My name is Helen. I’m 71, and I felt that marrying the best friend of my late husband would finally heal the sadness that had been killing me for two years. I never thought about what it would truly show me.
My spouse, Chris, perished in an accident two years ago. A drunk driver hit him on the motorway and drove off. The ambulance got there, Chris was already gone. I was shattered. The kind of destruction where you forget to eat. Where you wake up and reach out for someone who isn’t there.
The only person who helped me stay alive was Charles, Chris’ best buddy since they were children. When I was unable to move, Charles arranged the funeral. He came over every day for weeks. He cooked meals for me when I couldn’t get out of bed. He never went too far. He was just there, ever-present and unchanging. Like a stone wall crumbling behind me.
Months passed. Then a year. I started breathing slowly once more. Charles used to drop in for a coffee. We’d sit out on my porch talking about Chris. Regarding the recollections. He’s the first person who made me chuckle after the funeral. I don’t even recall what he said. I just remember thinking, “Oh. I can still laugh.”
One afternoon Charles came bearing flowers. “They remind me of you,” he remarked, handing me a bunch of daisies. I asked him in for tea. We talked for hours and hours. About everything, and nothing. How bizarre it was to be in our 70s and yet trying to figure out what life meant.
One evening Charles came by, looking edgy. There was something in his pocket. ‘Helene, may I ask you a question?”Of course.”
He brought out a little box and opened it. Inside was a simple gold band. “I know this sounds weird. And I know we are no longer young. But will you marry me?
I looked at him, shaking. “Charles, I. ..”“You don’t have to answer now,” he replied hurriedly. I just want you to know that I care about you. “Life still feels like it has purpose when I’m with you.”
I looked at this man who had been next to me throughout the worst time of my life. I pondered the question for a long time. Two days later I said Yes. Our kids and grandkids were thrilled! The kids dubbed him “Grandpa Charles.” They’d known him all their lives.
We had a quiet wedding. No, just family. I had a cream-coloured outfit on. Charles had a great outfit on. We smiled as if we were twenty again. But I saw something during our first dance. Charles smiled but it was not in his eyes. At my age you learn the difference between a true smile and a practiced one. That one was dealt with.“Are you all right?” I murmured. “I’m okay. Just happy.”
But he was not fine. I saw it. I decided to let it go. Perhaps it was wedding jitters. Maybe Chris was on his mind. Maybe he just got carried away. But a little voice in the back of my head told me something wasn’t right.
Charles was silently haunted all the way home. I tried to engage in conversation. ‘Wasn’t the ceremony lovely?’ ‘Sure.“The kids looked so happy for us.They did.Are you sure you’re okay, Charles?”
He tightened his grasp on the steering wheel. I’ve got a headache. “That’s all.”It must be from all those flowers. I smiled. “I told you it smelt strong”. But he only bowed his head, and said no more. I sat in the passenger seat and observed him. Something was terribly wrong.
Back home I opened the bedroom door and gasped. Someone had hung it with roses and candles. My daughter, I suppose. “How beautiful,” I remarked, excited.
Charles said not a word. He went directly into the bathroom and shut the door. I slipped into my nightgown and waited on the bed. Charles was still in the tub. I could hear the water running.
Was he crying?� I stood up and went to the toilet door and put my ear to it. He was certainly weeping. I was devastated. What on earth could be making him so unhappy on our wedding night?
“Charles? You alright?” “I’m okay, Helene… “I’m fine,” he said.
At last the door opened. Charles came in. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “What’s the matter Charles?
He sat on the side of the bed, without looking at me. “You have to know the truth. I can’t keep it in any longer.”What truth?” “I don’t deserve you and your generosity, Helene.” I’m such a bad person.””No, Charles, it is not.” “Please talk to me. “”Remember that accident where Chris was killed?”
My heart pounded. “I sure do.”I’m plugged into it. You don’t know something.”
It seemed as if all the air had gone out of the room. “You’re hooked up to it?”
Charles looked at me at last. Tears were running down his face. Chris was on his way to aid me the night he died. I called him up. “I said I needed him urgently.”
I felt a tremor within me. “What happened? Why did you need him?”
Charles glanced away. ‘It doesn’t matter why. “But the thing is I called him and he was rushing to get to me.””And that drunk driver ran him over,” I added.Yeah. If I hadn’t phoned him he wouldn’t have been on that road. He wouldn have been there at that particular moment. This is my fault, Helen. I murdered my best friend.”
I glanced at him. “What was the emergency, Charles?”
He shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter now. “The thing is that I am the reason he is gone.
His statement seemed somewhat smoothed out, as if he had blunted the sharpest edges of the truth. But I could see he was in too much pain to question him further.It wasn’t your fault, Charles. It was an accident. “A terrible, terrible accident.”But if I hadn’t called him…”
“Then you would have fixed whatever was wrong yourself. But you needed your best mate. And he did come. “That’s what friends do.
He held me. But still I had the sensation he was holding back something.
The next few days were odd. Charles seemed lighter. It was as if making confession had relieved him of a burden. But I saw other things. He would go on “walks” for hours at a time. He’d be tired out when he came home. Sometimes pale. When I’d enquire whether he was okay, he’d smile and respond, “Just getting old, I guess.”
But I didn’t believe him then. One night he came home and I hugged him. Then I smelt the antiseptics.“You were in a hospital?” I enquired.
He drew fast away. “No. Why would you think that?You smell as if you’ve been in a hospital.Oh, that . . . yeah. “I just stopped by to drop off some paperwork,” he said, hastily. “It was nothing, Elizabeth.
He kissed my forehead and made his way to a shower. I stood there, my head spinning. He was a fraud. I knew it.” But why? What was Charles concealing from me? That was the moment I determined I had to find out.
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The following afternoon Charles said he was going for a walk. “I’ll be back in an hour.
I waited for five minutes. Then I grabbed my coat and followed. I’m ancient, but I can still move silently when I want to.” I kept my distance so that he wouldn’t see me. He left the main route and decreased his pace. A few moments later he stepped through the sliding doors of a hospital.
My heart was thudding. What’s he doing here? I waited a few minutes, then went after him. Distracted, the woman at the reception desk, and I kept my head down, moving like I belonged there. I heard Charles’s voice from down the hall. I followed the sound of his voice into one of the consulting rooms. The door was half-open. I stood outside listening. “Charles was saying: “I don’t want to die. Not now. Not now I have something to live for at last.
A voice like a doctor’s answered. Your best bet, Charles, is surgery. But we have to get it done soon. “Your heart can’t stand any more of this.”
My hand shot to my mouth. The heart?’How long have I got?’ Charles enquired.
I’m not sure that’s how it works. That might be a year. But with the operation you may have years.”
I unlocked the door. Charles looked up and his face became white. “Helene?”
I entered the room. “What is happening?”
The doctor looked at each of us in turn. “Are you family?” “”I’m his wife.”
can explain…” “Then explain it.”
He glared at the doctor. “Can you give us a minute?
The doctor nodded and departed. Charles sank back in his chair, his shoulders slumping. I drew a chair nearer and sat facing him. “Your heart isn’t working.Yes.How long have you been acquainted?
Charles gazed at his hands. “Two years.
My eyes popped open. “Two years? Because…”.
Chris died last night. That night the devastation started. Later on I was diagnosed. “I’ve been coping with it… and covering up how bad it’s become.
It all made sense. That’s why you phoned him that night. “You were having a heart attack.””
Charles nodded, and the tears streamed down his face. It wasn’t hard. But I was afraid. I lost it. I contacted Chris and told him to come and pick me up and take me to hospital.”
And he was in a hurry to save you.”“Yes,” he admitted. I was located by a neighbour who contacted 911. I don’t recall the ride. I just remember waking up … and Chris was gone by then.”
I stretched for his hand “Charles, why didn’t you tell me?
Image Credits: Original
Source: Original “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me too. I was close by to assist you heal. And somewhere along the process, I fell in love with you… even while secretly frightened of what my heart may do.””Why didn’t you tell me about your heart before we got married?”I didn’t want you to marry me out of pity. I wanted you to marry me, I knew you loved me.
He married me not to die. He had married me thinking he’d live… only silently frightened of losing it.
I gripped his hand tightly. ‘Charles, I didn’t marry you for pity. I married you because I love you. Because you make me feel like life is still worth living
He looked up at me. The doctors informed me that if I was attentive it may be stable for years. I did think I had time, really. But… “
“I won’t lose you.” I squeezed his hand harder. Not like thith. “You’re having that surgery.””Helen….No arguments. We are going to combat this. Together.
He held me in his arms and wailed like a young boy.“You don’t deserve me.Well, you got me now.
For the next few weeks I made it my goal to prepare Charles for surgery. I looked to see how he was. Spoke to the doctors. Made sure he was eating well and taking his medication. The youngsters came to watch. They were frightened when we told them. But they came in to our rescue. Granddaughter clasped Charles’s hand and pleaded, “You had to get better, Grandpa Charles. You said you would teach me to play chess.”
She grinned at him. Yes, sweetie. I promise you.”
On the day of surgery I waited in the waiting area for 6 hours. Each minute was an eternity. Then at last the doctor appeared. “The operation was good. He is stable.
Two months later, Charles and I went jointly to Chris’ burial. We brought Daisies, Chris’s favourite. I put them on the gravestone.”I miss you,” I mumbled. Every day. But now I am good. And I think you’d be pleased about that.”
Charles was next to me, his hand in mine. Love hadn’t replaced what I’d lost. It went on. And sometimes that’s the best gift grief can give you.
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