Born Out of Tragedy

It was the saddest of occasions, a memorial church service in a semi-rural part of Pennsylvania for Jake McDonald. Jake was only fifty-six. He caught Covid in a serious way and was dead just ten days after being admitted to the hospital.

The preacher of the non-denominal Christian church, an attractive, six-foot tall, thirty-something woman with long brown hair, said that those who loved Jake would one day see him again. "He's dancing with Jesus as I speak," she said, standing before the assembled family and friends, microphone in hand, giving her talk. She seemed sincere, seemed to actually believe that something good awaits us after we shed our mortal coil, that something being reunited with loved ones.

Following a slide show of pics of Jake and his family through the years, she invited anyone who had something to say to come up and say it. Jake's daughter, son and widow declined, but others did, cousins, coworkers, friends. A piano recording of Debussy's Clair de Lune played in the background. The audience sat in darkness, while an overhead light shined on the speakers.

The last to speak was a young lady named Hayley. She was a good friend of Gracie's, Jake's twenty-two-year-old daughter. I knew Gracie through Sam's Club, where we once worked together; she still worked there, while I had moved on, though we kept in touch. Hayley wore a black sweater over a long dress, black with red and white icons of some sort, and glasses that she had to remove a few times to wipe her eyes. "Mr. Jake, I called him and to me, he will always be Mr. Jake forever," she began. Then the tears began to flow. Still, she soldiered on, halting with every phrase, sniffling, her voice shaking. "He was a second dad to me...he taught me things like how to download music on to a CD...he gave me and Gracie money to go to the pool...he told me to come over more often, to not be a stranger...I loved him, but never told him and I so regret I never did...I always thought he'd be around..."

She got more emotional than any of the other speakers, so emotional that she could barely get the words out. She fanned herself with her hand and forced her mouth into a smile, as if she was making fun of herself for sobbing so much. I shed a few tears also, not so much for Jake but for this incredibly courageous girl, doing something I'd have never had the courage to do, not in that state of grief. Hayley impressed me with her courage, her unrestrained need to express herself and share what she felt. I felt compelled to wrap my arms around her, to comfort her. I'd have felt that way even if she hadn't been so damn cute, though I can't deny that it helped.

The service lasted about forty minutes, and then people were free to mingle and partake of the food and soft drinks laid out on a long table. The recorded music segued from Debussy into pieces I didn't recognize, and it was loud enough to where we had to raise our voices to be heard in one-on-one conversation amid the subdued lighting of the reception hall. From across the room, I spotted Hayley talking with Gracie, her kid brother Calvin and Sandy, her mom, now widowed at age forty-four.

There was no way I could let the evening pass without at least introducing myself to Hayley. Gracie did that for me when I walked up to them. "Hayley, this is Kevin Graham. We once worked together. Kevin, this is Hayley Egan."

We both said hi. No longer crying, Hayley gave my six-foot-two-inch frame the once-over and smiled. "Needless to say," I said, "it appears that you were very fond of Jake."

She nodded. "Yes. He really was like a second dad to me. Gone so soon, too soon. Not easy to process."

Gracie placed a comforting hand on Hayley's shoulder. "Not easy for any of us."

Moments later, Gracie, Calvin and Sandy drifted off to talk with other guests, leaving me alone with Hayley. "Excuse me," she said, "but I need to get something to drink. I'll be right back." Not knowing anyone else but Gracie, I stood there with my clear plastic cup of lemonade, watching Hayley get her drink, wondering if she'd return to talk to some guy she'd just been introduced to. Just as she turned from the serving table, another guy walked up to her, an older man. Overweight and with graying hair down to his shoulders, he looked like some aging hippie. Perhaps he was moved as much as me, I thought. Periodically, she looked past him in my direction, as if to see if I hadn't wandered off. I took this as an encouraging sign, and one confirmed a couple minutes later after she excused herself and came back. "That was Harry, one of Jake's cousins," she revealed. "I met him a few times." She took a sip of her ginger ale, then continued. "So, you and Gracie worked together. Did you ever meet Jake?"

"No, I never did," I said, "but from what I've heard, I'm sorry I didn't. Seems like he was quite a guy."

She nodded. "Yes. And if I keep talking about him, I'll start crying again. So let me hear more about you."

I'm seldom comfortable talking about myself because most people that ask do so more out of politeness rather than out of genuine interest. But Hayley, locking her hazel eyes onto mine, appeared sincere. I told her about my job with the county as a paramedic. "Been doing it since I was twenty-six, for three years now. Let's see, I'm in a softball league, I'm a Steelers fan, a conservative Democrat, stuffed peppers in tomato sauce is one of my favorite meals, I've never been married and I'm impressed with the kind of courage you showed up there. You moved me to tears, Hayley, you really did."

She blinked a few times, apparently surprised by my candor. Seeing that she was at a loss for words, I changed the subject and asked how she knew Gracie. They met in middle school, she said, and went to the same high school, class of two-thousand-seventeen. "Finally, I got her to get vaccinated," she said, "the thing her dad had urged her, Calvin and her mom to do when he first entered the hospital, before he went on a ventilator. Neither of them had been vaccinated when Mister Jake first got sick. Sadly, it was then too late for him. Since then, Calvin got his two shots and Sandy, I heard, got her first shot last week. Have you, well, maybe it's none of my business, but--"

"Yes, I'm fully vaccinated," I said. "And I'd bet you are, too."

She nodded. "I might not be here if I wasn't. Or, I'd be wearing a mask at the very least."

As we talked, I took a closer look at her, her prominent cheek bones and her straight brown hair that she parted in the middle and dropped below her shoulders; it was the same way that Gracie wore her hair. They were even built along similar lines, somewhere between voluptuous and non-descript average. But what a face, so cute and complimented by a clear complexion and a voice distinctly feminine, soft and high-pitched, without being grating.

We picked up some of the raw vegetables and pastry, then took a seat at one of the round tables placed around the room. Only a few people were seated; the rest were standing and chatting, drinks in hand. Per Hayley's interest, I delved more into what I did. Then she told me about her job. "Nothing interesting," she said. "I work retail at Best Buy. It will have to do for now." She also took college courses online.

I chuckled when she said I looked in "good shape." My six-pack abs vanished sometime after college after I started working and skipping gym workouts without reducing my calorie intake. "I've got to get rid of this," I said, padding my paunch over my blue, button-down dress shirt. "Softball alone doesn't cut it."

"Well, you're in good shape compared to Harry and some of the other guys around here," she said. "And you look like a beefier version of Jack Quaid."

"Who?"

"He was in a couple Batman movies." She took out her cell and googled to his image. "Cute guy, I think." He did look a little like me--tall, dark wavy hair and similar facial features. He was one of her "heartthrobs," she said.

Just then, Gracie came over to our table. She wore a blue shawl over a brown dress hemmed just above her knees, black stockings and boots. Had she not had a boyfriend when I worked at Sam's Club, I might have pursued her. Where Hayley was cute, exuding an image of sweet innocence, there was a naughty, seductive sensuousness about Gracie in the way she dressed and carried her five-foot-nine, curvy form. She looked great in those black stockings. "Glad you two are getting to know each other," she said, smiling impishly. She looked around and noticed two church staffers folding up the tables. "Looks like things are wrapping up. Well, I'd better say my goodbyes and thank yous."

Gracie joined her mom in thanking the guests that were beginning to leave. Minutes later, we walked outside into the warm, breezy night. Cars were leaving the parking lot of this modern, one-story church that stood beside a two-lane, secondary road just outside of Gettysburg. I sensed an awkward tension, as in where do we go from here. I wasn't shy about asking for her number, just a bit shy about telling her that I wasn't ready to call it a night. "Look, do you want to get some coffee or something?" I asked, as we drifted toward our cars, my 2017 silver Mustang convertible and her white VW Jetta.

"I'd like that," she said. "But how about a glass of wine? I'm just in a wine kind of mood, and I know just the place." She paused. "And one other request."

"Okay."

"Kiss me."

Wow...I didn't expect this, although I'd been wanting to do just that ever since she gave her emotional talk. She slipped off her glasses, then stepped toward me and for the next few moments, as I absorbed her warm lips and the soft contours of her body, I felt cocooned inside the sort of blissful, yet exciting place that anyone who's been in that situation can readily understand. Her warmth and affection shone through like the full September moon above, so full that it belied its distance of over two-hundred and twenty thousand miles.

"Thanks, I needed that," she said. She began to fumble with the buttons on my shirt. "Can we take your Mustang? It's the perfect night for a convertible. Then you can drive me back here."

The night was getting better and better, and I almost felt guilty about it. After all, if not for Jake's death, I wouldn't be here with this sweet, pretty, sensitive girl, sitting beside me, her long hair blowing in the breeze as I drove toward the Altland House, a nineteenth-century bed and breakfast in Abbottstown, just up the road. In addition to the main dining room, it had a cozy bar in the basement, something I didn't know until Hayley suggested it.

Lucky for us, we got a small round table a few feet from the bar. After we both ordered a glass of Chardonnay, Hayley proposed a toast. "To a better year, to the death of Covid and a return to normalcy."

I clinked her glass. "I'll drink to that."

She took a sip, then said, "Thanks again for that hug and kiss. It comforted me more than I can express in words."

I reached for her hand. "Well, you might not believe this, but I wanted to do that when you were giving your talk."

"So why didn't you?" she asked, her tone a mix of tease and serious.

"That's all you needed, a total stranger approaching you in your fragile state in front of all those people."

"I guess you have a point. But it would have been a hunky looking stranger that knows a thing or two about how to make a sad girl feel better. You really do, Kevin." She squeezed my hand.

Despite my knowing 'a thing or two,' her eyes still conveyed a sadness over what happened to Jake. I couldn't resist asking if she believed what the preacher had said about one day seeing our loved ones in heaven, about Jake 'dancing with Jesus.'

She nodded. "Kind of. I mean, I was raised believing that. We weren't terribly religious but my parents believed it. Or at least said they did. It's a comforting thought because I'd hate to think that this is it. You live, you die and then it's over and out? It doesn't ring true to me, and definitely not something I'd look forward to. How about you?"

"Honestly, it's a huge stretch for me," I said. "A comforting thought, for sure, which I think is the reason that much of the world believes in some sort of afterlife. But from what we know of the physical world, my hunch is that there is no there there. That's not to say that God doesn't exist, a creator or creators in some form. But an afterlife? You're talking about a reality that we can't begin to fathom, one that goes beyond the physical laws of nature, that exists apart from the trillions of stars and galaxies in our universe, some that are millions of light years away. We look toward the sky when talking about a deceased loved one being at peace in a better place, presumably heaven. But the only thing we've seen up there so far are those stars, planets and galaxies and what's been called dark matter. No astronaut has returned to earth after a space mission claiming to have seen a loved one."

Wide-eyed, she said, "Geeze, Kevin, it sounds like you've given this subject some serious thought."

I took a sip and nodded. "I have and still do."

After a few moments of silence, absorbing what I told her, she said, "Okay, but what about the soul? It's the soul that either goes to heaven or some other place."

"I hear you, but what IS the soul? It's not something that we can hold in our hand, that we can define the way we define a house or a car or even a human being. In my work, I've seen people die. And not once did I see some ghostly looking thing rise from the body. If the soul exists, it's invisible, something that can't be proved or disproved."

"Like God."

"Yes, like God. What it all comes down to is faith. You either believe it or you don't. Or, for people like me, you ponder on while never reaching a firm conclusion." Grinning, I added, "I'm probably depressing the hell out of you."

She laughed. "Not at all. I mean, I'm still sad about Mr. Jake. But I find what you've said...hmm, what's the right word...illuminating. Even if you hadn't told me you went to college, I would have figured as much."

"Meaning what? That you think I'm not only a hunk but a smart hunk?"

"Yes. Smart and deep and stimulating. In more ways than one. If you know what I mean." She winked.

I grinned and took another sip. "I think I do. I guess you're not talking about the soul."

"Ah, no, at least in the philosophical way you talked about it."

We both laughed. Then, moments of silence passed as we sipped our wine, alone in our thoughts. Mine were something I didn't think she'd ever go for. We were at a bed and breakfast, and I had the feeling there was at least one vacancy. But what would she think of a guy who suggested a sleepover just hours after she met him? Some girls would go for it. But Hayley? She didn't seem that daring. For all I knew, she was a virgin. And she might think I'm just out to get laid, to take advantage of a girl who was in a fragile state. Not the case at all, though I'd be lying if I said she didn't turn me on in "that way" also. But, no need to rush things, I decided. There would be plenty of time for sleepovers.

She broke the silence with this: "You know, I was thinking."

"I know, I can tell. We both were. Tell me your thoughts and I'll tell you mine."

"Okay, well, I like you, and you seem to like me."

"No argument here."

"And I'm hoping we can see each other after tonight."

"Yep, me too."

"And I don't want this night to end. Without being with you, I mean. I want you next to me and not just over this table in this room. If you get my drift." She smiled in a tense, cautious way, as if she wasn't sure how I'd respond.

"Hayley, not only do I get your drift," I said, trying hard not to jump out of my seat, "but my thoughts were drifting toward the same idea. But I didn't know how you'd take it being that we just met."

She held my hand. "I think I could take it very well. Yes, we just met. But I have this wonderful feeling about you, about us, and it's something unique because I've never slept with a guy on a first date, let alone hours after I met him." She paused to gather more thoughts. "Look, this whole situation is unique. Somebody I loved is gone..." She paused, then removed her glasses, swiped a hand across her eyes, fanned herself and took a deep breath. "Okay. Somebody I loved is gone, and I'm sad and hurting and so far, you've been such a great comfort to me, and I just don't want to return home right now. Judy, my roommate, is nice enough, but she can't provide me with what I need at this moment. But I bet you can, Kevin Graham."

I began to mist up as I reached across the table and brushed tears from her reddened cheeks. "I think I can, too, for no other reason than I'm madly attracted to you. On several levels."

We both smiled at each other for a few moments the way couples do when they're both on the same page, when, if only for a brief moment, all's right with their world. Then I said, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's see if they have a vacancy."

*****

They did have a vacancy, two of them, in fact, and one with a Jacuzzi at a special sale price. We took that one. It came equipped with a king-sized bed that sat a foot off the floor, supported by a heavy, dark wood frame and four posts. The clothes closet, dresser, bedside tables and desk were all made of dark, heavy wood. The marble-lined walls lent a look of luxury to the spacious, Jacuzzi-equipped bathroom, set in earth tones. "This is a room fit for a couple on their honeymoon," I said.

Hayley bounced on the edge of the bed a couple times, testing the firmness of the mattress. "Or one fit for a couple on their maiden voyage," she said. She placed her black-framed glasses on the night table, got up and wrapped her arms around me. "And I hope that's us. Bon voyage."

"Bon voyage," I repeated, and then began to kiss her, standing on the thick carpet beside the big bed.

We came here with nothing more than the clothes on our backs, and it didn't take long before those clothes came off, leaving us still standing in the room, kissing and holding each other, with nary a sound, save for our lips and tongue and the soft humming of the AC. I'd been a bit self-conscious of my paunchy waistline, but she didn't seem to mind. Nor did I mind that her body would never be the type you'd see in a Playboy centerfold or among those super-jacked gals in some hardcore gym. But she had this sweet, fresh scent and lovely skin, smooth and soft and pale for lack of time in the sun during the summer.

She rubbed her hands along my "big, hairy, manly legs," as she put it, and then began to stroke my budding erection. "I'm protected, in case you were wondering," she said.

In fact, "protection" had slipped my mind--I was so engrossed in the moment--but it was nice to know. We dimmed the lights, then slipped under the sheet and thin blanket and picked up on this maiden voyage where we left off. In my younger days, I was focused less on emotion and more on performance. But not lately and especially not with this girl. An initial comic awkwardness gave way to an easy flow. My tongue roamed to the usual private places, including the one that she said had become wet only moments after we had entered the room. It sure felt that way when, lying on her back, she guided me into her. "You're so pretty," I said, looking down at her while finding my rhythm.

She grinned, told me that I made her "feel so pretty." Then she added, "Ohmygod, Kevin, this is so what I've needed. Ooo, you feel so good inside me."

This night that had been born out of tragedy was fast becoming one of the most memorable in my twenty-nine years. Yes, I still felt this twinge of guilt because of that, something she also expressed when we were in the Jacuzzi. Glancing up at the ceiling, she said, "Mr. Jake, if you can see or hear me, please don't hate me." She didn't fully believe that Jake actually could, even if there was a heaven. "Guess I'm feeling kind of what you're feeling," she added.