Tom's Crosley

"Tom, are you there?"

"Ed?" Tom asked, over the static.

"Yes, Tom, I'm...." Thunder cracked violently above the house, cutting Ed out. Tom held the phone away from his ear while it passed.

"Give Gracie our best." Ed came through the receiver, once more.

"Ed, tell Marion that we miss her."

"Will do Tom, is there anything else?"

Rubbing his chin a moment, Tom thought.

"Yes Ed, there is one more thing," but the line was dead.

***

The following evening, in his study, Tom pushed himself up from the chair, before moving his seventy-year-old frame slowly to the liquor cabinet.

After taking out two glasses, he filled them both with Cognac. Then, carrying them carefully back to the desk, he set them down in a ceremonious manner, one beside the other.

Settling into the chair again, he positioned himself behind one of the glasses, when the phone rang.

"Tom?" Ed spoke on the other end.

"Hey Ed, you're never late are you?"

"No way my friend, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Hell of a storm last night huh?"

"Are we ready then?" Tom asked, raising a glass.

"Always, my dear friend, always."

"To friends then," Tom said, before draining the Cognac empty in one pull. The silence indicated that Ed was doing the same.

After a moment, Tom spoke.

"Ed, you know, I miss Washington Park the most, I think."

"Yes...Washington Park. Those were the days, eh Tom?"

Tom had been thinking about their favorite table, the one with the game board etched into its granite face, where the two men met during the summer afternoons for pick-up chess games.

"You know Ed, it's just not the same without you and Marion around here."

"Tom, we miss you and Gracie dearly. You are the best friends that anyone could ask for. We'd so love for you to come up."

"That would be wonderful..." Tom concurred.

"Until tomorrow then, same time?"

"Same time," Tom agreed and hung up to prepare for bed.

***

In the morning, Gracie, Tom's wife of forty-two years had breakfast already waiting on the stove. Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she put his eggs, bacon and toast on the table in front of him before settling in to the chair opposite

"Ed and Marion send their regards," he opened, stabbing into his eggs." They want us to come up."

Dipping his knife into the butter, he spread it, methodically, across one side of his toast.

Gracie remained silent, gazing out the window.

"You know Grace," he said, through his mouthful of toast, "why don't we?"

Turning back to face him again, she hesitated. "Tom, you know we can't..." her voice trailed off.

They'd been through this before.

"C'mon Grace, we haven't seem them in years, it'll be fun!"

Looking pained, she sighed.

Reaching across the table, he took her small hands in his larger ones and squeezed gently.

Softening his voice he said to his wife, "My sweet Gracie-Jane, we've spent our lives working, saving and building, to give a life to our children and now look at us...old and alone in this big house. Isn't it time we did something for ourselves?"

Gracie nodded in agreement. It was time to do...something.

Leaning back in his chair, Tom thought...

"Let's do it," he said, "I'll talk to Ed first thing tonight."

***

That evening, Tom answered the phone in his study.

"Hello?"

"Hey Tommy!" Ed was cheery.

"The usual?"

"You bet..." Tom raised his glass in a toast.

After dispensing with the tradition, Tom grew serious.

"Ed, there's something we need to discuss."

"What is it Tom?"

"I talked to Gracie this morning, and we're coming up."

"Tom!" Ed was elated, "that's wonderful! "Marion will be so pleased!"

"Ed," Tom began, "tell me more about your place."

"Listen Tom," he said, "you will absolutely love it. Remember the summer we spent up at Sloan's Lake?"

Tom smiled.

The year they'd spent their summer in the mountains at Sloan's, Ed had worn that ridiculous fisherman's get up, though they'd rarely caught any fish. And his young Gracie was a knockout in those days; her tanned legs in cut-off jeans distracting him every few minutes, as she and Marion gathered twigs for the fire.

It had been on their final night at Sloan's that they'd sworn to be best friends forever, no matter how far apart they found themselves, sealing it with a round of Cognac.

"Tom," Ed went on, "our place is better than Sloan's."

"Better?" Tom asked, wanting to hear more.

"You would not believe the fishing here, my friend."

Tom chuckled, remembering Ed's fishing skills.

"It's a short, wonderful, walk to the clearest expanse of blue water you have ever seen!"

In his mind's eye, Tom pictured it.

"But what about the trip up, Ed?"

"Well, we found it a bit rough...but honestly, Marion and I have never been happier. We're both so glad that we made it."

"When can we expect you?"

"I'll talk to Gracie again, and get back with you."

"Okie doke Tom, Marion and I will make all the arrangements. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Until then, buddy," Tom said, placing the phone back in its cradle.

***

"It's all set," Tom told his wife, seated opposite him over the breakfast table the next day.

She hadn't seen him this happy in ages...

"We leave tonight!"

***

Later on, Ed called one last time to check on Tom before the big trip.

On the phone with him in his study, Tom was wearing his best navy suit and matching tie, the one that Gracie had given him for his sixty-ninth birthday.

"Tom! Are you all set? Ed asked excitedly.

"All set, my friend!" Tom stated, filling the glasses.

"Tom, Marion and I are beside ourselves with excitement!"

"Finally, after all these years!" Tom, jubilant, held his glass out in front of him.

"We'll have a time of it Tom...sitting on the porch, sipping Cognac."

"And chess?" Tom asked, imagining the scene.

"Oh yes, I'll introduce you to the other guys, Jerry and Mike. We play chess at the park on Sundays."

"Just like old times, Ed?"

"Just like old times..."

"Friends forever?"

"Friends forever!"

With that, Tom emptied the glass over his lips.

"Good journey to you my friend," Ed's spoke a final time, "and Godspeed."

***

Gracie peered through the doorway to the study, before crossing the room to where her husband sat.

His cheeks were pale, the color drained from them. Still holding the telephone receiver in one hand, the other hung limp at his side...he could have been napping, she thought.

But knew he was not.

In front of him was the Crosley, a 1950's style desk phone, purchased at a second-hand shop, given to him by Ed, as a gift, a few years before he and his wife Marion, passed tragically in an automobile accident. The cord had been missing when Ed gave it to him, rendering the thing utterly useless, but Tom had kept it on the desk in his study as a memento of his friends.

Taking his empty glass from the desk, she held it under her nose, wrinkling at the strong smell of Cognac and bitter almonds. Then, placing her lips ever so softly against the forehead of the man who had been her husband for most of her life, she kissed him lovingly, before lifting the receiver gently out of his hand and placing it back where it belonged.

End.