You Can Tell Me Later

The metronome-like beeping of the heart monitor held dominion over the room while Grandfather slept.

Near the large window, Bill sat in a chair that most hospitals probably considered comfortable. It wasn’t, but it didn’t really matter. He stared out at the evening and watched the sun slide slowly, inexorably down beyond the silhouetted mountains in the distance. Turning, he looked at his Grandmother sitting beside the bed, gazing at the man with whom she had spent the better part of her life. She gently cradled his gnarled hand in both of hers. Her face shone with the tapestry of emotions a person experiences when the end of a loved one is near. Concern, devotion, sadness, fear… all of it mingled with the gentle tears upon her cheeks. She glanced toward Bill and their eyes met briefly before her gaze traveled to the scene outside and the sky awash with spectacular color.

“Oh, how beautiful,” Harriet sighed. “Wallace would love that.”

Bill nodded. “Yes, Gran, he would. He loves the end of the day, doesn’t he?” Both he and his grandmother sighed again at the vibrant display.

A gasping cry shattered the stillness. They turned to see Wallace sitting up, his wide eyes scanning the room in confusion. His frightened stare fell upon his wife, and his expression eased. Smiling weakly, he slumped back against the pillows, using what strength he had to hold her gaze. There was nothing else for him now but the love of this woman at his side.

He whispered a word. “Oslo.”

Harriet’s eyes welled with tears. “We’ll go soon,” she told him. “We’ll have a fine time.”

Bill looked on, knowing his grandparents’ dream had always been to visit Norway. They had never had the financial means. And now…

Wallace squeezed his wife’s hand and glanced toward the window and his grandson. He smiled, and then his eyes were slowly drawn to the stunning view framed perfectly by the window. His heart swelled. He wanted desperately to be a part of it, to be in the midst of that warm, streaming light.

Wallace’s sudden burst of energy quickly faded. He coughed several times and slid further down into his bed. His eyes closed.

Grandmother and grandson looked at each other knowingly.

The clock ticked. The monitor beeped. The brilliant splash of the sunset began to muddy and fade.

Wallace’s eyes sprang open again, startling them. The old man’s lips parted, his jaw moved, but there was no sound. He looked again at the view through the window and then frantically back at his wife.

Breathlessly, he spoke another single word. “Desk.”

Harriet patted his hand and looked at Bill. She shrugged slightly and shook her head. “Yes, yes, my darling. It’s dusk. It will soon be dark.”

Wallace’s brow furrowed. He looked confused again. He coughed, gasped, and fell back, immobile against the pillows.

The machine at his bedside beeped once, twice, and then slipped into a single, extended tone.

- - - - -

A week later, Harriet led Bill into Wallace’s study. He had always called it his fine and quiet place.

“Thank you for all your help with the funeral Billy. It’s been much easier with you around. Your grandfather would have been thrilled to know you are going to use his desk at college.”

Bill wheeled the furniture dolly through the door. “You know I’m here for you, Gran. Whatever you need, just ask.” He glanced about the room, and his chest tightened. “I miss him.”

His grandmother nodded. She drew in a deep breath and then waved a hand toward the large, wooden desk. “I’ve emptied all the drawers. We just need to clear the top, and it’s ready to go.”

Bill grinned. “Thanks Gran. I’m glad my dorm room’s big enough for it. Knowing it was his desk will help me stay on track. It’ll be like he’s there with me, encouraging me, helping me… watching me.”

His grandmother smiled at him. “Yes he will, Billy. So you make him proud, okay? And try to keep your ‘stupid’ decisions to no more than one a week.”

Bill laughed. “He always did say that, didn’t he? But, did he really manage to do that?”

She thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes… for the most part he did.”

Harriet gave his hand a comforting pat and then turned to begin clearing the desktop. She grabbed the stack of paper trays and set them on the floor in the corner. Bill unplugged his grandfather’s laptop and set it beside the trays. Harriet grabbed the houseplant from one front corner as Bill reached for the unusual, lidded vase that had always occupied the other corner. He’d never given it much thought, but now, he turned it over in his hands, studying it.

“Hey, Gran, what exactly is this?”

His grandmother’s eyes twinkled. “It’s your seventh cousin, Millicent.”

Bill blanched and quickly set the vase back down on the desk. “Really? I… didn’t even know I had one of those… a seventh cousin, I mean. Gramps never mentioned her.”

Harriet lightly touched the urn. “She died a year before I met Wallace. He said she was a distant relative with no other family. He didn’t really like to talk about her, but he felt strongly that he should care for her remains. I always thought she had a funny name.”

She lifted the urn and showed Bill the engraved bottom: Millicent Baldwood Ecks: August 17th, 1948 – September 10th, 1971.

Bill read the inscription aloud and then chuckled, “Wow. Cousin Millie, huh? And she was only 24 years old when she died. How sad.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Wallace said he didn’t really know much about her.”

Bill smiled. “Well, I guess the two of them can get caught up now, yeah?”

His grandmother grinned. “I suppose you’re right about that.” She carefully placed the urn on a nearby shelf.

The desk now cleared, Bill squatted to lift one end, tilting it up on its side and onto his pre-positioned dolly. As he did so, there was an audible thunk from within. Harriet frowned.

“What was that? I emptied the drawers.”

Bill bent down to examine the underside. He spotted a wooden, box-like protrusion on the back of one of the drawers. He ran his fingers around the sides of it and discovered a handle. He gave it a tug. A small panel flipped down, and a little black book tumbled out.

Harriet’s mouth fell open in surprise when Bill handed the book to her. She took it slowly, almost reluctantly.

“What could this be, I wonder?” she whispered. “Wallace never mentioned it.”

She sat down heavily in her late husband’s chair and stared at the book in her hands. It made her uneasy. She had no idea why she should feel that way about it, but Wallace had never kept anything from her. This… was quite unexpected.

“Shall I leave you alone, Gran?”

Harriet glanced at her grandson and slowly shook her head. “No. No, it’s fine, dear.” She paused, thinking, and then said, “You know… I don’t think your grandfather’s final word was dusk. I think maybe it was desk”.

Bill raised an eyebrow.

Harriet opened the book. The words were penned in Wallace’s elegant script. It wrung her heart to see it and realize that she would never see anything new written by him again. She cleared her throat and began to read the words aloud.

“My beloved,

There is a part of my life I have never shared with you. The pain was just too great. But now, as the end is suddenly near, I wanted to write this down. I had hoped to tell you all of this next year, on our fiftieth anniversary. It was going to be my gift to you. But, I fear that I will not see that day.

Two years before we met, I fell in love. She was brilliant. She was beautiful. She was perfect.

She became the very reason for my existence.”

Harriet choked on the words, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but continued reading:

“We were strangers, had met in line at the post office near the bulletin board with the FBI most-wanted posters. She smelled great.

The postal clerk was moving at a snail’s pace while the people in line grumbled. And then, this delicately scented woman pointed at one of the posters and said, “I’ll bet this guy could do a better job.”

I chuckled and added “…and still get in a couple good murders before 5 o’clock.”

We laughed together then and, in that moment, I loved her. Within a week we were spending every spare minute together. After a month, we were engaged. We set our wedding date for a year later so as to properly get to know one another. But only two weeks before our wedding… I lost her. She was killed, senselessly murdered, her body abandoned in some unknown place. I could never speak of it. It almost destroyed me.

The police quickly discovered who did it. The evil man had eluded them for years. They showed me photos of him, trying to make some sort of connection, some reason for him having taken my love. I didn’t recognize him, had never heard his name. But just knowing that he was still out there, living his life…it ate at me. Eventually I couldn’t face my own life. I…I just left. I left everything, everyone. Nothing mattered. I ended up in flea-bag hotels, ate at ratty restaurants, just going through the motions.

And then, one day, there he was… sitting in a back booth in the same crappy diner where I sat, indifferently staring at my meat loaf. I got up and used the pay phone on the corner. The police came quietly, no sirens, no lights. They took him quietly too. They walked out with him like they were coming out of church.

Some weeks later they brought me the reward. It was big – more than enough to change my life. But I couldn’t bring myself to spend it. I decided that I’d use some of it for my lost love’s funeral and give the rest away. But they never found her body. There was nothing to bury. Still, I kept the urn I’d gotten for her ashes. It reminded me of her, of the joyful love we had shared.

I eventually went back to my old routine. Work helped. Time dulled the pain. And then, one day, love walked back in. It stepped right up to my counter, smiled, and my life began again. Thank you, my love, my darling my Harriet. Know that I miss you and adore you.

And by now, I’m sure you’ve guessed that I never had a seventh cousin Millicent. I just needed to share with you, my final love, the cherished memory of Millicent, my first love - a rich memory that rests now in a fine and quiet place, where X marks the spot.

Yours forever, Wallace”

Harriet stopped reading. The room, for a moment, held no sound other than the ticking of a clock. Together, she and Bill turned to look at the urn. Bill retrieved it and once again turned it upside down before handing it to Harriet. His grandmother smiled serenely and read, “Millicent Baldwood Ecks… Ecks marks the spot.”

She twisted off the bottom of the urn. A cloth bundle slid out into her lap. Inside the wrapping was $20,000 in crisp, new, hundred dollar bills... from 1971.

Bill gasped and said, “In their condition those bills are worth a lot more than that!”

“All this time,” she said incredulously. Then she opened the little black book again and read Wallace’s final words:

“PS: Go to Oslo - so you can tell me all about it later.”