper as the warm smoke entered her mouth. She took the cigarette away from her mouth and looked around at the other faces as they stared at her in anticipation. Then she opened her mouth and sucked in a big breath.
Grace started coughing and hacking and hacking and coughing. Her eyes teared up and she couldn’t catch her breath! Her lungs were trying everything in their power to expel whatever it was that had just been forced into them. Her whole body shook with each deep cough. Coughs that felt as if her lungs were going come out. God how she wished it would stop, or at least ease up a little bit.

The guys were flicking tears from their eyes, they were laughing so hard. The girls felt bad for her, they knew exactly what was going to happen. They had all gone through it themselves. They also knew it would pass and that her lungs would finally accept it. And they were right.
After a couple of minutes the coughing began to subside. She could breathe a little easier. She began to relax. Grace had been initiated.
Clint once again leaned toward her but this time he kissed her on the lips. “You’ll do that the first few puffs,” he said. “After that it’s like your body was meant to smoke.”
Grace punched him on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be like that? I thought I was going to die!”
“Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have done it,” he replied. “You’ll get over it, you’ll see. Pretty soon you’ll noticed how calm and relaxed it makes you feel. Hell, Grace, anybody who’s anybody smokes. I bet every movie star in Hollywood smokes. Every picture I went and seen showed em up there on the screen just a puffin away like there was no tomorrow. I even heard FDR, himself, smoked three packs a day during the war. That’s how we won it, because smoking made him so calm and clearheaded. Besides you can do some really cool stuff. Watch this.” Clint took a big drag and inhaled. He shaped his lips into a big “O” and began moving his jaw in and out. Smoke rings began to float of his mouth, drifting suspended on the warm night air. Grace was spellbound. She would reach out and stick her finger through the middle of them as they wafted in front of her. When Clint’s jaw began to ache he would push them out with his tongue.
“Hey, check this out. I’m a dragon.” Tommy Robins took a pull and sucked it down. Then he blew it out of his nose. When he first did it, it came out as two steady streams, then eventually it eased up and looked more like smoke from the exhaust of an idling car.
“This one takes a lot of practice,” Clint bragged. He took a big puff but he didn’t inhale. Instead he stuck out his lower lip. As the smoke drifted out of his mouth he started to suck it up into his nose. When he looked down the bridge of his nose, to see the smoke coming up, his eyes crossed and Grace had to control herself from busting out laughing.

Clint was so serious and concentrating so hard on this trick she didn’t want to spoil his moment. But she did grin ear to ear as she sat mesmerized by what he was doing. When he was done he beamed. “It’s called a French inhale. That’s how they do it in Paris.”
Grace was awestruck. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Clint replied.

“Guys that were over there during the war learned how to do it. Then when they came back home they taught it to others. And eventually ta-da.” He held out his arms like a circus performer waiting for his applause after a difficult trick. Suddenly his voice took on a serious tone. “But you have to watch out when you smoke. Whatever you do, don’t ever swallow any smoke. It’s okay in your lungs but not in your stomach.” Everybody could sense how important this was, with the somberness and conviction of his voice. He was as serious as a heart attack and the information a matter of life or death. “Because if you swallow it, and then fart, smoke will come out of your ass!”
Everybody started cracking up. Josh had just taken a swig of soda and it shot out of his nose. Of course that made everyone laugh even harder.
“Shut the hell up!” Robins exclaimed.
“No, really,” Clint shot back. “I heard that’s why Zack Thatcher got kicked off the team last year. He was lifting weights down in the training room and he had some pretty heavy weights on and the coach was passing by when Zack strained real hard and farted and smoke came out. Coach knew right then that Zack had been smoking.”
All the guys on the team knew Zack had been kicked off, but they didn’t know why for sure. Now they did. There was no other logical explanation. If the coach found out you were doing anything you weren’t supposed to be doing, like drinking beer or smoking, it was an automatic suspension from the team.
“So how long do you think it takes to get all the smoke out of your system?” Robins asked Clint.
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe a couple of days, I guess,” he replied.
They all decided to quit a week before practice started, just to be on the safe side.
Grace looked at her cigarette and took another drag, a smaller one this time, thought about it for a second and sucked it down. She coughed a couple of times, but not anywhere near as bad as the first time. By the end of the evening Grace was inhaling like she had been doing it all her life. Like a real pro. She even tried her hand at a few tricks. Her smoke rings left a lot to be desired and she blew out of her nose okay, but that French thing would take a great deal of practice. She seemed to get more smoke in her eyes than in her nose. But she thought Clint was right. It was as if she were meant to smoke. She held the cigarette between her fingers and took sexy Betty Grable puffs while engaging in interesting conversation. Grace was a sophisticated woman of the world.
Yes, there was no doubt about it, Clint was right. He was so smart and handsome. And Grace knew deep down in her heart that he was “the one”. He was the man she was going to marry and have children with and grow old with. And that they were going to die together in each other’s arms just minutes apart. Clint was the man she was going to love forever.

Chapter Four

August 15th of 1950 was a scorcher. The thermometer eased its way up to 102 degrees by mid-afternoon and the humidity made the air almost tangible. A stifling dampness engulfed everyone as if they were wrapped in cellophane. School was going to start in a few weeks and football practice had already begun. As a senior, Clint was on the varsity squad and would play every game. It was too hot and humid to hold practice that day, the coach said something about not wanting anyone to keel over from heat exhaustion, so he sent everyone home with instructions to memorize the playbook. Clint and Grace put on their swim suits and headed for Fielder’s Creek. They figured they could learn and have fun at the same time.
They lucked out and had the whole pond to themselves. They were sure the place would be packed given the heat and all. They set their things under a nice shade tree and listened to the sounds of the crickets and birds for a minute or two, trying to cool off after their walk through the woods to get to the pond. They took a quick dip in the pond and then it was down to business. They sat under the tree and Clint studied the playbook. When he thought he was ready, he would hand the book to Grace and she would have him recite it back to her. Sometimes she would try to trip him up and have him repeat one from an earlier page. They would do this until it felt like they were going to melt. Then they would jump in the cool pond water and simply float with their heads sticking out, and even those dipped under from time to time. When they were sufficiently refreshed they would head back to the shade tree and start the process all over again. That was the afternoon pattern, learn-swim, learn-swim.
Clint had finally grown tired of the playbook. He had memorized enough for one day. He got up and walked to the edge of the pond. Grace was putting the book away when she looked over at him. He had his back to her but he had a feeling she was watching him. Without ever turning around, he said, “Why don’t you join me?” Then he took off his swim trunks, dropped them on the ground by the water’s edge, and dove in.
Grace was stunned! It wasn’t a question, it was a dare! She had never seen a grown man’s butt before. Another first thanks to Clint. When she watched him pull his trunks down time stopped and the world disappeared. Her head spun around in every direction to see if anyone else was around. She looked back at Clint in the water. Only his head showed with its shit-eating grin. Her mind’s eye replayed it again right up until his rear-end got swallowed up by the pond. She looked around again one more time and listened for any telltale signs of life in the woods. Nothing, just the rustling of the leaves high in the trees.
Grace walked slowly toward the edge of the pond where Clint had dove in. He had drifted to the other side of the pond and was watching her with a great deal of interest. Their eyes were locked on each other and never budged. Grace sensed something magical about the moment and didn’t want to ruin it. Her heart pounded. She had the oddest feeling, her stomach tingled with anticipation that something was about to happen. And at that very moment Grace was hoping something was going to happen. When she reached the edge of the pond she stopped.
Clint watched her as she approached the edge. He wasn’t sure what was going through her head. She didn’t start telling him off and she didn’t run off, so he guessed he was safe. But what would she do?

Grace stood there for a couple of seconds. She felt herself quivering as if the air had a sudden chill in it. But it didn’t. It was hot. She stared at Clint with the intensity of a woman who was about to do anything he would ask of her. She slipped one arm out of her one-piece swimsuit. Then she slipped out the other arm. She stood for a second thinking once she did this there was no going back. She slowly pulled the suit down and stepped out of it. Then she dropped it beside his trunks and dove in.
The sudden chill of the water snapped her out of her trance. Her head broke the surface and she turned around, her hair making a halo of droplets on the water’s surface. She couldn’t see Clint. Then she spotted him about twelve yards away. His body was submerged with only his head and neck showing. Then he started to float toward her. As he drifted forward like a predator after a trapped prey, he would tilt his head down slightly and lower his jaw into the water and scoop up some water and then spit a little stream in her direction. Soft underwater frog kicks propelled him steadily onward. His eyes focused on his target. The jaw dropped into the water, the little stream squirted out.
Ten yards and closing.

Her eyes were frozen onto his again. Like a mouse in front of a cobra, she was helpless. A sudden rush of anticipation butterflies rushed through her stomach. She sensed that something was going to happen. She actually hoped something would happen. They had been dating for almost three months now and she knew he was Mr. Right. She started to quiver, sending out minute ripples in every direction. Goose bumps popped out all over her skin.
Eight yards and closing.

Clint’s foreplay continued. He imagined how she would feel in his arms. Their relationship had gotten to the awkward touchy-feely stage but nothing with exposed skin. This was uncharted territory. His mind was already playing out what was going to happen, like a movie at the drive-in. He could barely control himself from rushing towards her. But the idea of Clint controlling anything was a paradox. He controlled his motion but his heart controlled him. It thumped wildly making his mind dizzy and an erection begin to swell. But he was just as mesmerized as she was as he stared into unblinking eyes. His imagination showed a different scenario from what Clint knew was reality. There was no doubt in his mind that once he reached her it would be over in nothing flat. He wanted to savor this cat and mouse game as long as he could. The jaw dropped. The stream shot out.
Six yards and closing.

‘Why doesn’t he hurry up?’ she thought. Grace wanted to feel him in her arms. She wanted to shower kisses all over his face. But mostly she wanted to see what was going to happen next. She just wanted, plain and simple. Those dates in the back seat of his parked car, rubbing each other through their clothes, getting all worked up, just to quit to avoid going too far. But not today. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything so badly as Clint to hurry up. She couldn’t even remember the last time she blinked or the last time she too a breath. But now he was right in front of her almost within arm’s reach. Her skin was a bundle of nerve endings. She tingled from head to toe. Her nipples hardened. She wanted this dance to end. But then again she didn’t. What if this was all he really wanted from her? What if she lost the magic she held for him after they did it. She watched his approach. No, they were meant to be together. And one thing she was sure of at this very moment was that she wanted Clint.
Four yards and closing.

One more time the jaw dropped. One more time the stream squirted out. It hit the water just inches from her chin and disappeared. One more soft kick and he would float within reach of her waiting arms. One more chance to change his mind. Just two more yards to paradise.
Their bodies came together like a magnet to steel. Their mouths opened in a passionate kiss. Grace could feel him down there as she pressed him against her. ‘God this is incredible!’ she thought. The imperceptible ripples she made while waiting for him to reach her had turned into waves. They twisted and turned trying to stay afloat as they kissed each other. Their free hands rubbed and explored each other as much as possible. Clint pulled Grace even closer than she thought possible, then he kicked for shore.
In the shallower water along the edge they laid down next to each other, Grace on her back and Clint on his side facing her. Clint’s eyes followed every curve of Grace’s naked form like an artist admiring a work of art. He cleared the wet hair from her face and began to wipe the droplets of water from her skin. First from her chest, then between her breast, and then down across her stomach. When he reached her lower abdomen she arched her back slightly. Clint stopped. He was anxious but too nervous to press his luck. He looked into her half closed eyes for any signs of fear or misgivings. She smiled at him and took his hand and placed it on her breast. She was his. Clint knew they were going to make love right there on the shore of Fielder’s Creek. There was no diagram in the playbook for this. They were relying completely on the instincts born within them. He gave her a reassuring smile and kissed her forehead. Then he kissed an eyelid, then her cheek, then her chin, and finally her parted lips.

While they were locked in that passionate kiss, Grace managed to put her arms around him, one around his neck and the other around his waist, then she rolled over on top of him. Now it was her turn to gaze and admire. Her hand wandered over his sparse chest hair and flat stomach. She looked down and seen what she was so used to rubbing through his jeans. It was standing up just above the water’s surface and bobbing to the rhythm of his pounding heart. She looked back up at Clint. He was watching her. She gave him a big grin and then reached down putting her hand in the water and splashed water on it. She wanted him. She was ready to give herself to him. She was as sure as Clint was, nothing was going to stop them. It was going to happen.
Grace swung her leg over his stomach and straddled him. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. She wanted to hear his breathing deepen as she slid down onto him. She wanted to hear his soft moan of pleasure as he entered her. She wanted to hear … the crack of a dead tree limb as it slammed against a tree trunk deep in the woods. What the hell!
Clint and Grace both turned their heads in the direction from where the sound had come. Panic struck them when they heard the giggles and laughter of people tromping through the woods! Shit! Both of them were on their feet in a shot and grabbing their suits. They tried to put them back on as they rushed into the water. Clint had pulled his up to his knees when he fell headfirst into a deep spot and went under, pulling and tugging to get them up the rest of the way. Grace was lucky enough to at least get hers up to her waist before she went under. Once under the surface she quickly got her arms through the shoulder holes and got herself adjusted in the suits built-in cups. When she came back up she noticed her and Clint were on opposite sides of the pond. She went back under to try and cool her flushed face as much as possible. Clint did the same. But it wasn’t his face he was afraid everyone would notice.
Clint’s head popped back up just as everyone came into the clearing. He seen Grace at the other side of the pond. She looked harried. She gave him a quick nod to let him know she was decent. He nodded back and then acted as if he were only refreshing himself from the heat by constantly dipping himself underwater. He never looked at her again. He knew he was acting guilty of something, but he couldn’t help it.

Everyone greeted them. The guys didn’t give a thought to how strange Clint and Grace were acting. They usually needed a crowbar to get them apart and now they wouldn’t even so much as look at each other. The boys probably thought they were just two friends enjoying a cool swim on a blistering hot August afternoon. But the girls noticed right off. Both their faces were flushed and they were as nervous as hell. No, something was up. The girls all looked at each other. Clint and Grace were either fighting or they were interrupted doing something they shouldn’t have been doing. The girls weren’t too worried about it right then. It seemed those two were already embarrassed enough. No sense making it worse for them. Besides, they could always pump Grace for the juicy details back at the Burger Heaven.
And for poor Grace, that first wouldn’t happen for a few more years.

Chapter 5

A few days later the broiler oven temperatures had broken like a spent fever. The routine for Clint and Grace returned to normal. The first day of school was just around the corner and the football team practiced from dawn till dusk. The first game of the season was already scheduled and the Eden High Vipers were pumped and ready to strike. (Rivals dread the gold and red! Go! Fight! Win! Tonight!) The carhops at the Burger Heaven were starting to discuss who would get their hours cut and who would be let go. Grace had managed to save enough money to get herself a halfway decent car, so she didn’t care. She always figured, last-in first-out. The plus side to having more free time would be the opportunity to spend more time with Clint.
The last weekend before school started found the gang from Fielder’s Creek enjoying their last hoorah of summer. They ate and drank soda pop and joked and laughed and swam. They whiled away the day just being friends. At the end of the day they toasted marshmallows in the last of the flames. And shortly thereafter, the faint orange sky of a dying sun matched the glow of the embers in the campfire. From time to time there would be a “pop” followed by a small shower of ashen fireflies. Grace sat next to Clint and put her head on his shoulder. She watched the sparks swirl upward ten, fifteen feet, and then magically disappear.
The conversation up until then had been the basic generalities, sports for the guys and gossip for the girls. When all of the local topics of interest had been picked clean things fell quiet. They all stared at the glowing embers.
Tommy Robins finally broke the silence. “Did you guys hear what those Commie North Koreans did?”
“I know I did!” Randy Garson shot back. “Who in the hell do they think they’re mess’n with? The South Koreans are on our side. I bet if they was to ask us for help, we’d go in there and kick those Commie asses back to where they came from.”
Robins looked at him. “I don’t know about that. I heard on the news that Truman said if we was to go over there, it would be … what’d he call it? … oh yeah, a police action.” He looked over at Clint. “Does that mean we’d be kind of like cops?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Clint said. Then he added, “But I hope not. Cause when I get over there I wanna get me some of those Commie bastards!” Grace’s head shot up and turned to give Clint a stunned look. “What?” He said returning her look. “It’s my patriotic duty to stop the spread of Communism. Ain’t that right guys?” Clint looked at everybody around the fire and all the boys nodded. Then he looked back at Grace. “I’ll be doing it for you, Grace.”
‘You won’t be doing it for me.’ Grace thought to herself as she turned her attention toward the campfire. She had seen her parents listening to the news when North Korea invaded South Korea. So soon after World War II her parents were hoping the US wouldn’t get involved, but the news was flooded with reports of the escalating conflict. That was a month ago and Clint never said a word about going over there. Not even a hint. Maybe he was just talking big in front of their friends. If they were bragging about being heroes than Clint certainly couldn’t back down. That had to be it. It was all just talk and nothing was going to come of it. Just like the war, it’ll all blow over in a couple of months.
“Yeah, we gotta show em they can’t screw with the red, white, and blue.” Scott Turner said, throwing in his two cents worth. “If we all go together, they might as well send everyone else home. We’ll take care of their light work.”
Garson voiced his enthusiastic agreement. “Hell yeah! We’ll teach em not to mess with the Eden High Vipers! Rivals dread the gold and red!”
“Go! Fight! Win!” The girls all cheered at the same time, while the guys hurrahed.

All the girls except Grace that is. The entire time the boys were picturing themselves saving the world, Grace was becoming paler and more alarmed with each imaginary rifle shot. She saw each blast aimed at the love of her life. Every bullet that rolled off the assembly line had Clint’s name stamped into it with big bold capital letters. Grace certainly understood that if Clint was trying to kill them, then they would be trying to him. Why weren’t the other girls concerned about all this patriotic camaraderie? They should be as worried as she was. But for some odd reason they weren’t. She shook it off. That was their problem. She still had the entire school year to talk him out of joining. And that was if it was still going on by then.
Eventually the charge to arms subsided and Grace once again rested her head against Clint’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. The conversation dwindled to an uneasy quiet. The only gunfire pops were the snapping of the wood on the fire and the only battle cries were the chirping of the crickets.
Robins finally spoke what everyone hoped. “Probably ain’t nothin gonna happen anyway. We don’t have to worry. It’ll all be over before we even get out of school.”
Some nodded their heads in agreement. Grace knew Clint couldn’t do anything until he graduated so that gave her at least nine months to convince him to stay home with her. And if things turned toward the worst … well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Grace had no way of knowing that their relationship had changed that day. Clint was older and facing a future that didn’t look all that promising. While Grace was still a happy-go-lucky teenager enjoying the present with her first true love. It was only a small dent, but the small ones do add up. Grace didn’t know it but their relationship was cooling, just like the embers in the fire that had at one point burned so hot. And when the warmth was finally gone from the coals of that last campfire, so too came the end to Grace Jenkin’s summer of firsts.

Chapter 6

Grace had noticed one of life’s little ironies that school year; if you’re looking forward to something then time drags like a slow drip from a leaky faucet; but if it’s something you’re dreading then time rushes like water from a fire hose. She didn’t have as much time with Clint as she would have liked, schoolwork kept her busy and she made the volleyball team. And since she lost her job at the Burger Heaven she had to baby sit for insurance and gas money. Clint had made the wrestling team and was helping his dad doing maintenance on the farm equipment. The only good thing that happened was Grace had persuaded Clint not to enlist after graduation. Everything was going to be okay. The gushing fire hose had been turned into the leaking faucet. Back to normal.
Eventually June rolled around. Almost summer. That first week brought with it Grace’s old job at the Burger Heaven, the aroma of Mrs. Cramer’s lilac bushes, the thwap … thwap … thwap of baseball cards in the bicycle spokes of the Murray twins, senior graduation, and Clint Carter’s draft notice.
On July 3rd, 1951, Clint left for basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia. Needless to say, Grace did not feel very festive on the Fourth. She spent the entire day crying, as well as the next two days after that. It was only supposed to be for nine weeks, it might as well have been nine years. She wrote him almost every day, but his letters back were few and far between. After reading one of his letters she would write him back right away. She had to be careful not to let any tears fall on the paper or he would know she was crying. She tried to keep her letters upbeat and positive. That in itself turned out to be no small feat, she missed him so badly. After she was done reading his letter to the point she almost had it memorized, she’d put it in a shoebox along with all the other reminders she kept of him. Then she’d mark another day off her calendar.

Chapter 7

School finally started. Grace was now a senior and had kept her job at the Burger Heaven. She didn’t go to any football games because it reminded her too much about Clint being gone. Things were so much different now. Everyone she ran around with last year were Clint’s friends and they were all forging their own careers and lives while she was still stuck in school. She hated being there. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of just one more year.
One day, in late September, school had just let out and Grace walked out the door to go home. There, leaning against her car, was Clint resplendent in his uniform. Her jaw dropped and her eyes instantly welled up. She dropped her books and sprinted to him. When she jumped into his arms hers wrapped around him and squeezed him with all her might. She never wanted to let go. He pressed her body tight against him and kissed the side of her neck. She pulled her head back and looked at him. Then she began kissing his face all over as fast as she could. He looked and felt so good. Nine weeks of hell had finally come to an end and Clint was back in her arms where he belonged.
It took some doing but he managed to get her calm enough to set her back down. When he was holding her he could almost feel her heart pounding against his own chest. And looking at her he could see her face was still flush. He felt the same way. At that moment he was the most content human being on the face of the planet. He secretly begged for the first star of the evening to show itself so he could wish for time to stand still. He wanted to always be standing in the town where he grew up and holding in his arms the girl that would have his heart forever.
“Let’s go for a walk, Grace.” He took Grace’s hand in his. As they headed down Wagner Street, their fingers entwined, Grace noticed a slight tremble. She tightened her grip to help steady him. She couldn’t figure out why he was so nervous. There was a Florida sky that day, the kind of sky that was dotted with big puffy clouds but the sun managed to dodge between every one of them. The temperature was in the low seventies. Some of the trees had already begun to change into their fall colors and showed them off by waving them in the gentle breeze. It was a perfect day. It was as if the world had done its best to make the return of Clint impeccable. “I’ve only got a forty-eight hour pass and then I have to be back. I got back yesterday and spent the day with my folks getting some things in order and making arrangements. I hope you’re not mad at me. I wanted to spend the first day with them because I knew how hard it was for them when I had to go, especially for my mom. I’m sure it was hard on you too, but I knew once I saw you I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”
Grace let go of his hand. She wasn’t upset about him spending the time with his parents, it was the other thing. “What do you mean, you had to get things in order? Why? I don’t understand.”
This was the part of their meeting Clint was dreading. When he told his parents the news, his mother nearly had a breakdown and his father acted like he hadn’t heard a word and nothing was wrong. Clint swallowed hard and looked at Grace with doleful eyes. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away.
“Tell me, Clint. What did you mean?” All of a sudden Grace had a sinking feeling her perfect day was going to hell in a handcart.
“Right after the graduation ceremony from boot camp, the CO told us we were going to be shipping out for Korea as soon as we got back. I probably won’t be home again until my four years are up. Or the war ends.” He took her hand again. She didn’t resist. He grinned at her, “Look at the bright side, I get to kill me some of those Commie bastards after all.”
“That isn’t funny, Clint!” She tried to pull her hand away but he wouldn’t let go.
“Grace! Grace! I’m sorry,” he said taking on a more serious tone. He rubbed his thumb over the knuckles on the hand he was holding as he looked in her eyes. “You remember that day at the pond? You know, the day we were interrupted.” Grace wanted to grin but her heart wasn’t in it. “That wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, you know that don’t cha? I mean, I knew you weren’t that kind of girl. And I wasn’t look’n to make you one of those kind either. You know what I’m tryin to say don’t cha?” Clint was struggling. He knew what he wanted to say but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate with his brain. Everything came out a jumbled mess. Grace waited patiently. Clint took a big breath and let it out slowly. “I love you, Grace. I think I knew it the day you skated up to my car to take my order.”
“A double heaven burger, cheesy fries, and a chocolate shake,” Grace mumbled to herself.
“What?”
“That’s what you ordered, a double heaven burger, cheesy fries, and a chocolate shake.” Clint couldn’t believe she would have remembered that. She jiggled his hand a bit to get him back on track. “Go on. What else did you want to say?”
“Oh yeah. When I was away at boot camp I thought about you all the time. Every time I got a letter from you I’d read it till the ink wore off. And I pictured you sitting there at your desk writing it. That nine weeks was the worst time of my life. I didn’t think I was going to make it a lot of times. But I did. And I also know I’m going to have a hell of a time being separated from you again. The only thing I could think of that would give me the will to keep going was to know that you would be waiting for me when I got back.” Clint swallowed hard again and steadied himself. Then he dropped to one knee and looked up at her. “I love you, Grace. Will you marry me?”
When Clint went down on his knee Grace’s heart began pounding like it did that day at the pond. Her brain was flooded with nonsensical questions. Did he mean now? Today? Did he mean elope? Just hop in her car and drive to some Justice-of-the-Peace. What about her parents? And school? Was she going to finish school and then move to where he was stationed? She’d have to give her boss a two week notice. What in the hell was she thinking!? There were so many things she was uncertain of but one thing was crystal clear.
Grace must have looked puzzled to Clint so he interrupted her thoughts. “Course I don’t mean right now. That is if you say yes. I mean when I get back. You still have school to finish with and I gotta do what I have to do. I mean, you know, think about it. You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I didn’t even have a chance to get an engagement ring. Hell, I don’t even know why I brought it up already. I mean, I don’t even know if you still love me or would even want to mar…”
Clint never got the chance to finish that sentence because her mouth had covered his in a passionate kiss that forced him to shut up. She had her arms around his neck. She leaned in close, her lips but a breath away from his ear, and whispered, “The answer is yes.” It came out almost a sigh. “I can’t think of anything I want in this world more than to be your wife. Yes … yes … yes.”
Just then a carload of their friends pulled up so the betrothal celebration was short lived. They honked the car horn at them and yelled for them to get a room, then they laughed. The guys got out and worked Clint’s arm like a dried up water pump. They did imitation salutes and called him sir. Clint stood there in his uniform grinning from ear to ear. They fired him with one question after another about how boot camp was; did he bring his rifle with him; did they really teach him fifty ways to kill a guy without making a sound; just question after question. Grace fell back a couple of steps, in part to let Clint bask in the sunshine of notoriety, but mostly because she knew at some point in time someone was going to ask the question she didn’t want to be reminded of. Namely, when was he going over to finish off the Red threat and win the war? When Clint realized Grace wasn’t beside him anymore he reached back and took her hand and pulled her next to him.

The Fielder’s Creek gang relived the past until almost midnight. They talked about their exploits on and off the football field, about how so-and-so did this or so-and-so did that, about Grace’s first adventure in smoking, and when they caught them alone that one day. They said they knew something was up but just didn’t want to embarrass them. Then they asked, “By the way, how was it?” Then they laughed. Reminiscing made them realize just how much their lives had changed in such a short time. Everyone either joined up in the family farming business or got jobs in local businesses or factories. Clint was the only one who went anywhere and that was because he was forced to. It made them see that their lives were like soap bubbles in a sink, individual, yet interconnected, and very short lived.
Grace stayed out with Clint and their friends the entire time, not wanting it to end. But a clock has a cold hard face and feelings and wishes won’t deter it from fulfilling its purpose in life. She caught hell from her parents when she got home for staying out so late on a school night. She didn’t care, it was worth it. She took the scolding with a smile. She was bursting at the seams to tell them that she was engaged to be married to the bravest, handsomest, lovingest, kindest, sweetest, most perfect man in the whole wide world. But she promised Clint she wouldn’t tell anyone until he got back. He made her pinkie swear.

Chapter 8

Clint had told Grace his bus was leaving at 6:30 the next morning but he asked her not to be there. He said it would break his heart to see her in so much pain and knowing that it was his fault. Of course she argued the point that it wasn’t his fault and that she wanted to be there. As his wife-to-be it was her duty to see him off. But in the end she caved in and agreed to stay away. Clint seemed a little more relaxed after that. She was just glad he didn’t make her promise.
At 5:30 the next morning, Grace was across the street, about a half a block down, nestled in the shadows between some bushes and a house, with a clear view of the bus depot. She sat there waiting for Clint and his parents to arrive. She smoked cigarettes one after another. Since Clint left for basic she started carrying a pack on her to help relieve the stress of him being gone. Her hands were clammy and her stomach rolled with anxiety. She fought back her premonition jitters by reminding herself, ‘He’ll be back…he’ll be back.’ In the end all she could do was wait for time to do what it does best, bring the future one tick at a time.
Clint and his parents finally showed up at 6:15. Grace stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking so she wouldn’t be spotted. Clint lugged his green duffle bag over to the luggage storage compartment then he returned to his folks. Grace could tell his mom was crying. She kept dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes and nose. Clint hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. In the calm morning air Grace could hear what they were saying, slightly muffled but still audible. He was telling his mom not to worry and that he’d be okay and back as soon as things were settled over there. She said she knew that and that she loved him with all her heart and to be careful. He promised he would. Then he took his dad’s hand and shook it slowly and then they hugged. He told his dad that he loved him. His dad said he loved him too and that he was very proud of him. Clint said thank you sir, then he told his dad that he hoped to be back by next spring’s planting or the fall harvest at the very latest. His dad told him not to fret it and just come back. Then he told them he loved them both and that they better not forget to write. They swore they wouldn’t. Then he climbed on up into the bus, stopping one more time for a last quick glance.
It was hard for Grace to watch him say his farewells. Her heart was breaking and she so desperately wanted to call out to him to please turn around and stay. Her tears welled to the point that everything was a blur. She wished she hadn’t told him she wouldn’t be there. How she longed to run to him as fast as her legs would fly and throw her arms around his neck and beg him not to leave her. But she couldn’t. As hard as it was for her to say goodbye to him, she could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to say goodbye to everyone and everything he has ever known and loved. No … she couldn’t run to him no matter how much her heart pleaded with her. She wouldn’t do that to the man she loved so much.
The Grayhound bus, at last, pulled out of the depot. Its engine strained to build up a head of steam, black smoke billowed out of the exhaust, and the transmission whined its complaint as it lumbered past Grace’s hiding spot. She saw him through one of the windows. He had just found a vacant seat, and dropped into it, when he turned his head to look out. She didn’t think he saw her, but she saw him. She felt her knees buckle a little and she leaned against the house behind her for support.
“I love you,” she murmured. “And I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Grace looked back at the bus station and watched Mr. Carter helping his grieving wife back to their car. When it rolled away she looked at her feet, her breathing began to hitch and stutter and a tear rolled off the tip of her nose. Then she whispered, “Rivals dread the man I’ll wed. Go, fight, win.” Then she slumped to the ground, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.

Chapter 9

In the early spring of 1952, at 11:30 at night, Grace was having a fitful night trying to sleep. She tossed and turned incessantly with horrible nightmares of Clint being hurt. She dreamed she was at the bus station waiting to pick him up. It was just her. When the bus arrived the door opened and Clint stepped out. She shrunk back in horror. His uniform was bloodied and torn to shreds. He waved to her with an arm that was bent at an impossible angle and the hanging skin and muscles flopped back and forth. His skull was half gone and the skin from his good cheek was ripped and flipped like clothes on a line. When he smiled at her his jaw came unhinged on one side and hung almost to his mangled crimson chest. His legs were nothing but bones and one leg was missing a foot. He walked toward her with a crooked hobble; his arms extended to enfold her with. The broken arm dropped sharply at the elbow and swung on just the skin. Grace continued to slowly back away. She was having cold sweats and her skin crawled. It had to be a dream but she couldn’t make herself wake up. Why couldn’t she make it stop?
As Grace suffered through her nightmare, 6535 miles away, it was 1:30 in the afternoon the next day. The North Koreans had launched a major offensive against an Allied front where Clint, and the rest of the platoon he was in, were located. The fighting, which lasted for almost the entire day, was fierce and unrelenting. The American troops were woefully outnumbered. They didn’t stand a chance against the massive onslaught brought down upon them by the enemy. Although they fought valiantly, holding on longer than anyone could have imagined, the result was still the same. Clint had taken shelter in a shallow bomb crater along with a couple of other soldiers. They took turns rising up just enough to get a few rounds off at anything that moved. Right up until their little crater took a direct hit from a mortar round. Once their position was overran and the fighting was over, the enemy soldiers took the bodies and buried them in mass graves. With no body accounted for Clint Carter was officially listed as missing-in-action.

Clint’s parents got the bad news by way of a Western Union telegraph. Grace got hers by way of friends offering their condolences.
She found it hard to cry for him in front of everyone. But she eventually did cry, in her room, alone. That’s where she went through her seven stages of grief. By the time she reached the final acceptance stage she was emotionally dried up. She boxed up all of his love letters, all of their pictures together, all of her mementos, all of their history. The only thing she kept out was his high school pin. But death is never really an end to anything. She may have secreted away Clint in a shoebox but he was everywhere. He was at the Regent movie theater where they kissed away a matinee or two in the balcony; he was at the Glover drug store soda fountain where they shared root beer floats with two straws and longing gazes; on almost every street in town where they walked together with their fingers intertwined like shoelaces; but mostly in the place where she was forced to go every day, the place that held the most ghosts of Clint Carter … Eden High. She pictured him waving to her from his locker between classes; sitting beside her in the lunchroom as he flipped gravel hard peas at his friends; on the football field, in the parking lot, there, and there. It was just too hard to escape him. She had to get away before she lost her sanity. Maybe right after she graduated.

Chapter 10

Her chance to get away came when she was accepted to Rolling River Collage (Home of the Rhinos) in Galesburg, Illinois. A quaint little affair as far as colleges go, set on a gentle rise overlooking the Mississippi River. It was close enough to home that she could drive back on the weekends if she wanted but still far enough away that she could say she was on her own. Grace caught a break on the tuition being “in state”, but it was still going to be a working tuition. She got a job bussing tables in the school cafeteria. Grace liked her classes and her job. She started smiling more and looked more toward the future and not the past. She loved it. New school, new surroundings, new Grace.

Grace stayed on campus in the girl’s dorm. She was assigned a room she had to share with another girl who hadn’t shown up yet. So Grace got first dibs on which side of the room she wanted. The white walled room was pretty basic: two twin beds, two small desks, which were barely big enough to hold typewriters and reference books at the same time, with matching steel legged chairs, and a single curtained window that made the entire cramped living quarters worth it. From the window she could see the river passing by, in all its majesty, on its trip south. She could hear the bullfrogs calling each other while the crickets serenaded them. She could smell the musky aroma of the water as it silently drifted past. She could almost envision seeing Huck Finn and Jim floating by on their way to adventure and freedom. But when she was in a melancholy mood the still of the river took her back to Fielder’s Creek. As time went by her mending heart took her there less and less. For better or worse this was going to be home for the next four years.

Grace’s roommate was Ilene Quester from Indian Bow, Nebraska. She was a skin and bones nervous Nelly that was always fidgeting and talking. A real chatterbox who would talk with her hands as well as her mouth. It seems Ilene had, at some point in time, traced her family tree all the way back to Adam and Eve, so that was where she started her one sided conversation. Grace didn’t want to be rude so she listened with all the interest of a root canal patient listening to the dentist as they worked. Grace was secretly wishing the lions in the Garden of Eden had eaten both of Ilene’s ancestors.

Chapter 11

In the fall of ’54 Grace was working in the cafeteria when she caught the eye of a gangly red haired business and economics major named Vincent Osgood. As she bussed the tables he watched her intently. For Vince it was love at first sight. Grace paid little attention to him mostly because she didn’t have the time. But Vince began to eat at the cafeteria more often. Her roommate Ilene was in one of his study groups. He hated engaging her in any type of one-on-one conversation but he bit the bullet just to find out any small scrapes of information about Grace the girl. The more he learned about her the more smitten he became. All his life Vince was self-conscious; his hair was too red; his physique too scrawny; he wasn’t athletic enough to be comfortable hanging out with the guys, and too shy to do anything with girls. But he had gotten a little better since entering college, and then Grace appeared.
One evening, just before the cafeteria closed for the night, Vince was sitting at a table supposedly studying. He was actually lost in thoughts of Grace. He had absentmindedly written her name in his notebook and was in the process of decorating it with fanciful artwork all around the page. He had his head held directly over the page as he drew, oblivious to the things happening around him. A tray of food scraps and trash sat on the table right in front of him, waiting to be picked up and thrown away. He was going to take care of it when he was ready to leave.
A hand went to pick up the tray. “Are you finished with this?” A girl’s voice asked.
Startled, Vince looked up and Grace was standing in front of him. His brain failed him.
“Are you finished?” She asked again.
“What? Yes, yes, I’m sorry. But I can get it. I was going to clear it when I was done studying.”
Grace looked at the paper. It was upside down to her. “Is that some kind of art assignment?”
“This? No. It’s just … I’m not really sure what it is.”
“May I?” Grace asked. Before Vince could answer Grace spun the notebook around. “Hmm, let’s see. The word grace with fancy drawings all around it. The word grace usually has some type of religious meaning attached to it. I’ve been watching you while you were working on it. It looked like you were putting some pretty deep thought into it. Are you taking theology classes?”
“No, business and economics.”
“Well, if it doesn’t have anything to do with religion then it must be someone’s name. She must be pretty important to you for you to put that much time and effort into dressing up her name like that.” Grace spun the tablet back around and slid it back in front of him. “But then, I’m kind of partial to that name. I’m Grace Jenkins by the way.” She stuck out her hand in Vincent’s direction.
Vince stood up. He could have said, ‘I know you are. I could write a biography of you.’ But he didn’t. He took the offered hand with a weak grip, smiled at her, and said, “I’m Vincent Osgood, but everybody calls me Vince.”
Grace smiled back. “Well, everybody calls me Vince, everybody calls me Grace. I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet.” She let go of his hand. Vince wasn’t happy about giving it up but he did. Grace picked his tray back up. “You’ve been coming in here a lot. You either like the food or have a cast-iron stomach.”
“I was thinking I might change majors. If I eat here enough I could become a professional cadaver for the medical department.”
Grace gave a soft laugh. “Good one, Vince, good one. If you’re serious about that, try the clam chowder next time it’s on special.”
“I’ll do that,” Vince said smiling at her.
Grace looked around at the almost empty cafeteria. “Look, I’ve got to get busy, we’re about to close up for the night. It was nice meeting you, Vincent. And the next time you see your Grace tell her I said hi.” Then she started to walk away.
Vince was in a panic. “Grace?” He called out. She stopped and turned to look at him. “There isn’t a “my Grace” anymore.”(Vince did the air quotes.)
Grace gave him a pity expression. “I’m sorry.”
Vince waved it off. “It was probably for the best anyway. But I was wondering if you would care to help a poor man heal a broken heart? You know, maybe go get a cup of coffee after you get off work. I know a nice all night coffee shop not too far from here.”
Grace was leery. She’d seen him here enough times that she assumed he was a student. But you never know. “Let me think about it.” She said.
“I’ll be right here.” Vince replied. Then he sat down and began piling his books and tablets in a neat stack.
Grace went in back and told a couple of her co-worker friends about him. They snuck up to the kitchen door and peeked out at him. One of the girls told Grace he was in her lit class. She said he seemed harmless enough but he had a missing little finger on his right hand that kind of grossed her out. Grace told them he asked her to go with him for coffee after work. They bobbed their heads and gave her those deep frown yeah-okay expressions. Grace was nervous. It had been so long since she’d had this kind of interaction with a man. Since Clint as a matter of fact. She rolled it over in her head. Almost two years. That certainly is long enough, isn’t it? Besides, it isn’t like it was a date or anything, she was going to help someone going through an emotional time. That’s all. She could relate to that. Maybe helping him will also help her. She decided to do it. She told her friends of her decision and then told them where he was taking her. If she turned up dead they could tell the police what she said.
At the end of her shift Grace walked up to Vince’s table. He was sitting patiently with his hands folded on top of his pile of books. Grace shot a quick glance at his hands and noticed the missing finger. She wished her friend hadn’t said anything. She gave him a nervous smile. He was expecting the worst. “Are you ready to go?” Grace asked him.
Vince broke out with a big wide smile. “I sure am!”
They talked and laughed and told each other stories about things that happened in their lives. Vincent grew up in a small town in Michigan that bordered on Lake Huron. When Grace asked how he lost his finger he told her it happened in a freak swimming accident; something about a Great Lake fresh water shark bit it off. She believed him at first of course, why would he lie? But he couldn’t hold back his telltale grin. She felt foolish at first but then began to laugh at how absurd it really sounded. Grace had forgotten how good it felt to laugh so freely. Without going into too much detail she told him about the skinny-dipping episode with Clint and how they almost got caught. Vince said if he had been skinny-dipping when the shark got him he would have lost more than his finger. As the evening wore on the conversation went from carefree to serious. She told him all about Eden and Clint and growing up on a farm and about his dying in Korea. Vince told her about the ribbing he got about his hair and how he lost his finger when he was playing with a pocket knife.
The evening ended with plans to do it again. That one led to another, then another, then turned into study sessions and movie dates and school sport activities, and all kinds of other excuses to enjoy each other’s company. All those dates culminated in Grace’s first sexual experience in the late spring of ‘55. And finally to Arthur and Blanch Jenkins inviting family and friends to witness the marriage of their daughter, Grace Louise Jenkins, to Vincent Jerome Osgood, on Saturday, July 14th, Nineteen Hundred and Fifty-Six, at 2:00 in the afternoon at the Holy Heart Baptist Church in Eden Illinois (with the reception immediately following at the Elks Lodge).

Chapter 12

A week after graduation from Rolling River College, Vince started a job in the accounting department at the Brockman-Stone Department Store in Royville, Indiana. Grace managed to get a job as a grade school teacher in the public school system.
Vince found his job interesting and exciting. After all, it was what he went to college to learn. He had lofty visions of moving up the company ladder using his business degree as a stepping stone. Eventually becoming president and expanding the store chain from sea to shining sea, and perhaps even beyond. But as time passed he made it as far as middle management and no further. He was being passed over by others with degrees from more prestigious universities. The only thing that kept him sane was his love for Grace and the promise to always take care of her.
Grace too was going through her own bout of long term anxiety. She loved her job. Teaching first graders was fun and rewarding. But surrounded by so many happy-go-lucky children made Grace yearn to have a few of her own. They tried for several years with no results. Grace had tests done and she passed them all with flying colors, but Vincent was found to be impotent. Lazy swimmers they called it. Grace had looked into adoption but Vince wouldn’t entertain anything along those lines. He said he didn’t want to be reminded every day of the fact that he could never be a real father. She tried to convince Vince that the child wouldn’t care, as long he loved him. But in the end Vince was too ashamed of himself because he let Grace down. They settled for a cat. And Grace looked upon her class every year as if they were her own.
But life for Mr. and Mrs. Osgood was not all gloom. Between their two paychecks they lived comfortably. They lived in a two bedroom Tudor home on a little plot of land directly across the street from a city park. They decorated their house to the nines during the Christmas season and in the summertime they’d sit together on their front porch swing and watch the park come to life. Grace had the summers off with schools closed so Vince would schedule two weeks off in a row so they could plan a travel vacation to a different state every year. Grace wanted to get a commemorative thimble from every state. She knew it was silly but a lot of memories can fit in a thimble. Grace was very happy with her life. Her husband loved her and treated her like a queen; she never wanted for anything because her tastes weren’t extravagant; she even cut down on her smoking to just a pack a day. Her only real complaint was aches and pains that were becoming a bit more noticeable in intensity. But that was probably just age beginning to creep up on her.

Chapter 13

In 1986, Vince and Grace celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary with a trip to Idaho. Grace got her thirtieth thimble. While on the trip Vince noticed Grace was raspy and winded easily. He had been nagging her for years to stop smoking but she said it calmed her nerves. And since he couldn’t tell her no he didn’t push the issue. But now it was becoming chronic. Maybe she was coming down with a bad chest cold. She had a particularly bad coughing spell that doubled her over.
“Are you okay?” Vince asked as her patted her back. It didn’t seem to be helping but it was the thing one always did to help someone in that situation.
Grace raised herself up slightly from the waist and tried to take in a half way decent breath. The extra air made her cough even more. It finally subsided to a few short gurgling hacks and then ended all together. She looked at Vince. Her face was flushed from the exertion. She was breathing in as she talked. “Yes, I’m fine now,” she wheezed. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
“It sounds like you have pneumonia. And that habit of yours isn’t helping any.”
“I know. I know. I need to quit.”
“As soon as we get home I want you to go see Kasternack.” Gordon Kasternack was their family physician.
Grace nodded. She had been hesitant to tell Vince about her health problems and dreaded making an appointment to see the doctor. But she couldn’t hide it any longer. “I will. I’ve just been holding it off.”
“Why?” Vince couldn’t understand how Grace could jeopardize her health this way, let alone keep something like this from him.
“I don’t know, scared I guess.” Her voice trailed off. “I hoped it would clear up on its own. And if my problem is bad news it doesn’t really exist until the doctor tells me what it is. Crazy, huh.”
Vince put an arm around her waist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Nothing crazy about it at all, Grace. But whatever it is, I’m right beside you. I promised you I’d be here in sickness and in health and I’m a man of my word. Besides, you’re the only one I know who’d put up with someone like me.” He kissed her on her temple. She smiled and did a small cough.

Upon returning Grace went to see Dr. Kasternack. He in turn ordered a barrage of tests. Starting with blood work and urine and stool samples, then onto both a PET/CT scan and a MRI. Kasternack wanted to leave no stone unturned. In August of 1986, Grace Osgood was fifty-one years old and was told they had found possible tumors on her lungs. Her doctor then set her up with an oncologist named Taksheel Mehta. He performed the surgery to remove them. They were sent away for a biopsy. Once the test results were back, Mehta scheduled a consultation with Grace and Vince to go over the findings. He told them the tumors were malignant but he thought he had gotten them all during the operation. But just to be on the safe side he was going to order a cycle of chemotherapy administered on Mondays and Thursdays through a PICC (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) line placed in her neck. Those treatments will be bolstered with radiation therapy on Tuesdays and Fridays. The entire process would take six weeks. Mehta admitted the treatment was very aggressive but he wanted to make sure it was taken care of the first time around. He hated seeing patients more than once. It meant he wasn’t doing his job.
Time can be so cruel. Those six weeks only took forty-two days. That was the nicety of it. The illusion time projected was how it aged Grace ten years in looks and seemed to take a lifetime. Six weeks of hell on earth. The side effects of the treatment were worse than the disease. First came the everyday nausea and vomiting, then the hair loss, and both of those were wrapped up in an endless debilitating ache that wore her down until she didn’t have the strength to drag herself out of bed. By the middle of the second week Grace was praying to die and get it over with. But Vince wouldn’t let her. For the six week ordeal Vince took a medical leave of absence. He fixed her tea and toast for breakfast. He fed her soda crackers after each treatment to help with the nausea. He gently held the small wisp of hair she had while she threw-up what little she did manage to eat. Then, in most cases, he would carry her back to bed. Sometimes he would sit with her head resting in his lap until his legs tingled and fell asleep, not wanting to dare move because she was resting so peacefully at last. As she slept he watched her poor tired chest go up and down with each labored breath. It was times like these when he prayed to God He would make her well again. Or he would offer Satan his soul to let him trade places with her just to end her suffering. He hated to see the love of his life suffering so and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Grace was everything to Vincent, his soulmate, his best friend, his oxygen, and his reason for living. He couldn’t imagine his life without Grace in it. And he told her that every day every time he said he loved her. He told her she couldn’t go yet because she still had so many more thimbles to get. She always gave him a weak smile when he said that. It seems a thimble can also hold a lot of strength.
Six weeks, a month and a half, finally drifted by like the river that ambled past her dorm room window. Her test results looked encouraging. The cancer had gone into remission. Dr. Mehta felt they had caught it in time. Of course she would be taking medications for the rest of her life. But at least she had a “rest of her life” to look forward to. And the pills were a lot easier to take than the radiation and heavy doses of chemo she just had to endure. When the PICC line was removed Grace felt lucky to be alive. She had cheated the Grim Reaper. Things were starting to look up again. She knew she couldn’t have done it without Vince by her side. Encouraging her. Helping her. Loving her. And the least she could do for him, and for herself, was to quit smoking. It had been thirty-six years since that first awkward puff in the summer 1950, that summer of firsts. And Grace had been a steady smoker since the day Vince left for boot camp. Relying on that tobacco calm like a crutch. But now she realized Vince could calm her better than any cigarette. So she did it. She became a quitter. Grace would not light another cigarette until …

Chapter 14

November 30, 2000 was a chilly day. Vincent had been retired almost a year and a half but he was a creature of habit. He still woke up every morning around 6 AM like a machine. Habits give old retirees a reason to keep going. It’s how they measure the progress of the day, the time to shut off the television, and the satisfaction of their existence. Vince shuffled down the stairs and crossed the living room to look out the window of the front door. As was his daily habit. Everything had a coating of frost. On the mornings when the weather was bad Vince thanked God he was retired and didn’t have to go out in it. And on the mornings when the weather was good he thanked God he was retired and could go out and enjoy it. This particular morning he was glad he didn’t have to go out. He turned and headed to the kitchen for the next leg of his routine, making coffee. He made a pot and poured himself a cup. He sat down at the kitchen table to look out into the backyard while the aroma of the coffee took its time to wind its way upstairs to wake up Grace and bring down his sunshine to join him. It usually took about an hour.
Around ten to seven Grace smelled the fresh brewed coffee. She sat up in bed and swung herself around to the edge so her feet hit the floor. She slid her feet into her slippers and picked up the housecoat lying at the end of the bed. She took another deep breath of the delicious scent and headed for the stairs. When she entered the kitchen there was Vincent in his usual spot, staring out the window with his back to her. She was sure he had heard her coming and was sporting a Cheshire cat grin. He usually did. He had two fingers hooked through the handle of his favorite cup and a tiny wisp of steam drifted out of it.
The slight nip in the air made Grace do a little shiver. “Brrr, it’s chilly this morning,” Grace commented. “I’m thinking some hot oatmeal would hit the spot on a morning like this. What do you think, Honey?” There was no response from Vincent. Either he fell back asleep, which sometimes happens, or he forgot to turn on his hearing aid, which was probably more the case. She just needed to be a bit more vocal that’s all. “Honey! Do you want some oatmeal or eggs this morning?” Still no response. She turned and looked at him. “Vince? Honey?” She spoke louder.
She began to shake and her legs felt like rubber as she walked over to the seat next to him. His eyes were closed. Yep, he fell back into a deep sleep. And no doubt he didn’t turn on the hearing aid either. A double whammy. She thought about reaching over and giving him a little shake but decided against it. He was sleeping so peacefully. So she settled on just watching him.
It didn’t take Grace long to notice that his chest wasn’t moving. She reached over to take the coffee cup out of his hand. Despite the cup still being warm the back of his hand was cold. She reached over and felt his cheek. It was as cool as the linoleum floor. She got up and squatted down beside him. Her hands trembled as she caressed his cheeks. Warm salty tears ran down her own.
“Oh, Vincent, I’m so sorry. I love you.” She put her cheek against his and whispered in his ear. “I never told you enough. I never told you I still have the notebook page, you know, the one you wrote my name on and drew all around.” She grinned. “I knew you were in love with me. My roommate told me. She said you were asking her a lot of questions about me.” She looked back at his closed eyes. “I wasn’t sure I could love someone else after Clint, but I did. I loved you, Vince. And I always will.” She grinned again. “I sound like a teenager in high school, don’t I?” The smile disappeared. “What am I going to do now, Honey? You’re the one who wakes me up every morning. When I was going through chemo you said I couldn’t die because we still had more thimbles to get. I’m the one who’s supposed to go first, not you. I’m the sick one. I’m so sorry. I love you.” She leaned over and gently kissed his forehead and then on his lips. Then she sat back in her seat and looked, numb and lost, at her husband of forty-four years.

A neighbor drove Grace to the hospital right behind the ambulance. She sat with Grace in the emergency waiting area while a doctor examined Vincent. After a couple of hours a nurse walked out and called Grace’s name. Grace stood up and so did the neighbor. Grace touched her arm and told her she would be back in a little bit. The neighbor offered to go with her, not wanting her to be alone at a time like this. But Grace shook her head and told her she would be okay. Then Grace turned and followed the nurse through the automatic doors.
The nurse led Grace to a room down a dimly lit hall. The room had a small table with two chairs, two sofas barely big enough to hold three people each, with a table between them holding a lamp, a box of Kleenex, and a bible. Grace sat at the table and stared at the pamphlets for counseling services and funeral home facilities. Another box of Kleenex sat beside them. Grace pulled one out and blew her nose. Another one came out to sponge up the intermittent tears. The room seemed warm compared to the main waiting area where her neighbor still sat. But then Grace still had her coat buttoned up because all she had on was a night gown and a housecoat. She didn’t think to get dressed before the EMS arrived. She was too much in shock to think of anything. Did she shut off the coffeepot? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Vince was gone. She dabbed at her eyes some more and swiped her runny nose. She tossed it in a wastebasket beside her and grabbed another tissue. Her neighbor came over when she seen the flashing lights of the ambulance stop next door. Did the neighbor lady shut off the coffeepot? Who knows? Who cares? Vince was gone.
The doctor came in followed by a thin woman in a dark pantsuit. The doctor was wearing hospital supplied scrubs with the facilities name stitched on the left chest, Hope Memorial Hospital. Grace would have laughed if it wasn’t so damned ironic. ‘Hope my ass.’ She thought. The doctor sat down across from her in the other chair, the woman sat on the sofa closest to them and leaned in their direction.
The doctor held out his hand. “I’m Jonas Wellman (‘Another piece of useless irony,’ Grace thought. But she took his hand anyway in a grip that wouldn’t have squashed a gnat. Then she slid her hand back out.) and this is Mrs. Andrews.”
“Nancy,” the thin woman said as she leaned toward Grace and extended her hand. Grace took it but the contact seemed almost nonexistent, like two butterflies touching. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Grace gave her a half smile as a kind of thank you and turned back to the doctor.
“I know this is a very rough time for you right now,” the doctor started, “but we’re here to help you try and make some sense of this and to hopefully answer any questions you might have. I did a preliminary examination of your husband and Nancy can help you figure out what to do next.”
Grace just looked at him. Tears toppled over the bottom of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Nancy hurried over and knelt in front of her. She patted and rubbed her arm. “That’s all right, Grace. How long were you married?”
Grace looked at Nancy kneeling in front of her. Grace swiped her hands over her cheeks. “Forty-four years.” She replied. “He retired a couple of years ago. We were looking forward to having all of this time together. (A couple of tears worked their way down.) We still have seven more to get.” Her voice began to crack.
“Seven more what, Grace?” Nancy rubbed Grace’s arm softly trying to keep her focused on the present.
Grace did a so-what shrug and waggled her head a smidge as if she were thinking to herself but her head was as empty as her heart. Maybe it was shock? That had to be it. She couldn’t hold a thought to save her life. When Vince left he must have taken her sanity with him. All she was capable of doing was staring at the pattern in the carpeting and wringing her tears out of the poor tissue she was strangling. Her mind a total blank.
“What do you need to get seven more of, Grace?”
Grace suddenly came back. “Oh, thimbles. We collected commemorative state thimbles. Every year on vacation we went to a different state and picked up a thimble while we were there. It was my idea to collect them and I can’t recall how many times I told Vince they were just mini dust collectors. But he’d always pick one up at some gift shop when I wasn’t looking. Then he’d give it to me when we got back out to the car. Whenever he seen me looking at them at home he’d come up beside me and put his arm around me and he’d say it was hard to believe how so much of us could fit in those little thimbles. (Grace smiled.) Forty-four years, forty-four thimbles. For what?”
“For the memories,” Nancy said. “That’s why anybody collects anything. As a reminder of a time or event when they were happy. Just like now, Grace, you’re thinking about those thimbles and you’re remembering the trips you two took to get them. You’ll always have those happy times, Grace. Not even Vince passing can take those away.”
Grace put her hand up and held Nancy’s hand in place. “I know you’re right, Nancy. I guess I just always thought I’d go first. Vince was as healthy as a horse, never a sick day in his life. And when I saw him sitting at the table so peaceful …” Grace trailed off and noticed the pattern in the carpet again.
“Grace?” It was Dr. Wellman. “There wasn’t anything you could have done to help him.” She already knew that. “His heart was a ticking time bomb. He probably didn’t even know it. Somewhere between six-thirty and seven o’clock his heart simply exploded.” Grace gave a small jerk back in her seat from surprise. Nancy looked at Wellman with a what-the-hell-are-you-thinking glare. His return look said, what? Wellman quickly turned back to Grace. “He didn’t feel a thing, Grace. To him it was like passing out.” Wellman’s pager went off and he took it off his belt and looked at it. “I’m sorry but I have to take this,” he said standing up. “Again. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Osgood.” With that he left the room and Nancy took his seat.
It was Nancy’s turn to fill in the potholes on Grace’s bumpy road to recovery.

Nancy talked with Grace about her responsibilities, the things she needed to arrange. With Grace being alone Nancy offered her all the help she needed. Nancy left Grace a card with her phone number on it and instructions to call her any time. After Nancy left, Grace went to see Vincent one more time before going home. By the time Grace went back to the emergency waiting room it was almost noon. She found her neighbor sitting up in a chair sound asleep. She looked like Vince. Only this time when Grace spoke the deceased came back to life.
Her neighbor jerked awake with surprise. Her hand went to the corner of her mouth to wipe at what she felt was a bit of sleep drool. “Oh, sorry. I must have doze off.” She quickly stood up.
“That’s okay. I’m the one who should apologize. It took me longer than I had expected. Sorry.”
“Are you alright?” The neighbor lady asked. “Are you ready to go back home?”
Grace nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You can spend the day with me,” the lady offered. “I already called in a personal day from work.”
“You didn’t have to do that. Now I feel bad. Go ahead and go to work. I’ll call a cab or take the bus.”
“Not dressed like that you aren’t.” Grace had forgotten all about the fact she was still wearing her sleep attire. And she didn’t bring any money with her. “I’ll take you back home. You can do whatever it is you have to do and if you need anyone to help you, or if you just want to talk, I’ll be right next door. Okay?”
Grace nodded a thank you.
Once home Grace got cleaned up and dressed. She was antsy. She didn’t want to sit. It was like high school all over again when Clint’s ghosts haunted her everywhere. Now it was Vince. She dumped the coffee he had made. It was his coffee. She washed out the cup he used. After she washed it she held in her hand and stared at it. His fingers were crooked through the handle last. Would she ever be able to drink out of it again? Would she be able to watch others using it? She opened the cabinet door below the sink and pulled out the wastebasket. She gently placed the coffee cup in the trash and then quickly ripped off a handful of paper towels to cover it up with. She knew she couldn’t get rid of his memory by throwing away everything. She needed to relax. It hadn’t even been a day yet and she was already going insane. She thought she was going to explode. She went back upstairs and stripped the sheets off the bed and remade it with clean ones. The “infested” ones went in the washer. That wasn’t enough. She looked around with a nervous agitation. So much to do! Where to start? Where to start? She had to purge the house somehow. But where to start? She knew she wasn’t thinking straight but she couldn’t help it. Maybe the neighbor lady could help clean Vince out? She went to the phone and picked up the receiver. She stared at the push buttons and then her brain dredged up a memory of something Clint had said so many years ago at Fielder’s Creek, “That’s how FDR made it through the war.” Grace put the phone down, grabbed her purse, coat, and car keys.
At the grocery store Grace picked up a TV dinner, a bottle of wine, and two packs of cigarettes.

She made it through those trying times. With the help of neighbors, friends, volunteering, and a renewed pack-a-day habit. And once her cancer medications ran out she never bothered to have the prescriptions renewed. Since she started smoking again, why bother? It would be like trying to keep your car from going over a cliff by throwing pebbles under the tires. Two other things she didn’t do: She didn’t travel and she didn’t throw away her thimble collection. She still needed seven more.
Grace contacted a travel agency. The woman she talked to was very helpful. After Grace explained she was a widow and leery of traveling alone, the woman suggested that Grace should join a travel club. The woman described it as an old school e-harmony for geriatrics. In fact the travel agent did a quick laugh right after she said it. She probably thought Grace would too, but she didn’t. The woman stopped abruptly. So Grace made arrangements to resume the thimble gathering. She was afraid to spend money. Since Vince had passed away (almost two years now) she had been dipping into the savings more often than she wanted. But hey, you can’t take it with you.
So over the course of the next eleven years Grace had picked up six more thimbles, pains in her chest, and a nagging cough with a shortness of breath. It seems calmness comes with a price.

Chapter 15

Grace made two appointments for the morning of July 11, 2013. The first one was with her travel agent to make arrangements for her final thimble. After living her entire married life in Indiana it was the only thimble she didn’t have. At first she considered just going to a gift shop and buying one, but where’s the fun in that? Her travel agent had set up a colorful fall train trip to Evansville, Indiana, then a riverboat cruise up the Ohio River to Cincinnati, and finishing it off with a scenic bus tour back to Royville. A memorable time worth every penny. Grace paid for the trip and received her itinerary.
Her second stop was the one she was dreading. She had seen her Oncologist, Dr. Mehta, about her chest and cough. Tests were run and his office nurse had called Grace to let her know the results were back and that he wanted to see her in his office as soon as possible. Good news is dealt with over the phone, bad news demands a face-to-face. Today was the day.
She smoked a cigarette on the way there to settle her nerves. But then she was smoking a pack a day. She was only kidding herself to think she needed an excuse to light up. She’d burn a cancer stick if the weatherman predicted a thunderstorm or if her paperboy sported another pimple. She smoked one just in case the last one didn’t take. Mostly she smoked because she just didn’t care about living the future alone.
Mehta confirmed what Grace had already suspected, the cancer was back. This time with a vengeance. Grace was seventy-eight now and the doctor told her at her advanced age she would not be able to withstand any extreme therapy like she had twenty years earlier. And even though cancer treatments had advanced, any treatment would still take a terrible toll on her body. He said they could try a milder treatment but it would take longer to see any results, if there were any at all. Then he tempered this with a less than exciting prognosis. Given her age, her quality and length of life would not be improved by any great amount. If she did nothing and let the cancer continue at its current rate, she was looking at seven to eight months. Tops. With light chemo and radiation, maybe a year and half, two if she’s lucky. Grace didn’t flinch.
From her reaction, Mehta assumed Grace had already suspected what his news would be. He also smelled the cigarette smoke on her clothes. He wasn’t about to tell her to quit. At this late stage it wouldn’t change anything anyway. “Grace, as your physician I’m obligated to tell you to never give up hope. Miracles do happen. Who knows, some new drug could be available for human testing. I can make some calls and see what I can find out, if you like? (Grace waved him off. Mehta was a little disappointed but not surprised.) I think you should go home and give it some thought, Grace. If you change your mind and decide to go with the therapy we need to get it started as soon as we can. But as your friend, and I hope I am a friend, should you choose to let nature take its course, then I’ll try to make it as comfortable and painless as possible.” He wrote something down on a small notepad on his desk and then ripped it off and stood up walking around from behind his desk. He handed it to Grace. She looked at it. It was his cell phone number. “Grace, if you decide the treatments aren’t for you, I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, I don’t know what I’d do if I was in your shoes. But I want you to know I’m here for you. Feel free to call me anytime, day or night, if you feel things are getting to be more than you can bare or even if you just want a shoulder to cry on. My door is always open to you.”
Grace was touched by his sincerity. Her eyes began to tear up. Then the doctor gave her a hug and gently rubbed her back for comfort.
“Thank you,” she said. She put the scrape of paper in her purse and left his office.
Once she was back in her car, she lit a cigarette to calm her nerves. It’s what she needed to help her win her war.

Chapter 16

As Grace approached the intersection of Falcon and Skinner, at three forty-seven in the afternoon, her mind was a melting pot of confusion. Everything was clogging her brain. Her visit with the doctor; her thimble trip; would she even live long enough to make the trip; she needed to make an appointment with a funeral home; she could contact the one she used for Vince; a million things to do. Where to begin? Where to begin?
She looked up and saw the light was green. As she entered the intersection a sweet soft smile spread across her lips.
A black panel van came from out of nowhere and slammed into her right front quarter panel, jarring her back to reality. But she had no time react. All she could manage was to widen her eyes in horror, grip the steering wheel a bit harder, and scream. The force of the van pushed her side of the car into the lane of oncoming traffic. Her left front fender made contact with the driver’s side fender of another car causing Grace’s fender to buckle as if it was made of papier-mâché. Grace drove a nineteen-seventy model car that predated air bags, so nothing exploded from her steering wheel to protect her from the impact. Instead the steering wheel and column rammed into her cancer laden chest like a wrecking ball, crushing her ribs and lungs and demolishing her heart, much like Vince’s some twenty years earlier. She died instantly. No more fear; no more pain; no more loneliness; no more fretting over a slow and agonizing death. No fiftieth thimble.

Had Grace lived through that terrible crash, she would have told you why she smiled just seconds before she entered the intersection. She would have sworn to you, upon all that she holds dear, that she heard the voices of Clint Carter and Vincent Osgood telling her that everything was going to be all right.