The Rocking Chair

When the sun shifted low in the sky, not low enough to touch the water but enough to duck under the willow branches, it cast long rays of golden-orange light onto the rotting wooden porch of Herman Wells. His faithful, aging beagle, Charlie, faced into the light, letting it soak into his fur as he snoozed.

Herman stroked a wrinkled hand over his companion from his rocking chair, which, like the porch, was old and full of splinters. The old man paid it no mind, though. The red faded blanket protected him well enough as a cushion. The crickets had begun to sing, and the humidity of the late summer was beginning to subside. 

His nerves were doing the same. When he awoke this morning he was full of tight muscles and anxiety, but as the hours ticked by, his unease had dulled into a subtle thump in his chest. Linda never lies, he reminded himself. At least, she didn’t when he knew her.

He turned his head and examined his gray paneled shack. Just three rooms and with a leaking roof and failing wood stove. It was all he needed, and was surely enough for Charlie, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Linda would think of it. It was nothing compared to the home they had together further up the coast. He was suddenly self-conscious, worried that the house would somehow make him harder to take seriously.

He shook his head to clear the heavy thoughts away. His neck ached as he did so, and he cursed under his breath at what the years had done to his body. You could have cleaned up, he thought to himself. His sun bleached jeans were speckled with different colors of paint from projects over the years, and his simple blue button up had lost its class and vibrancy long ago. Doesn’t matter. You have no one to impress.

When the sun dipped below the water and he could no longer see the mosquitos buzzing across the surface, he would go in and stop waiting, he decided. He had sat on the porch all day with Charlie, staring down the long dirt driveway and watching the day drift by. He could have used the hours to fix the motor, or get after the wasps building their nest near his bedroom window, but no. This was important. Linda was important, even still. Even after all this time. But she still hadn’t come, and when he looked at the cracked watch his father had given him, the hands showed almost 7:30. 

The postcard still sat on his knee. Greetings from Charleston, South Carolina 1987. He flipped it over and examined the penned writing again. August 14-Linda N. 

He tapped the cardstock with his index finger. Linda never lies. The response, if you could call it that, referenced nothing in the letter he sent her a month ago. He had tried to be respectful, but was honest about his condition and want to see her one last time. He made no empty promises, no grand gestures or declarations like she said he used to do. Just a half page, so bland he hadn’t truly expected anything back. But the postcard had come five days ago, and he had been able to think about nothing else since.

Charlie stretched out beside him. Herman was jealous of his peace. He was picking up the glass of iced tea from the other side of the chair when he heard the car’s backfire. Sure enough, a blue Accord tumbled up the driveway. Behind the wheel, the love of his life and ex-spouse sat.

He stood, perhaps a bit too quickly for his withered body. Charlie stood as well, let out a single bark, before climbing off the porch to greet whoever had arrived. Linda parked the car and took a moment before climbing out. She wore a yellow sundress with white flowers that stopped just below her knees. Her matching white sandals looked new, and she stopped to lift her sunglasses from her eyes and plant them on top of her head. It had been fifteen years since Herman had seen her, and he couldn’t deny that time and age had been kinder to her than him. She, like him, was pushing eighty, but the lines on her face were balanced by a soft color in her cheeks and lips. Her bright blue eyes still shone the same way they had years ago, and though her once blonde hair was now gray, it still held the easy waves that flowed effortlessly to the tops of her shoulders.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered, but the love she had for him once in those kind eyes was gone. A sharp pang rattled through his chest at that. “Hey there,” He called out, his southern accent seemingly more gruff than usual. It didn’t seem right to say; something so simple, but the awkwardness hung in the air between them. 

Linda stood still as a statue. Her white handbag hung loosely from her shoulder, and she seemed to be making some silent judgment of him before speaking. He jammed his weathered hands into his pockets. “Can I getcha somethin’ to drink? Tea? Water?” 

Linda shifted her weight to one side. “No, that’s okay.” Her voice was smooth as honey, just as he remembered. It felt good to hear it again, even though it was said coolly. She stayed close to her car, as if she was afraid of him. That thought hurt him more than he could say. In response, he placed a hand on the top of the rocking chair. 

“D’ya wanna head down to the water? I’ve got a couple chairs down there.”

Linda shook her head. “No, that’s okay.”

Herman shifted uneasily. “Well, alright.” He glanced around for a way out, another option. He was beginning to wonder if he should have sent the letter at all. “Where should we go?”

Linda shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Wherever.” Her own southern accent was strong as ever, though she sounded more polished than he remembered. Perhaps it was because they were strangers now. 

“Porch is good as anywheres.” He half asked, half stated. Linda nodded and approached. He sat back in the rocking chair and his ex-wife sat uncomfortably on the step. Charlie wasted no time laying back down and stretching in the evening sun. “So, uh, how ya been?” He asked.

Linda sighed. “I’m well, Herman. You said in your letter you had things to say, so say them.” Although it wasn’t so harsh, it was harsher than she ever spoke to him in their marriage. No, this was a different Linda. A changed Linda. 

“Yeah,” He agreed. “Yeah, I did. I do. Well,” He started, taking a deep breath that rattled through aching ribs. “I’m dyin’, Lin. You know as much from the letter.” Linda nodded, and he thought he saw a moment of empathy shine through. “And, well, I thought it was important to make things right before I go.”

She only stared at him. “I miss you, and Paulie. More than I can say. Now, I’m not tryin’ to start nothin’, but I do. How is she? Paulie?” He asked, his voice cracking just a bit. Their daughter, Pauline, would be 39 this year. He last spoke to her just before he and Linda lost contact fifteen years ago. She had stopped returning his calls when everything came to light and the divorce was final. He had lost both of them in one fell swoop, and it still hurt as fresh as the day it happened when he thought of her. She was only just starting life when she cut him out of it.

Linda looked down at her hands, at her polished nails. “She’s well. Didn’t think I should come.”

Herman felt his shoulders sag. “Did she marry that guy? What was his name…Walt?”

“Ward,” Linda corrected uncomfortably. “Yes, she did. They have a boy.” His heart took flight. A boy? A grandson? The thought of a living, breathing boy out there that belonged to his sweet Paulie made him happier than he could say, even though he knew he would never meet him. It was just too late. Herman scooted to the edge of the rocking chair.

“Yeah?” He said, unable to keep the excitement from his rough voice. “How old is he? What’s his name?”

Linda’s face seemed pained. Herman could see that she knew she shouldn’t tell him. “It… It doesn’t matter, Herman. Please.” The discomfort shone in the last word.

He swallowed the hurt from it and sat back, letting the chair sway him back and forth. He felt the sudden itch for a cigarette, something to hold in his hands. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Sorry.” He said. 

Linda looked at him, the surprise obvious on her face. Herman stared back, trying to figure out if he had offended her. Then, after a moment of cricket-chirping silence and mourning dove coos, her lips broke into a soft smile. She laughed quietly, as if to herself. “What?” Herman asked. 

“You never said that when we were married, don’t you remember? Sorry?”

Herman was taken aback. He had examined and re-examined every conversation, every fight and memory and letter countless times over the years. He had never considered that he was missing words from his marriage. He felt the unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation of embarrassment. Linda shrugged when he didn’t reply. “Whenever we would fight and I would talk to Lenora, she would ask if you said sorry. I always had to tell her no.”

Lenora was Linda’s older sister. She had hated Herman from the moment she laid eyes on him decades ago. “I…didn’t know.” He replied honestly.

“I don’t doubt that.” Linda said. “With the things you did, your lack of sorrys was apparent to everyone except you.”

Her words cut him as easily as a knife. He felt as small as a boy, cowering before an adult. “Sorry.”

Linda placed two hands on her knees. “I don’t have all night, Herman. I drove all the way here because we meant something to each other once. If you have something to say, say it and be done.”

The conversation was somehow going even worse than he imagined. “I guess…” He began, “I guess I realize I don’t have too much to say that other folks ain’t said for me.”

Linda scoffed, a look of undoubted disappointment written all over her beautiful face. “You…You made me drive all the way down here for that? For some half-baked pretend apology? I want you to say it, Herman. What you did.”

She stood, staring down at him with an emotion he had only seen a handful of times from her, anger. He avoided her gaze. “I sinned. I lost God and I paid for it.”

“No,” She said strongly. “You lost me. I was the only one who defended you. The only one who saw the good in you. Say it. Say what you did.” Her age was melting away.

Herman stood as well and turned to go inside the house. “I’m sorry for dragging you out here, Lin. That was my mistake.”

“Say it!” She demanded. Herman turned back to her, unable to answer. “I buried your mama.” She said finally, when Herman didn’t respond. “Four years ago. Same thing you got now, cancer. You know what she told me before she went? She said, “Herman knows what he done,” but I don’t think you do. You’re a fool, just as you were fifteen years ago, and a coward.”

Coward. The word echoed in his ears, and he was brought back to his time growing up in Georgia when his father ruled his world. You think I’m raising some coward, boy?

The memory was too loud. Herman turned inside the house, afraid to say anything for fear of his emotions washing over him. Linda was following him, “Even when the truth was staring me in the face, I defended you. I loved you, Herman. Paulie loved you. You had a family. Tell me why you did it.”

But Herman couldn’t make himself face her. He only kept walking, Charlie trotting along beside slowly. He covered his face with his hands. He shut his mind down, refusing to let the thoughts in. 

He heard Linda stop behind him on the wooden floor. For a moment, it seemed the insects and the birds and the world had died away, and the only sound was him gasping for breath. “You didn’t come to daddy’s funeral.” Linda said softly. 

Suddenly, everything burst inside him. All the memories and guilt he had shoved down deep were screaming in his mind. Linda’s father, Andy, had drawn Herman out of the slums. He found him, poor, lazy, broken, and made him a working man worthy of something. Herman learned what it meant to have pride in things from Andy. They had been close as father and son, especially after Herman had fallen for Linda and married her. When he died all those years later, Herman couldn’t bring himself to go to the funeral. He received the invite in the mail from Linda, even after everything, but he couldn’t go. Instead, he had drowned his sorrows and regrets in the bottle. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could say, his own voice foreign to him.

“Lenora didn’t go either.” That made Herman pause, and after a moment he felt himself turning to face Linda. Tears were streaming down her broken face. She nodded slowly. “Daddy knew.” She whispered. 

Herman felt his own heart break inside his chest. “If you wanted her,” Linda said, her voice barely loud enough to hear, “Why did you marry me?” She was crying harder now, though still silently. “She showed me your letter. I couldn’t protect you then. The girls and their husbands told me, but I just couldn’t make it true. Not until I saw your signature at the bottom. It was Lenora’s own guilt that brought the truth out, did you know that?”

Herman did not. He had never known how Linda discovered his affair with Lenora. One day she had come into their living room and asked him to his face if it was true, but Herman could tell she already knew. So he shrugged, lifted the bottle to his lips, and withdrew inside. He locked the memories away tightly within himself. 

Linda moved out the next day. Paulie was already living on her own with her boyfriend, Ward, but when Herman went to call her a week later, the phone just rang on, and on, and on. 

He never heard from his daughter or wife again. Divorce papers appeared in the mail, and when everything was signed, he sold the house. He moved down the coast to a decrepit little shack and drank his sorrows away. He tried to find Paulie in her apartment, but all he found was bare walls. After a year, he sought out Lenora too. But, if she was still in South Carolina, she kept well hidden. He never found her, but saw a newspaper clipping saying she had died a few years back. A car accident. 

Although Herman thought about their marriage daily, he never touched what he had done. He didn’t remember why he did it, or how it happened. The memories had withered away. He never thought about how it hurt Linda, or even Paulie. Instead, he told himself he was a man. Men did things that weren’t right, but it wasn’t for those on Earth to judge. The way he figured, he would face God and find his judgment.

But Herman had not gone to church in years. He couldn’t step foot inside the place with all those secrets. Linda wiped the tears away. “You haven’t changed at all,” She turned away and walked back to her car, getting in with wet cheeks and shaking as she placed her hands on the wheel. 

Herman sat back down in the old rocking chair with no plans to rise, watched her drive away, and Charlie laid beside him. Time seemed to slow around him as he was left with no option other than to stare into the now dusky sky. He tried to search within him for the answer Linda wanted, but he couldn’t find it. He felt ill at the realization that he couldn’t provide an explanation to the person who deserved it most. Tears were falling from his own eyes. There were no excuses to hide behind, and he wondered when he faced God if he would know the answers then.