OUR WONDERFUL LIFE

“Been bloody raining for hours” Nevil proclaimed with marked disgust.

“It's been raining for days, dear,” Maddy replied, even though she knew he wasn't actually talking to her.

“Days are made of hours, aren't they?” Nevil asked.

“Of course, dear.” Mary said, then quietly went about her knitting.

The scowl on Nevil's face made him look like a Muppet. His brow furrowed, bushy white eyebrows resting atop eyes that seemed never to move independently of the rest of his head. His jaw fixed, only the lower part moving. The hair growing from his inner-ear looked almost comical, like thin strands of fishing line, jutting from wax caves. His skin leathery with a lifetime of use.

Maddy didn't look up to see her husband, standing at the window, cursing the constant drizzle.

Her work was far too important. She had socks to knit. And mittens. The winter was approaching, and she was almost ready to face it with warm hands and toasty tootsies. She smiled as she added new colors to her already colorful project.

A blur in the world beyond the window caught Nevil's attention.

“What?” He expelled with a start. “Some damn fool kid is riding his bike out there. Oh, if I could give his parents what for. Kids these days.”

Maddy said nothing as her Muppet husband fell into his cliche. Had it been a nicer day, she expected him to add a “get off my lawn” to his litany.

“Damn fool kid. Catch his death out in this mess.” Nevil shook his head, flabbergasted.

His gaze returned to the out of doors, to the constant bombardment of rain. Puddles grew into small ponds, streams into rivers, flowing toward the drainage tunnels.

“How long has this been going on?” Nevil asked his wife.

She didn't respond.

He turned to her, ready to repeat the question, but stopped. She was busy, almost finished with one pair of technicolored socks. Her smile lit up the space she occupied in direct contravention of the dim lighting of the room around her. She practically glowed. And in this, she hummed a happy tune.

Nevil was blown away by her inconceivable joy, perched in her chair, tooling away, the world beyond of little consequence.

He walked away from the window he had been standing sentry at for the better part of two hours.

He loved her so much, if for nothing else, than for this. She had a light in her than shined so brightly. Her happy nature was the perfect balance to his somewhat gruff facade.

He stared at her and was taken back to when they met. To when they fell in love. To when they married, and had their first child, then their second. To all the best moments, made better, because of her.

His sour face softened. He tried to smile.

Maddy, noticing him, noticing the quiet loving gaze he cast upon her, looked up from her work.

She smiled at him. She had such a wonderful smile.

“What is it dear?” Maddy asked. Her hands rested in her lap, eager for the answer. She was almost demure.

He took a deep breath.

Madd

“Honey, why are you looking at me like that?” She covered her face, an odd embarrassment washing over her.

“You haven't blushed like that in thirty years.” Nevil said. His face grew sad.

Maddy saw the change.

“What is it, dear?”

“I haven't made you blush in thirty years. I promised to love you with my whole heart, give you a happy life, and never let your tears be because of me.” He shuffled to her side. “Have I failed you?”

She smiled, cupping her hands around his face. His eyes grew glossy. She smoothed out some of his well-earned wrinkles as she chose her words.

“Not at all.” Her eyes met his, and she gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “You did the best any wife could ask for. You provided a good home. You helped me raise two wonderful children. You gave me everything I ever wanted, asking for nothing in return but my love and support. How could you think for a second you might have failed me?”

Her hands were warm on his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, a single tear escaping.

“You are so happy. And I am, well, me.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself. “Do you ever wish you married a happy guy, a blissful idiot, who let all the bad vanish with a thought, as if the world was always perfect?”

“I did marry that guy.” She rose from her chair. “Don't you remember.”

Maddy disappeared into the study, returning with a large book, covered in cloth and lace.

“And he was so handsome. Still is.”

Nevil wanted to be shocked, even enraged, but he figured she had to be messing with him.

She plopped down, back in her chair, and placed the book on her lap.

He looked down to see a scrapbook.

“What is this?” he asked. He had never seen it before, but the words “OUR WONDERFUL LIFE” gave away it was most likely what he thought it to be. An anthology of them.

“I made this, just before you retired, to be presented to you at just the right moment.” She handed him the book. “I deem this, the right moment.”

He took it, needing two hands to support the weight.

“It's heavy.”

“There is a lot of love in there. And that much love is never measured in feathers. It's measured in bowling balls.” She said, then smiled. He had told her that as part of their wedding vows. Finally, she got to say it back to him.

He settled the over-stuffed album on his lap, tracing his fingers over the intricate detail. It was clear to him that, like all her projects, Maddy had put her heart and soul into every inch of it. He could feel her love in the stitching.

“Open it, dear,” Maddy said, watching his weathered fingers move like someone reading braille.

The rain had increased in intensity beyond the windows.

He didn't notice, lost in the memories he imagined were displayed in this beautiful anthology of their lives together.

After a few more moments, he opened the scrapbook.

The two of them held hands as they flipped through the pages, smiling and crying and laughing when the memory deemed appropriate.

“I remember that trip,” one of them would say.

“Oh I loved doing that with you and the kids,” the other would announce, gleeful.

The book had fifty-three pages, and it seemed like each one took an hour to savor.

They got to the last page, and Nevil stopped turning, seeing the page was blank.

He looked up at his loving wife.

“What is supposed to go here?” he asked, more concerned than curious.

She smiled, sheepishly.

“That's for all the adventures yet to come.”

“But its only one page,” he said.

Still smiling, she squeezed his hand.

“That's because I only have time for one more,” she finally said, closing the book. “I have cancer. Stage 4. Inoperable. And they gave me six months.”

His eyes were a mysterious blend of denial and anger. They grew red, swollen, and he backed away so fast he almost toppled over.

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “How do...., when did....?” He stammered the words, incapable of completing a thought.

“I found out six months ago.”

“And you didn't tell me?” he inquired angrily. “We could have done more, seen more. I could have...”

“Done nothing,” she interrupted. “You could have done nothing. No one could have. It is a no win situation.”

“How are you so calm?” he asked. While he was stomping around like King Kong desperately seeking a banana, she sat quietly, without a fuss.

“Because, dear. I have made my peace.” She motioned for him to join her.

After a minute or so of pacing vehemently, he relented and sat at her feet.

“You see, you gave me a great life. We have done everything we set out to do in all our years together. This scrapbook is a testament to that. Our children are grown and healthy, and gave us grand-babies. And our love has only become stronger with each passing day. So, I can go, in peace, knowing I didn't just putter through life, but really lived. And that, is thanks to you, my love.”

When she finished, the recognition of her words sank in, and he began to weep openly. She stroked his hair, and his tears fell like the rain, hard and fast, crating little rivers down his face.

“Let us take one last adventure. Finish the book.” She said.

Nevil looked up into the piercing blue of her eyes, and nodded.

“Where shall we go?” she asked like an excited school girl.

“I don't,” he began but couldn't finish. They had been so many places. It was hard to pick a destination they hadn't visited.

She stood.

“I'll tell you what. You figure it out, and surprise me,” She said, and padded off to their bedroom.

He thought hard. It had to be special. One last harrah.

Like a flash of lightning, the perfect final adventure hit him. Excited, he ran to the bedroom to tell his loving wife.

She was laying on the bed.

“I have it. Oh and it is perfect. A knock-your-socks-off trip.” His smile was bigger than his face, his eyes wide and playful.

She didn't stir.

“Maddy?”

She lay there, still.

“Maddy?” he asked for her again, his voice quieter, a softness of terrible recognition.

He touched her shoulder, gave it a squeeze, but she did not move.

He dropped to his knees.

He dared not move her body.

Leaning over, he kissed her softly on the cheek.

He breathed a long, woeful sigh.

Minutes seemed like hours. Hours like days.

“OK, dear,” he finally said, breaking the stillness of the silent home. “I will take this last adventure. For the both of us.”

And with that, he called for an ambulance to fetch his dead spouse, his fallen love. After they had gone, he packed a suitcase, and left, fulfilling his final promise to his wife.

Even if she was only in his heart, in his memories, they would still have that last adventure. Together.