One Little Word

Roger tucked his work gloves into the back pocket of his jeans, threw a hammer and a box of sixteen penny nails into a beat up tool box, padlocked it, and walked slowly toward his truck. The truck’s once bright red color had faded to a dull red mixed with rust. The tailgate bowed in, the result of old Mrs. Hackett rear ending him at the stop sign on Hawthorne Road. The right front fender was caved in, through no one else’s fault. Roger was driving too fast around an icy curve, when the truck veered off the road into a grove of trees. He was lucky there wasn’t more damage. The back window, broken out last month, had been replaced by a piece of plywood. Roger climbed inside and turned the key, but all he heard was a clicking sound. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, threw his cap down on the seat beside him, and leaned back against the seat.

His life had become a series of unfortunate events, beginning with Nancy’s death last year. He had watched his wife die a slow, painful death. He tried everything to make her more comfortable, but nothing he could do helped. On the day before their thirtieth wedding anniversary, Nancy left him alone. Melanie comforted her father, as he did her, yet there was no comfort in the loss of their beloved wife and mother. A few days later, Melanie went back to her husband in California, and Roger to a life alone. Nancy’s medical bills had taken their life savings, leaving Roger’s personal finances depleted and contracting business running in the red. He ran his hands threw his hair, picked up his cap, and climbed out of the truck.

It was a short walk to Sweet Sue’s. Sue operated a bake shop and coffee bar, which also served croissant sandwiches. Roger’s stomach grumbled. He looked at his watch and decided to eat before calling his friend Larry for a ride.

Roger finished his chicken salad sandwich and chewed the last bite of a dill pickle. He put a dollar bill on the table and went outside. He stuffed the proper coins in the slot of the pay phone, and punched in Larry’s number. No answer. Roger hung up the phone, listened to the coins fall, and plucked them from the coin return tray. He couldn’t think of anyone else to call. He started to try the number again. Instead, he dropped the coins in his pocket and proceeded to walk the two miles home.

The park wasn’t the quiet, pleasant place he had hoped. He skirted the gazebo, pausing long enough to listen to one song by the local pop band holding a free concert. The drummer was the son of an acquaintance from church. The music was too loud, the pounding drum threatened to cause a migraine. Roger started to walk away, when Myrtle stepped in front of him.

Myrtle’s husband died of a heart attack two years ago. Since then, Myrtle preyed upon the widowers of the community. Roger was her most recent target. He tried to step around her, she stepped the same way. They collided. Roger wasn’t in the mood. Without saying a word, he took her by the shoulders, gently moved her aside, and continued his lonely walk home. No one could take the place of his Nancy. He wanted to turn the clock back. All he wanted to do was be with his wife.

By the time Roger turned up the walk to his house, it was almost dark. He stopped in front of the door, dreading another evening alone. He sat down on the stone bench beneath a weeping willow tree. Nancy bought the bench from a garden shop down the street soon after she learned she was sick. She had the words LIVE WELL––LAUGH OFTEN––LOVE MUCH inscribed on the seat. Roger ran his finger over the words and spoke softly to the sky, “How can I live, laugh, or love without you Nancy?”

With tears streaming down his face, Roger walked down to the dock and climbed aboard The Promise. Instead of traveling around the country in an RV after retirement, Roger and Nancy planned to spend their time fishing in the gulf. But he wouldn’t be retiring anytime soon. Nancy’s medical bills were about to push him into bankruptcy. He hated giving up their dream. Roger ripped the For Sale sign off the side and watched it float away in the water. He stood there until the sign disappeared into the darkness, and then picked up a coil of rope before returning to the house.

Returning to his seat on the bench, Roger fashioned one end of the rope into a noose, something he had practiced as a youngster after watching a Gunsmoke episode. He looked at the noose, surprised how easily he remembered to tie the slip knot. Calmly, unwavering in his resolve, Roger unlocked the front door. His foot bumped into a package left on the mat. He picked it up and carried it inside.

Roger tossed the package on the sofa, looked at the blinking light on the answering machine, and turned on a lamp. He tossed one end of the rope around the open cross beams in the living room and tied it securely. After positioning a dining room chair beneath the noose, Roger stood on the chair and pulled the noose over his head, tightening the slip knot around his neck.

It was then the telephone rang. On the third ring, the answering machine picked up. He listened to his daughter’s excited voice, “Dad. Are you home yet? Did you get my package? Call me!”

Roger stared at the package on the sofa, wondering why his daughter was so excited about a package. Curiosity had him removing the rope from around his neck, and jumping down from the chair. He picked up the package and ripped off the paper. Inside he found a letter and a huge diaper pin. He read the letter.

Hi Dad,

Guess what? Brad is being transferred back home. We’ll be moving by the end of the month. I know you have the house up for sale, so we want you to sell it to us. The master bedroom suite would still be yours. We would hire you to build a couple more rooms on the back of the house. Please let me know.

In case you are wondering about the diaper pin, well, you’re going to be a grandpa. I hope you are excited as we are. I only wish mom were still here. She would have made a wonderful grandmother.

Call me when you get this.

I love you,

Melanie

Roger reread the letter. Not only was he going to be a grandfather and have his daughter back, but selling the house would certainly help with his money problems. This time when the telephone rang, Roger answered it.

“Hi Dad. Did you get my package yet?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, what do you think?”

Roger smiled, “You have made me the happiest man in the world and saved my life, all with one little word.”

“Now you’re being dramatic. But I’ll play along. What word Dad?”

“Grandpa.”

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