Salting The Earth

Beth and I went to a few of her recitals and I'd close my eyes and just get lost in the music. There was no anger at Molly, there was no fear of the afterlife, there was no trepidation about worsening pain. There was just ecstatic music that lifted and carried me from the first note to the last.

Shannon and her father played mostly charity gigs as the jug band. They asked for honorariums when it wasn't a charity they were playing for and the recipient was always the Greater Pueblo Make a Wish Foundation. I asked Beth if she could have Shannon come by with her brothers the next time the boys visited.

Beth kept the boys busy while I spoke to the 15-year-old.

"Uhm, I guess it's no secret that I'm not going to be here much longer. I admire what you and your father do a great deal. Your Aunt Beth talks all about your concerts at retirement communities, children's hospitals, VFW's and everywhere else. Do you plan on keep doing this for the foreseeable future?"

She paused before answering. "Yeah, uh, yes, Mr. Cordel. I'm not sure if we're ever going to stop. I hope not."

Smiling, I continued. "You can call me Gordon. I know I look like crap, but in my head, I don't feel like an old man. I'm not much on formalities. I'd like to make a donation to the Make A Wish if you'd be willing to play at my funeral and maybe at the wake or memorial service. Shannon, you have a gift. That's not discounting your hard work. I'm sure you've put in countless hours honing your craft, but..." I shook my head. "I don't know how to put it into words. When I'm at your recitals, I stop worrying, I'm not scared anymore and the music just... everything bad just fades away for a while. You have no idea how much that means to me."

She was oddly shy for someone who played in front of thousands of people. Shannon didn't reply, so I continued.

"I'll give them $150,000 as an honorarium. Does that work?" It certainly did for me. I'd be helping out some children in need and reducing the amount of money that might fall into Molly's hands.

Shannon stared at me and then just started crying. I felt horrible. Should I hug her? Pat her back? Get some tissues? I was sure that somewhere in the world there was a guy in his 50s who knew how to handle a crying 15-year-old girl. I'm not that guy.

Screw it. I was dying. I was entitled to take the cheap and easy road.

"Beth!"

I passed the buck to her aunt and played with the boys while Shannon pulled herself together. As I left the room Sparky was on the couch trying to lick her face.

Shannon hugged me when her father picked up his children. Beth sat down across from me on the loveseat.

"That was very nice of you. I'm not talking about the money, although that wasn't too shabby. Shannon hears compliments about her playing all the time, but I think they go in one ear and out the other by now. To hear what her playing actually meant to you, it really touched her. She understands the importance of what you asked her to do. Ethan and Shannon often play at services for veterans. She's a sensitive girl, well, young woman, I guess. Playing for mourners isn't something she enjoys, but she gets it. She truly does. Shannon was very touched. You're a good man, Gordon."

I was uncomfortable with praise. Always had been. "Uhm, okay. Thanks. I just... whatever."

In my mind I saw that revered fundraiser mark continue to go down. I set up a college fund for Shannon and her brothers and an annuity for Beth that she'd start to receive on the first January after my death.

As much as I had spent, though, the sale of the company pushed that marker through the roof. I had to figure out a way to ensure that the kids would get it instead of Molly. I could practically hear the disappointment in Ekam's voice, although the voice was in my head.

Well, imaginary Ekam, deal with it. I was going to leave her penniless. For years all she cared about was material wealth. Let's see how well she does without it. Maybe back-cracking Frost can keep her in the style to which she's become accustomed.

After speaking to some friends who knew their way around money, I created an insanely byzantine plan. I hired law firms in London, New York, Los Angeles and Chicago. Each firm was responsible for ensuring that shipments made their way to my children after my death. Each firm handled a specific shipment, and none started less than five years after I was gone.

They were receiving gold coins, artwork and stamp collections. They could sell what they wanted, when they wanted to. Did I lose a lot of the equity in arranging for this? Yes. Did I care? No. If my plan worked, they'd be set for life. If it partially worked, they'd be comfortable. If Molly found a way to thwart my plans and none of it worked, I was going to come back and haunt her.

Ghosts, Molly. Was fucking your old boyfriend worth ghosts?

Most of the friends that Molly and I had as a couple had dropped her. She was able to convince a few of those remaining to call and plead on her behalf for a meeting. Supposedly, she would accept any conditions that I would set. She was distraught, she wasn't eating, she never left the house— and I couldn't care less. Fuck her. They were more compassionate than I and seemed genuinely concerned that she was in danger of hurting herself.

I told them that if I could control the parameters, I'd give her half an hour. Getting a new pay-as-you-go phone from Walmart, I texted her the time and location. We were to meet at a bench in the cemetery where I was going to be buried. She sent back a text immediately agreeing and thanking me.

It was a cold, rainy day and I enjoyed thinking of her sitting there in the grey expanse surrounded by reminders of death and mourning. I never showed up. I sent her a text that night.

Sorry. Taken to hospital. Lots of blood in urine. Cancer may have spread to kidneys. Try again later in the week?

She replied quickly.

Of course. Whatever works for you. So sorry to hear. LMK when/where.

A few days later I arranged for us to meet at a playground we had often taken the kids to decades earlier. Two hours after I was supposed to be there, I sent another text.

Fell asleep in car. Don't think I can drive. Can call Uber. U still there?

No. At home. Can go back. How long 4 Uber from where U R?

Maybe I'll just sleep. Not feeling so good. Friday possible?

Yes. Friday is fine. LMK when/where

The location was still the same, but the Italian restaurant I had proposed to her at was now an Indian place. I set up a meeting for lunch. An hour after I was supposed to be there, I sent a text.

Sorry, abducted by aliens. Still being probed. Next Monday good?

She didn't reply.

The original estimate for my truncated lifespan was just that, an estimate. If it was accurate, I had less than 90 days left. No one else found it as amusing as I did that even though I didn't go for chemo, I was still losing my hair. Beth said something or another about nutrients and the medicine. Whatever. I was well past vanity.

I'd lost a lot of weight and never seemed to have an appetite. There was a nice period where I hit my ideal weight for the first time in years, but I quickly dropped below that and was having difficulty stabilizing the loss. My daughter started bringing me marijuana everything. Brownies, gummies, joints and anything else she could think of made their way to my apartment. It helped with the appetite and the pain management.

Sleeping up to 14 hours a day wasn't fitting in with my plans of making the most of the time I had left, but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Molly was constantly in my dreams. Oddly, sex was never involved in spite of not getting any for months. It was always our early years and the dreams always revolved around the two of us and the kids.

I'd jumble memories, and Christmas and Disney would blend into one or birthdays for both children would be celebrated together. My wife was always there, always by my side. I could feel her body as she would lean into me as we watched William gleefully open a present or Amber sitting spellbound in front of the TV watching The Incredibles for the millionth time. The faint whispers of Molly's perfume lingered as I'd slowly awaken and step forth from my dreams.

And the first thing I'd see was a pair of warm brown eyes staring at me with unquestioning love as I was bathed in hot stinky dog breath.

I had $1,738,456 left.

It was difficult to not focus on the end of my life, but when I was able to be objective, it was clear that I had been blessed for a very long time. My parents, although taken too soon, had loved me. They had inherited money and a thriving business and then had taken that business to the next level. I had inherited more money and had then taken the company to new heights.

We had always had enough. Enough food, enough creature comforts, enough love and enough of everything else that gave us an idyllic life. There were times when having more would have been wonderful. More time, more money and maybe even more children might have made our lives a little richer, but it would be disingenuous to say that we ever really suffered.

The end was in sight and I had spent my final years as a wealthy man with wonderful friends and two children that I adored. Molly had wound up being on the wrong side of the ledger in the final accounting of my life, but I would be an ingrate not to consider all that I had.

After speaking to the right people in the government, I purchased a huge home near The Estates at Walking Sticks. It had been on the market for a couple of years and was eventually foreclosed. The owners had started work on renovating the home and turning it into off-campus housing for the nearby Colorado State University but ran out of money.

I was paying a premium to get the renovations finished as quickly as possible. Monitoring the progress and having the necessary meetings occupied my time as the days ticked down. When I was two months out, William began taking every Monday or Friday off and would fly in for three-day weekends.

He was a great help as we interviewed candidates to be the live-in caretaker for what was going to be the Dr. Ekam Gruwel Home for Veterans. We found someone we thought was perfect. Fred Schlott was a veteran himself and was a widower. A vibrant man of 52, he had a background in social work and a commitment to his fellow veterans.

I paid four years of his salary in advance and had it put into a trust that William and Amber would control. There would be ongoing expenses for the home, and I had shamelessly tapped old friends and colleagues and guilted them into pledging support. The homeless crisis was something that had always bothered me and that veterans were so disproportionately affected was a black mark on our national soul.

It took the contractors four weeks, but I was still around when they finished. Mobility was an issue, as was energy, but I toured the house and stayed for the party after. The Poplin Family Jug Band played, and I pretended to enjoy the music.

Everything was perfect until we were leaving. We needed the publicity from the local media to get attention that would translate into future support, but it also let everyone know what was happening. As I stood from the wheelchair to get into the car, I saw Molly watching from across the street. She looked like crap. Letting the car take my negligible weight, I leaned against it as I stared at her. Neither of us said a word and after a minute or two I got in and had Beth drive home.

I couldn't shake the sight of my silent wife watching me, tears streaming down her face.

My doctors had back-up careers in Vegas as odds-makers waiting if they ever needed them. Their estimates were right on the button. We were two weeks out from the six-month prognosis, and I could feel that I was near the end.

Amber was living in the guest room and William had taken a leave of absence and was sleeping on the couch. Ethan and his brother sent videos but were no longer stopping by. I'd hear violin playing from my room and I was fairly sure that Shannon was in the apartment and was playing, but it could have been the dreams and medicine.

Iron-Sparky-Hulk couldn't fit in the wheelchair with me and he would whine until they pushed me adjacent to the couch. He'd prop himself up on the edge and lay his head on my lap. Resting my hand on his head, he'd burrow his head into the blankets I now used continuously and remain there for hours.

Staying awake for long stretches was next to impossible and concentrating wasn't easy, but I wasn't a stupid man. I noticed Amber's behavior and I watched as Beth would take Sparky for a walk only to come back to have him want to go out again an hour later, as if his previous walk was only 100 yards. Coincidentally, the distance from the door to the parking lot was about 100 yards. Both my nurse and my daughter would frequently look at the front window and then confer with each other out of my hearing.

It happened at least three times a day as we got towards the end and it grated on my nerves. William was never part of their activities, so I waited until he went grocery shopping before speaking to Amber and Benedict "Beth" Arnold.

"If she agrees to do exactly as I say and to leave as soon as we're done, you can let her in for a few minutes."

The look of shock on their faces made me wish that I had the strength to laugh. Neither one of them would make good poker players.

"The two of you are as subtle as a vegan activist at a BBQ. Go get her, but make sure she understands the restrictions. Amber..." She had headed towards the door but stopped and looked back at me. "I'm depending on you. If she won't do as I ask of her, I need you to show her to the door. I'm not strong enough to do it myself these days. I need your help. If you don't think you can, I understand, but this stops right here and now."

"No, I'll make sure she understands. I'll take care of it. It's more than she deserves."

Amber returned about five minutes later. Alone.

"She's outside the door, trying to stop crying and... I don't know. Dad, she's... she's in a really bad place. I'm not saying that you don't have the right, but try not to be too cruel, okay?"

There was a light knocking on the door and then it slowly swung open. She would have hated the description, but Molly looked shabby. She'd lost as much weight as I had, her hair looked lanky and unwashed and her clothes hung off of her.

"Hello, Molly. Long time no see."

"Gor..." She stopped and coughed. "Gordon."

"I'm sure Amber told you, but I'm going to set some ground rules. If you don't agree to them, Amber will escort you out and Iron Hulk will tear you limb from limb." He looked up at me and his tail started thumping against the side of the couch when I said his name. Damned kids with their treats. Your name is Sparky!

"His name is Iron Hulk?"

"What's wrong with Iron Hulk? It's a good name for a loyal dog." Unlike a disloyal bitch.

"Gordon, I want to, no, I need to..."

I stopped her. "Wait. Let's set the ground rules. I don't want to hear how you're sorry. I don't want to hear why. I don't want to hear anything about your affair or about your first, and I guess last love. You mention anything about Frost or how bad you feel or any regrets and this is over. Understand?"

"He wasn't..."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? What did I just say? This was a mistake. Get out, Molly."

"No, no, I'm sorry. I won't say a word. I'm sorry."

Looking to the wall, I sighed, pet Sparky and continued.

"Not much matters anymore, Molly. Most of what used to be important is useless now. I don't want any confirmation or denial, but I'm assuming that some part of who you were before you became a selfish bitch still exists, and that part wants some sort of forgiveness. I can't offer that right now. If it helps, I will try. I really will, whether in this life or the next."

I paused again. My anger and drive were being overwhelmed by exhaustion and I felt a migraine building.

"If you want to be worthy of that forgiveness, do whatever you possibly can for the kids. I don't care how often they reject you, hurt your feelings or push you away. Suck it up. I'm not just talking about your adultery. You've been a shit wife and mother for years. Remember how you were when they were young? Be that again for when you're a grandmother. I won't be there Molly. You'll have to be there for both of us."

She was crying and I was getting close to doing the same. I began to feel nauseous. Looking her up and down I marveled at how much she'd aged in such a short time.

"Okay, we're done. You can go back to standing your vigil or whatever the hell you're doing."

Turning, she walked to the door. When she opened it, she looked back at me.

"I love you Gordon. You'll never know how sorry I am. If it brings you some peace, know that even if you find a way to forgive me, I can't forgive myself."

She stepped through the door and that was the last time I saw my wife.

I was strangely content. We tend to think of ourselves in the now, but my death was allowing me to see my life in its totality. It was a good life and there were even good parts of the last six months. Ekam sat in the corner praying. Amber and William were beside the bed, my daughter holding my hand. Iron-Sparky-Hulk was laying next to me.

My breath was shallow and sporadic, but I didn't feel any pain. I said a final prayer for my friends and family, and yes, I included a prayer for Molly and my future grandchildren.

Smiling, I heard the strains of the violin and a whispering voice as I took my last breath. I wasn't sure if it was Molly or Amber, and either would have been fine. I couldn't think of better final words to hear.

"I love you."

Next month a number of fantastic writers will be posting period piece romances to Literotica. I've had the distinct pleasure of reading a couple and they were fantastic. The organizer was foolish enough to invite me to participate and I enjoyed the writing challenge. Look for the releases under the umbrella title of "Wine and Old Lace".

With thanks to Randi for the prompting and the support of the Left Foot, Right Foot Society.

This story was supposed to have been released much earlier, but another writer was wading in the same creative pool and finished his story first. I wanted to wait to offer some distance between the two stories with a similar theme.

As always, I greatly appreciate the help of the people that were kind enough to beta-read and offer feedback.

Have a swell day. And some of you? Have a swollen day. BeBob44