Jeffree Wyn Itrich's Blog, page 5

My Very Good, Very Bad Dog

I am ecstatic to announce that I will have an essay in the upcoming Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Very Good, Very Bad Dog. The essay, "The Busboy", is about a silly dog I had a number of years ago. He's long gone but his whimsy and tenacity lives on! The book comes out February 9th. If you are in the San Diego area there will be some book readings and signings. Check back here or my Facebook page for dates and times. Hope to see you there!

 

A Promise Kept - The End of the Story

It was good that they held that conversation when they did because a month later, Annabelle stopped recognizing him, stopped recognizing their family. She sat in a chair and stared at the wall of her room or laid in her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She stopped responding to stimulation and conversation. Jack fed her yogurt, pureed vegetables, soup, pudding and ice cream by spoon. She didn’t recognize anyone and could no longer control any bodily functions. Although the nurses turned her several times a day she developed bed sores and often cried out in pain, agony threading her voice.  The dreadful anguish hurt Jack almost as much as it hurt her. Even though there was nothing he could do for her Jack never stopped coming to see her and staying at her side until the nurses sent him home. Everyday he felt his heart break into smaller and smaller pieces. He wrestled with his faith, not understanding why God would let a woman as good as Annabelle suffer in such a horrific way. He prayed to God to take her, to put her out of her misery. Jack kept thinking about what Annabelle asked of him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 

One day, she slipped off her pillow, her mouth agape, her eyes staring off to the side. Jack picked up the pillow to rearrange it under her head. As he lifted her head he stared into her vacant eyes and knew he could not allow the love of his life to continue living like this. It was not living. He knew this was exactly what she did not want. He grasped what he needed to do, with or without God’s help. It would be his final gift, his promise to her, his final act of love. Jack leaned over and kissed her and ran his fingers through her fine white hair. She blinked and looked up, seeing nothing. He took in a big breath to steady himself and with all the tenderness he could gather, placed the pillow over her face, holding it there for several minutes. When he removed the pillow he could see that she had left this world. He stood still, staring at her, hugging the pillow. His heart pounded against his ribs and the tears came fast and hot. His shoulders shook with convulsive spasms, forcing him to collapse into a chair. He sobbed until the nurses came to see what was wrong.

 

* * * *

 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you come to a verdict?” the judge asked the jury that had returned from the deliberation room and settled into their seats.

 

“Yes, your honor, we have,” answered the jury foreman.

 

“Please hand your verdict to the bailiff,” the judge instructed.

 

The courtroom sat motionless as the judge opened the card and without a sound, read the decision. Jack did not look up. He sat perched at the edge of his seat, his eyes focused on the top of the defense table. The judge handed the card to the deputy who strode back over to the jury foreman and handed him the verdict to read. The foreman stood tall, ramrod-straight like a soldier, his shoulders back. He opened the card.

 

“Your honor, the jury finds the defendant not guilty.”

 

At first, silence sucked the air out of the room, similar to what happens moments before a tornado hits. Shock filled the air broken by the low voice of the prosecuting attorney who let out a sigh. He turned to his assistant. “Glad that’s over. This was the worst case I’ve ever prosecuted.”

 

The room erupted in cheers, so loud that the judge tried to calm down the crowd by shouting “order in the court” but, it was useless. The crowd was not going to calm down. To the contrary the noise got louder and louder. “What the hell,” the judge commented as he got up and stepped toward his chambers. Mary Ellen ran from her seat to her father’s side. Jack sat staring.

 

“Dad, Dad, did you hear that? The jury found you not guilty!” She reached down and embraced him, wrapping her arms around him. When she let go and looked at his face she saw not joy, but sadness. The kind of sadness that envelops the soul, pierces the heart, penetrates the bones.

 

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Mary Ellen asked. “You should be happy.”

 

Jack stroked his daughter’s cheek. “My sunlight, how can I be happy? Your mother is gone and I’ll never get her back.”

 

She took his hands into her own. “Dad, you did the right thing for Mom, what she wanted, and you won’t go to prison for it, that’s what matters,” she responded.

 

His defense attorney nodded her head in agreement.  “Mr. Marino, go on home now. It’s over.”

 

“Dad, I’m going to make you your favorite lunch of cioppino and Italian bread. Vinny will go get all your favorite seafood. And we’re going to celebrate by opening a bottle of Proseco. Afterwards you’re going to stay at my house tonight. Tomorrow I’ll take you home and get you settled. But tonight, we celebrate, okay?”

 

Jack nodded without emotion, got up and shuffled to the back of the courtroom accompanied by his family. They stepped outside where for the first time in days Jack felt the glow of the sun on his face, pierced by a slight chill in the air. They drove to Mary Ellen and Vinny’s house.

 

Although everyone, including friends and neighbors, made a big deal out of the lunch and jury verdict, Jack couldn’t celebrate. All he could think of was his Annabelle was gone, at his own hand. He almost wished he had been found guilty and sent to the death chamber. He didn’t know how he would live the rest of his days knowing what he had done, even if it was what Annabelle wanted. He picked at his food, not bothering to drink the Proseco.

 

“What’s the matter, Dad? Don’t you like it?” Mary Ellen asked.

 

“It’s fine honey, I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” And indeed he did look tired. No, he looked worn out. His usual ruddy skin took on the texture and pallor of one suffering from a long illness, pale and translucent. Even though he was a man of 85, he looked like he’d passed his 100th birthday.  “Would you mind if I took a nap? I couldn’t sleep in the jail.”

 

“Of course, Dad,” Mary Ellen rose out of her chair and accompanied him to the upstairs guest room. He lay down on the bed; she covered him with a quilt that Annabelle had made many years before, kissed him on the cheek and left the room. After she closed the door he reached over and took the photo Mary Ellen kept of Jack and Annabelle on a bedside table. He brought it to his chest, and hugged the photo frame until sleep met him at the door of his consciousness.

 

* * * *

 

“Hun, do you think you should go check on your father? Everyone went home hours ago. He’s been sleeping a long time,” Vinny remarked to his wife.

 

“Yeah, I was thinking that too. He will never be able to fall asleep tonight if he doesn’t stay awake for a bit.”

 

Mary Ellen ascended the stairs, opened the door and walked into the room. She let out a faint sob. Vinny and the children heard it and raced up the stairs. They stood at the door staring into the room where Jack lay, clutching the photo, staring into the netherworld, a tranquil smile caressing his pallid face, devoid of life. What they didn’t see, couldn’t see, was a smiling Annabelle taking Jack’s hand. Just as she once helped him rise from the bed in the medical tent in Europe, she helped him rise from the bed where he took his last breath. They stood and watched their family for a few minutes.

 

“What now?” Jack asked.

 

Annabelle glowed as she grinned at him. “Now, my darling, we spend the rest of time together. Come,” she urged him toward a brilliant light. “There are a lot of people waiting to greet you.”

 

-end-

A Promise Kept - Segment #7

Jack insisted on taking her to a specialist at the local university, much to her objection. After running extensive tests, the doctor confirmed Jack’s worst fear when he told them she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Neither of them knew much about the disease, what that meant. When the doctor told them there was no cure and that Annabelle would progressively get worse until she could no longer take care of herself, Jack knew it was time for him to fulfill the promise he had made long ago.

 

As Annabelle’s Alzheimer’s advanced, Jack took over duties at home and doted on her, treating her like a princess. One day he would bring her cake and ice cream and bouquets of roses as though it were her birthday, or take her to the hair salon even when her hair didn’t need styling. Other days he would drive her into the mountains to pick apples in Julian or walk her on the beach. One day he took her to Ocean Beach to show her where he proposed. They sat down on the sand in the very spot where Jack poured out his heart to her. At that moment a dull mist broke over the watery horizon, blossoming in shades of cornflower blue, soft lavender and a pale sea green. A breeze blew past them as waves crashed on the shore, accompanied by graceful seagulls singing to the wind.

 

“Do you remember this place, Annabelle?” he asked.

 

She stared at him, not quite understanding the question. “It’s a nice place. I like it here.”

 

Overhead a troupe of seagulls soared out of the stillness, swooping above them, heading out to sea. The birds caught Annabelle’s momentary attention.

 

“Annabelle?” She looked back at him.

 

“Do you remember what happened here 65 years ago?” he asked again.

 

She knitted her brows, thinking. At last, she shook her head.

 

Jack felt a twinge in his gut. “I proposed to you here, honey. You don’t remember that?”

 

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, blinking and staring at him.

He knew at that moment that the disease was taking her away from him, faster than he expected. Time was running out, for both of them. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. He never understood heartbreak, but he did now. From that day onward Jack began to grieve in silence as though she had already died, yet never let her know and never let her see the wrenching pain that was consuming him piece by piece. As she entered the more severe phase of the disease friends and family began suggesting he put her in a nursing home. He was getting old himself and the difficulties of full time caregiving was taking their toll on him. His muscles often ached; his back throbbed with dull, pervasive pain. Exhaustion consumed him. Between cooking, cleaning, laundry and the extensive effort it took to care for Annabelle’s every need, he often succumbed to whatever virus was making the rounds. Although sick he refused to stay in bed; he had too much to do. One day his daughter knocked on the door and insisted they have a talk.

 

“You can’t keep doing this, Dad,” Mary Ellen insisted. “You’re going to kill yourself and then what good will you be to Mom?” She leaned over and hugged Jack. For the first time she could feel how frail he had become. Always a strong and stalwart man who cut a muscular figure, now he resembled a silhouette of his former self.

 

“What choice do I have, sweetheart?” he responded. “Someone has to do it. I have to do it.”

 

“No, you don’t, Dad. We can put her in a nursing home, where she will get full time care.”

 

A shadow crossed his face. “I could never do that to your mother. Why, during the war----”

 

“Dad, I know about the war, which was different. Besides, you were put in Balboa when you came back. You had full time care, just like Mom needs now. You’re going to have a heart attack or a stroke. Please, I know I’m going to lose Mom. I don’t want to lose you at the same time.” She reached down and gave his hand a squeeze. “Please? Will you consider it?”

 

Jack nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

 

And think he did, long and hard. His daughter’s words that he might die continuing to care for Annabelle alone struck him hard. The idea of dying before Annabelle and leaving the burden of caring for Annabelle to Mary Ellen grated on him. He thought about it for a few days, then called his daughter and agreed to place Annabelle in a nursing home that Mary Ellen found not far from their home. He all but moved in with Annabelle, spending his days and evenings at her bedside until the nurses would make him go home. He couldn’t sleep at home knowing she was alone and would return at daybreak. For the first few months she asked him what she was doing there and why he would put her in a place like that.

 

“Don’t you love me anymore?” she asked one day.

 

“Of course I do, why do you ask?”

 

“Jack, if you loved me, you would take me home, not make me live in a place like this! A sorry husband you turned out to be.”

 

Annabelle might as well have stabbed him in the gut. The social worker had told him to expect comments like this and that he had to be strong and ignore them. “It’s not Annabelle,” the social worker said. “It’s the disease talking.” Jack tried to remember what the social worker said. It was hard though as Annabelle’s spiteful comments increased. It was an Annabelle he didn’t know. Her words seared as hot as the shrapnel that burned into his body at the war’s end.

 

One day Jack walked into her room to find her sitting up in bed, looking sprite and as lucid as she was before the disease took over her mind and body. Her eyes sparkled with clarity. He bent down to kiss her; she responded with fervor, reminiscent of their early days together. His old Annabelle was back.

 

“Jack, sit down, I need to tell you something important.” She patted the side of her bed. Jack sat and waited. “Honey, I know my brain’s not right. Some days I can’t remember anything and I know it’s getting worse.”

 

Jack nodded and held her stare.

 

“One of these days I won’t recognize you or Mary Ellen or Vinny or the grandkids. Even though I won’t know it, my soul will. I can’t bear the thought of it,” she said, a breath above a whisper, a quiver in her voice.

 

Jack nodded again, unable to speak for fear of letting go a torrent of tears.

 

“Jack, I don’t want to live like that. I would never allow you to live that way, if it was you in this bed. It isn’t living. Well, I suppose it is, but it’s more like a living hell.”

 

“What choice do we have, Annabelle?” he asked, not sure what she was trying to say.

 

Annabelle took in a large breath of air and let it out slow and measured. She gazed straight at Jack, an icy calm to her voice. “I want you to kill me when I get bad. Put me out of my misery, just as we put all our dogs to sleep when they got old.”

 

Jack’s jaw dropped open. “You’re not a dog, Annabelle!” Jack protested. “I couldn’t put you to sleep.”

 

“Jack, I know that I’m asking the most difficult thing I’ve ever asked of you. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. That is when I can think. I can’t ask this of anyone else. Please don’t allow me to live like a vegetable. Don’t let them put tubes in me to extend my life. Let me go, help me leave this earth with dignity. Please, Jack?” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

 

That did it. Tears sprang to Jack’s eyes. He turned his head to shade her from his grief. She reached over and took him into her arms. She held him and let him cry until he could cry no more. He sat back and looked at her, and held her face in his hands.

 

“Oh, Annabelle, I love you more than life itself. How can I let you go? How can I do what you’re asking of me? I don’t want you to suffer, but I don’t think I have the courage to do it.”

 

“My dear sweet soldier, yes, you do,” she responded, running her hands over the sides of his face and cupping it in her hands. “When the day comes that I am not myself, when the Annabelle you have loved these many years is gone, you will have the strength. You will find it. I believe in you, Jack.”

 

A Promise Kept - Segment #6

“You know that I love you, right?” Jack asked one evening at dusk as they sat on the sand at Ocean Beach near the long wooden pier. They had removed their shoes and buried their toes and were watching the burnt orange sun set over the Pacific.

 

Annabelle stared at Jack mouthing the words. She felt his words in her mind as much as she heard them.

 

“I’ve loved you since the moment I woke up in that medical tent and saw you hovering over me. I thought I’d died and you were my angel, except that I hurt so damn bad I figured I couldn’t be dead.”

 

It took a moment for the words to register. Annabelle grinned.

 

“And you love me too, right?” he continued, hope filling his eyes.

 

Annabelle nodded; her face brushed in the glow of the late afternoon sun. “You know I do. Where are you going with this?”

 

“I want you to be my wife,” Jack announced.

 

He pulled his feet out of the sand, turned around and kneeled in front of her. He reached into his back pocket, removed a small box and opened it. A ring with a small, sparkling diamond glittered in the waning sunlight. Annabelle stared at the ring, stared at Jack. Time passed as slow as the mountains move.

 

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

 

“Sure?” he shouted. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I want to take care of you the way you took care of me. And I will. I want a family with you. I want to grow old with you. I’ll take care of you until the end of our lives.”

 

Tears trickled out the corners of her eyes. She reached up and wiped them away.

 

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his brow wrinkled with anxiety. “Are you turning me down?”

 

“No, you silly man, I adore you and yes, I would be honored to be your wife.”

 

“Then why the tears?”

 

“Because I’m so happy,” she responded as a flood of tears let loose, flowing down her reddened cheeks.

 

They married a month later. The following year Annabelle gave birth to their daughter, the sunlight of their lives. Jack spoiled the little girl almost as much as he spoiled Annabelle. That same year he returned to work on his father’s fishing boat. It provided a good income for them, allowing them to buy a house in Little Italy and a car of their own. When Sal retired Jack took over the boat which he operated until the tuna fishing industry died out in San Diego. By then he was ready to do something else. He took a job working in the aerospace industry where he stayed until he retired and he and Annabelle were ready to take it easy.

 

They traveled to places they had always wanted to see, such as the Italian town where the Marino family lived before moving to San Diego. They spent time with their daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. They lived a simple, full life, filled with daily joys.

 

Then life wasn’t so simple for Annabelle anymore. She misplaced things. She got lost going to the market and coming home. She couldn’t remember the names of family members and lifelong friends. A few times she even forgot Jack’s name. Jack grew more and more concerned about Annabelle. Her forgetfulness was getting worse. But it wasn’t just forgetting, it was forgetting things that she should have remembered. Important things that mattered. Then she would be fine for a few weeks and it would start all over again. If he asked her about it she would tell him it was nothing, that she was tired or distracted or some other excuse.  Jack knew it was more than that, something wasn’t right.

A Promise Kept -- The Kiss

Like she predicted, Annabelle woke up in the afternoon. Before she did anything she called the hospital to check on Jack. She told Mae she would visit in a few hours and see the nurse manager to find out when she should start work. After she ate, she milked Dorothy, and dressed for the hospital. Freddy drove her to the front entrance.

 

“Should I wait for you?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “No, I’ll call when I need a pick-up. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.” She picked up her purse and a thermos of Dorothy’s warm milk and headed inside.

 

It took longer to find Jack’s room than she expected. She couldn’t go 10 feet without someone stopping her and welcoming her home, asking more questions than she cared to answer just then. After what felt like hours she walked into a room he shared with three other men. They all looked at Annabelle when she stepped through the door. A man with dark hair and his arm in a sling gave out a low whistle and looked over at Jack. “Is that the pretty nurse you told us about?” Jack nodded, grinning. “Well, you sure were right,” the man responded.

 

Annabelle stepped to the side of Jack’s bed and pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes glowing at the joy of seeing him. She surprised herself. She hadn’t expected to miss him as much as she did.

 

“Much better now that you’re here,” he answered. “They’re nice here, but not like you.” He looked at the thermos. “What’s that? Whiskey?”

 

“Jack Marino! Do you think I’d bring whiskey into a hospital?” she admonished him.

 

“What is it then?”

 

Annabelle held up the thermos. “Dorothy’s milk. I told you I’d bring you some. I milked her right before I came over here.”

 

“Milk?”

 

Annabelle’s bottom lip protruded in a feigned pout. “It’s wonderful milk, the sweetest milk you’ll ever drink. It’ll help you build your strength.”

 

“Can you put a little whiskey in it? I’m not much of a milk drinker.”

 

“No, I won’t, Jack Marino!” Annabelle opened the thermos and poured a full cup. She handed it him.

 

He looked at the milk and back up at Annabelle. “Do I have to?”

 

Annabelle held her head high. “Yes, you do, if you ever want to see me again.” 

 

Jack tipped the cup up to his lips and drank it all, holding the cup out to Annabelle for more. “I missed you. If I drink the whole thermos do you promise to come see me every day?”

 

Annabelle nodded. “I do if you promise to drink a quart of fresh milk a day.”

 

Jack stared at her and she stared back for a full minute. “Deal,” he said.

 

“Deal,” she responded reaching out her hand and shaking his.

 

 A few weeks later, as recovered as he was going to get, Annabelle escorted Jack out of the hospital to his father waiting in his car at the curb. Jack stood up from the wheelchair on his own and turned to Annabelle.

 

“When am I going to see you again?” he asked.

 

“That depends,” Annabelle answered.

 

“On what?”

 

“On when you take me to dinner.” She cracked a subtle smile, masking her inner strength. Before the war she wasn’t so blunt and that seemed a lifetime ago. The war had taught her how to be bold and outspoken, to say what was on her mind.

 

Jack let out a whoop so loud they might have heard it inside the hospital. He threw his arms around Annabelle in a hug, and then winced at moving his shoulder too fast.

 

“Take it easy, Jack. Don’t go re-injuring yourself. I don’t want to have to come to your house and sew you up again,” she smiled.

 

“I wouldn’t mind if you came to my house to sew me up. I wouldn’t mind seeing you every day, sweetheart.”

 

She handed him a small piece of paper scribbled with her name and phone number, and then helped Jack into the car. Annabelle watched Jack’s father drive away. She hoped he would call.

 

And call he did, everyday. Often twice a day. He saw her several times a week. Most nights he took her to his home where his mother insisted on trying to fatten her up with her robust Italian cooking. For every four that Jack would eat of Mrs. Marino’s humongous meatballs, Annabelle could not finish even one. She had never seen meatballs as big as oranges. Mrs. Marino always sent Annabelle home with fresh fish Sal caught on his boat. Other nights Annabelle’s mother hosted them, feeding Jack good ole Midwestern fare like meatloaf and roasted chicken and pot roast and sweet, white corn they grew on the farm. Each time he left Mrs. Pearl handed him a bottle of fresh milk or thick cream, and a cut of cheese, made in their dairy.

 

One evening Annabelle walked him to his family’s car and stood in front of the driver’s side door, preventing him from opening it. “Well?” she asked, her hands planted on her hips.

 

His eyes widened. “Well, what?”

 

“Are you going to kiss me or not? I’ve been waiting for weeks.”

 

She no sooner finished her sentence than Jack leaned down, held her head in his hands and kissed her with a passion that surprised them both.  The sound of clapping erupted behind them. They turned to see her mother, father and brother standing on the porch, clapping and cheering.

 

“It’s about time!” Freddy yelled.

 

Annabelle blushed like a crimson sunset, but it didn’t faze Jack. “He’s right,” and leaned back down to give her another kiss before he got in the car and drove away.

 

A Promise Kept - Segment #5

“You are one dinky little chicken!” Freddy Pearl laughed. “Didn’t they feed you over there?” he asked as he held the front door open for his little sister.

 “Yeah, but it wasn’t very good and I was often too tired to eat. I’m sure it was the same where you were stationed. Lotta long hours. All I want to do when I get home is take a long, hot bath, have one of Mama’s home cooked meals and sleep. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since I shipped out. How is everybody?”

 “Everyone’s doing great. We’ve just been waiting on you. Even Dorothy. She moos for you every morning,” Freddy joked.

“I’ve missed all of you so much. When did you get back?”

 “Me? I got here about a week after VE Day. I tell ya, sis, it’s been grand to be home and let Mama spoil me. Man, she’s been cooking like I’m the president! Hey, speaking of home cooked meals, Mama said to bring you right home. She’s making roast beef for your welcome home dinner.”

 “Roast beef?! That’s expensive! She shouldn’t have done that,” Annabelle squawked.

 

“Dad insisted. They put money away in a ceramic jar and waited until they knew you were coming home for sure. They did the same thing for my homecoming. I got Baja lobster! Yesterday they went out and bought the best roast beef they could afford. She’s making a bunch of your other favorites too, I don’t remember exactly what. I think a vegetable, yeah, Brussel sprouts, maybe stuffed potatoes, and cake, I think.”

 

Annabelle faked a swoon. “I can almost taste it. I hope it’s her spice cake,” she giggled. “Come on, I’m hungry just thinking about it.” She looped her arm through Freddy’s and almost skipped out of the building toward the family car.

 

After the best dinner Annabelle could ever remember eating, and spending some much needed time with Dorothy, she climbed the stairs and took a hot bath. She stayed in the water until it went cold. She didn’t mind; it beat what she was used to in the camp. As soon as she towel-dried her hair and put on fresh clothes that her mother had washed, ironed and laid ready for her on her bed she went back downstairs. She plopped into her favorite overstuffed chair, surrounded by everyone. They wanted to hear her stories of the war which were quite different than Freddy’s. When she finished her tales, the family sat silent, staring at the floor.

 

“What is it? Why are you quiet all of a sudden?” Annabelle asked.

 

“Darling, it’s about that boy you were so sweet on before you shipped out,” her Mama said.

 

“Oh no, was Hank killed?” Annabelle asked, a tell tale quiver in her voice.

 

“Worse,” Freddy responded.

 

“Worse?” Annabelle turned to her brother. “What could be worse than dying?” Annabelle quipped.

 

The family glanced at one another. “You tell her,” her father said looking at his wife and scratching his head, not quite covered in thinning hair. “It’s best coming from you.”

 

Annabelle looked at all of them, swallowing her impatience with great restraint. “What is it then?”

 

Mrs. Pearl sat up straight in her chair and tucked a stray curl into her bun. “He married that Lambert girl,” Mrs. Pearl said.

 

“Jenny? He married Jenny Lambert?” Annabelle burst out, her blue eyes wide with disbelief.

“When?”

 

“As soon as he got home from the war,” Freddy answered. “He wasn’t home even a week before they got married.”

 

“There’s more,” Mrs. Pearl added. “They started seeing one another not too long after you left. While he was away she had a baby. His baby.”

 

Annabelle sat back in her chair, stunned into silence.

 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Freddy asked.

 

She looked at her brother. “What’s there to say? It just makes sense, that’s all. A few months after I deployed to Europe he stopped writing to me. I wrote him several times. He never answered my letters. Now I know why. Jenny always had eyes for Hank.”

 

“Sweetie, we’re real sorry,” her father said.

 

“Thanks, Pops. I’m a little shocked, but I’m okay. I’ve had a few years to think about all this. He stopped writing a long time ago and I figured something was up. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.” She put on her best big girl smile.

 

“Annabelle, with all the boys coming home from the war, you’ll find someone else, someone special who will treat you right.” her Mama said.

 

The sides of her mouth formed a little grin. “In fact I did meet someone kind of special. He was the most injured of the men I helped transport home. A real nice boy. He’s lives here in San Diego. But I didn’t think of him that way because I thought, I thought, well, I thought that Hank and I would get married. Oh! Oh! That reminds me, I need to call the hospital.” She jumped out of her chair. “I told Mae that I’d phone her and check on him.” She got up, and made the call. After Mae reassured her that Jack was doing fine she turned back to her family, her eyes bloodshot and weary.

 

“You know, I’m real tired. I didn’t sleep much on the air transport. If it’s okay with all of you I’d like to turn in early.”

 

“Of course, sweetheart, you go on up to bed. Your clean nightgown is in the dresser drawer,” her mama said.

 

Annabelle smiled and nodded. “If I don’t wake up until tomorrow afternoon, don’t worry. I haven’t had more than four to five hours sleep a night in three years. I have some catching up to do.” She walked around and kissed each of them goodnight, then headed up the stairs.  

 

 

 

A Promise Kept - Segment #4

The men shuffled onto the plane, some quicker than others, depending on their injuries. With his stiff leg, Jack boarded last, with Annabelle at his side helping him up the stairs, one slow step at a time. The group settled into their seats, excitement and hope plastered across their faces. Annabelle checked on each soldier before she settled herself next to Jack, the most wounded man on board. Happy as all the soldiers were boarding the flight, after the novelty of going stateside wore off, the flight back took its toll on the passengers. The seats were uncomfortable, the air stuffy and the constant loud din of the engines humming over thousands of miles annoyed even the most patient of men. Take offs, landings and turbulence caused injuries to ache anew.

Hours into the flight a powerful spate of turbulence rocked the plane like a jerky roller coaster ride, slamming them around the cabin. Jack winced and grabbed his shoulder. Annabelle removed his hand to see blood seeping through his shirt. She jumped out of her seat, turned to face him and unbuttoned his shirt. Sure enough, a major leak had spurted between stitches broken when the turbulence caused him to smash against a railing at the seat’s edge.  

 

“Is it bad?” he asked, trying to look at his shoulder.

 

“Bad enough,” she answered. “I need to stop the bleeding before it gets worse.” She didn’t tell him that if she didn’t stop the bleeding that he could bleed out and die before they landed at the next airport. Right now he didn’t need to hear that. “Here,” she took his hand. “Press it against the wound. Don’t want you bleeding all over the plane and making a mess,” she joked. Jack didn’t smile.

 

She reached under her seat for her medical bag, took out supplies and began prepping. As soon as she had everything ready she removed Jack’s shirt. “You need to stay very still,” she instructed him. “I’ll give you a little topical medicine to dull the pain of the needle. Even so, you’re going to feel it. I can’t numb it more than that.”

 

Jack nodded. “I’ve been through the drill. Go ahead.” He closed his eyes and laid his head back.

 

Annabelle cleaned the blood and applied gauze to stanch the flow. She held it tight for several minutes. “Jack, can you press the dressing tight while I thread the needle? And start praying.”

 

Jack’s eyes abruptly opened. “Praying?”

 

“That we don’t experience any more turbulence while I knit you back together. If we hit another bad patch I might accidentally pierce your artery.”

 

“I’m guessing from your tone that would not be good?”

 

“Smart man you are, Jack Marino. Now stay very still so I can close you up as quickly as possible.”

 

Jack closed his eyes again, reached up and pressed his fingers against the gauze.  As soon as she threaded the needle she removed the gauze, cleaned the wound with alcohol, applied the topical pain killer, and began suturing the open wound back together again. Each time she punctured his skin he winced, and his jaw tightened. A few minutes later she finished, applied ointment and redressed the wound with gauze. She stood up and it was then that she saw all the men around them watching her, watching Jack. They applauded and whistled to Annabelle’s embarrassment. She shook her head and waved off the cheers. Annabelle reached down and picked up Jack’s shirt.

 

“I wish you had another shirt” Annabelle said.  “I hate for you to go home with these blood stains. Oh well, can’t be helped. You need to wear something so let’s get it back on you.” With unhurried and cautious movements Annabelle redressed him, covered him in a light jacket, and then sat back down in her seat. “Are you alright?”

 

“Just peachy,” he smiled. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

 

Annabelle cocked her head back in surprise. “How so?”

 

Jack closed his eyes again. “I have the best nurse in the entire U.S. Armed Forces sitting right here, taking personal care of me. Yep, I’m pretty darn lucky.” He reached over and laid a hand over Annabelle’s, where he left it until they landed at the next airport and Annabelle got up to help several men disembark.

 

 As the plane taxied down the runway at North Island Naval Air Station on Coronado Island, across the bay from San Diego, Annabelle and Jack stretched their necks to look out the window. They looked at one another, grins plastered across their faces, giddy with excitement. As soon as the plane stopped Annabelle helped Jack disembark down the stairs to a waiting wheelchair. She followed behind and joined him in the ambulance. When they arrived at Balboa Hospital they found his parents, sister and brother dressed up in their Sunday best, waiting for him in the lobby. They swarmed the wheelchair hugging and kissing him. His mother, Doris, began to cry.

 

“Don’t cry, Ma,” Jack said. “I’m going to be okay, thanks to this wonderful nurse.” He reached out his hand toward Annabelle, standing back a ways. “Come here, Annabelle. I want you to meet my family.” Everyone turned around, with expectant faces.

 

His father stepped toward Annabelle. “Are you the one that took care of my son over there?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Annabelle answered.

 

“With that bad shoulder of his, it must have been you that wrote the letters we got from him. We noticed they weren’t in his handwriting.”

 

“Right again, sir. It was my pleasure to help.”

 

“Well, I’d say you did more than help. We were warned that he would be in pretty bad shape, but overall, he looks pretty good.”

 

“That’s because Annabelle is a whiz of a nurse, Dad,” Jack interjected. “She never left my side. I’m alive because of her.”

 

“Is that true?” Jack’s mother turned to Annabelle, wiping away her tears.

 

Annabelle shook her head. “No. There were other nurses in our medical tent, but to hear him tell the story you would think I was staffing it alone. All that matters now is that he is recovering well. I do hope he can go home soon. Mrs. Marino, he hasn’t stopped talking about your home cooking.”

 

“Well, I’m ready to cook for him,” Mrs. Marino said. “My famous meatballs and spaghetti should fatten him up a bit. He’s awfully skinny.”  

 

“The military is not well known for its fine cuisine,” Annabelle joked.

Just then a tall woman in a nurse’s uniform joined the group. “Annabelle, is that you?”

 

“Mae!” Annabelle stepped to the side of the nurse. “So good to see you.”

 

“More like it’s so good to see you!” the tall nurse responded. “We got your letters from time to time and couldn’t believe the kind of conditions you were working in over there. Must have been tough.”

 

Annabelle grinned, a flicker of pride in her eyes. “It was, but we made do.”

 

“She saved my life,” Jack interceded. “She won’t admit it, but she did.”

 

“She’s a good nurse, one of the best that ever trained here,” Mae said. “I’m sure that she did save your life. Now it’s our job to continue her good work and get you healthy enough to move back with your family.” Mae turned to Mr. and Mrs. Marino. “Do you live nearby?”

 

“Not far,” Doris answered. “Just over in Little Italy. It’s near Sal’s work.”

 

“And what would that be?” Mae asked.

 

“I have a tuna boat in the harbor,” Sal answered. “Jack used to fish with me before the war. Can’t wait for him to get well and join me back on the boat. It’s been hard without him.”

 

Annabelle stepped forward. “I’m afraid that won’t be for a while, Mr. Marino. Your son suffered severe injuries to his shoulder, chest and leg, he nearly lost his life. I doubt he will be strong enough to work on a boat for months, perhaps even a year.”

 

The joy drained from Sal’s face. “That long?”

 

“Yes,” Annabelle responded. “Perhaps there’s something else he will be able to do, something that won’t involve physical strength or taxing his muscles while they heal. Such as bookkeeping?”

 

The family chuckled. “My dear, Jack has never been known for his arithmetic skills,” Doris said when the laughter died down. Jack sat in his wheelchair, a sheepish expression crossing his face.  

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something for him,” Annabelle said, trying to be helpful. She turned back to Mae. “If you’re ready to take him upstairs, here are his medical records." She reached into a case and produced several large files that she handed to Mae. "We had some nasty turbulence on the flight and he split a few stitches. I sewed him back up and so far it’s holding. You should check it. Can you can take it from here? I’d like to go to the farm and see my family.”

 

“Farm?” Jack looked up.

 

“Yes, Jack, my family has a dairy farm in Mission Valley. I can’t wait to see them and my cow, Dorothy. Did I tell you that I raised her from a calf? Oh, she makes the sweetest milk. I’ll bring you some when I visit.”

 

“What do you mean when you visit?” Jack asked, wrinkles creasing his brow. “Aren’t you going to nurse me here?”

 

Mae leaned over. “Annabelle has more than done her job and now it’s our turn to take care of you, Mr. Marino. Don’t worry; we’ll continue what Annabelle started. Don’t you agree that she deserves a well-earned rest? I’m sure she will come visit.”

 

Jack looked up at Annabelle, his eyes wide with anticipation, and eagerness. “Will you?”

 

Annabelle cracked a small smile. “You know I will.” She looked at the others. “It was nice to meet all of you. Thanks, Mae. I’ll call later today to see how he is doing.”

 

“You do that, honey. Now you go home and see that family of yours,” Mae answered.  “Oh, by the way, someone is waiting for you at the other end of the lobby.”

 

Annabelle’s face lit up. She turned and walked at a quick pace across the lobby in search of her visitor. Jack watched her leave even as Mae pushed his wheelchair toward the elevator. He observed her skittle down the lobby into the arms of a man at the far end. Until Mae pushed his wheelchair into the elevator he never took his sad eyes off of Annabelle and the man with his arm around her shoulder walking her out the front door.

A Promise Kept - Segment #3

Several days later Annabelle stood over Jack holding a tray with a metal bowl of warm water, a razor, a shaving brush and a jar of shaving cream. “Can you sit up in a chair?” With each day Jack grew stronger and Annabelle knew it. She wanted him to do as much for himself as possible.

       

“Yeah, I can sit up in a chair,” he said, scooching himself up the bed in slow, gradual movements. As soon as he was upright, he swung his legs over the side. “I don’t think I’m up to shaving yet, though.”

 

“No, I expect not,” Annabelle commented. “I’ll do it for you.”

 

Jack’s round eyes widened. “You know how to shave a man’s face?”

 

Annabelle let out a guffaw. “Of course! Have you any idea how many men I’ve shaved in here? Hundreds, probably more than a thousand.”

 

“No nicks?”

 

“No nicks. Well, maybe when I first started. Not now. I’m pretty good,” she said with obvious pride.

 

She set down the shaving supplies and helped Jack stand, then turned him around and settled him into the chair. She dipped a small cloth into the bowl of warm water, wrung it out and laid it over his face. When she was sure that the whiskers had softened she removed the cloth and using a shaving brush applied shaving cream with circular motions. He looked like a man caught in a snowstorm. One stroke at a time, she used the double-edged razor to remove both the shaving cream and whiskers hidden underneath. After each swipe she rinsed the razor in the bowl and shaved another swath across his face. By the time she finished he was cleanly shaven and his skin felt as soft as a young child’s. She stood back to get a good look at him, crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. While she thought when she first saw him that he was no doubt a nice looking man, with all he’d been through, she couldn’t tell. Now his sandy brown hair and warm russet eyes circled in long dark lashes stood out, radiating warmth. She reached over for a mirror and held it up in front of him.

 

Jack let out a long whistle, turning his head from side to side examining Annabelle’s work. “You are good, Annabelle. That’s as nice a shave as I’ve ever had at a barber shop. Better than I do myself. Why, when you go stateside you could get a job in one of those fancy barber shops. The guys would love having a pretty gal like you giving ‘em shaves.”

 

Annabelle wrinkled her turned-up nose. “Thanks, but think I’ll stick with nursing.”

 

A slight cough sounded behind them. The doctor stepped forward, around a pile of files looming up from the floor, like stalagmites. “Speaking of stateside, Mr. Marino, you finished your antibiotic treatment.” The doctor nodded. “So if you’re done lollygagging around here, I’d like to send you home.”

 

Jack let out a howl of delight.

 

“Now, hold on,” the doctor continued. “Not home as you know it, but to a hospital in the states where you will continue your recovery. You’re from San Diego, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Jack answered, grinning as wide as his face would allow.

 

“Then we’ll send you to Balboa Hospital there. It’s a good facility. They can determine how long you’ll need to recover further. At this point I’m comfortable with sending you home on a military transport, as long as we have a medic or nurse on board in case you or one of the other wounded needs help. There will be many patients on board from several of the field hospitals and the transport will make numerous stops dropping people off in various cities. San Diego will be the last stop and it will be a long trip.”

 

Jack sat up straighter. “That’s fine with me! I don’t care if it takes a month to get home. When do I leave, sir?”

 

“Depends on a couple of things,” the doctor answered, crossing his arms and rubbing his chin with a thumb and forefinger. “First I need to find a nurse or medic willing to accompany the group and when I do I’ll contact transport to schedule the flight. Could be two or three days.”

 

“I’m from San Diego,” Annabelle interjected, her crystalline blue eyes a bit brighter than usual. “And I trained at Balboa Hospital.”

 

The doctor looked over at her. “Did you now?” the doctor asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’re due to end your tour of duty next week as I recall.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Annabelle nodded.

 

“Lucky break for us if you would you be willing. It might be grueling, caring for all those wounded in flight.”

 

“Doctor, I doubt it would be any more grueling than working in a medical tent in a war zone,” she said, sweeping her hand around the tent to illustrate the difficult environment where she had been working for the last three years.

 

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Thank you for volunteering. I’ll sign the papers completing your tour of duty and let the transport service know.” He turned and left the tent, his feet just missing the stalagmite of files.

 

“I’m sure glad it’s you going home with me. My family is going to love you,” Jack grinned at Annabelle, his eyes dancing.

 

“Your family?”Annabelle’s mouth hung open a notch.

 

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Yeah. No question, they’ll love you.”

 

A Promise Kept - Segment #2

May 8, 1945  VE Day

 

The nurse on duty ran to the front of the tent when the medics brought in a soldier in critical condition. Blood from a shredded shoulder and a shrapnel-laced, mangled leg oozed life. The stench of open wounds emanated from his body; death hovered nearby ready to take his soul. She had seen men with less severe injuries not make it. From first glance she wasn’t at all sure that this one would either. He moaned as the doctor and medics lifted and moved him onto a narrow hospital bed.  The doctor began checking his injuries while the nurse started cutting off his bloodstained uniform. The young man groaned, agony filling his voice, as he faded in and out of consciousness until the doctor instructed the nurse to give him a shot of morphine to relieve his suffering. They worked long into the night to clean the carnage, remove the embedded shrapnel and sew up his wounds. As the next day dawned they started him on penicillin treatment, gave him another shot of morphine and wrapped him in warm blankets. The rest they left up to God. The exhausted nurse settled into a chair at his bedside to keep watch.

 

Over the next few days the soldier woke for fleeting moments to see the young nurse at his bedside. She gave him sips of water, shots of morphine and penicillin, wiped his brow with a cool cloth and tucked in his covers as he fell back into a stupor punctuated by brief nightmares of bombs exploding around him.

 

A few days later the doctor tapered off the morphine and Jack Marino began to awaken, wincing at the sharp stabs of pain. The war could not have ended soon enough, Jack thought as he lay on the military hospital bed. Another few days, heck, another few hours and he would have been dead from his shrapnel injuries. At least that’s what the nurse had told him, a young woman with flames of sunny red hair, curls tucked under, a few stubborn ones escaping her nurse’s hat.

 

“Are you the one who’s been taking care of me?” he asked her in a raw voice that hadn’t spoken for days. She nodded. “Don’t you ever sleep? Or eat?”

 

“Of course I do,” she answered, moving his blankets to expose his leg.  

 

“Naw, you’ve been right here every time I woke up,” the soldier protested. “You haven’t left my side since the medics brought me in here.”

 

“A lot of people have been taking care of you. You probably remember waking up only when I was here,” she said, keeping her voice as flat and emotionless as possible. She maintained a cool demeanor with the patients. She knew it was necessary in order not to get too attached to them; sometimes they couldn’t save the young men despite their best efforts.   

 

Jack attempted a small grin, small because any muscle movement made him hurt. “I think you’re sweet on me. That’s why you haven’t left my side,” he joked.

 

The nurse’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. The soldier was almost right. The nurse was drawn to him from the moment the medics brought him into the tent and for some reason she couldn’t explain, more so than other patients. The irony of his arrival struck her right away. On the very day that the war of all wars ended, hours before the final shots rang through the air, gunfire and a bomb nearly killed the soldier. A few more hours and he would have walked off the field, whooping it up with his friends and looking forward to returning home. Seeing his mangled body during those last moments of the war made her heart lurch. He was so close. She had the time to make him her priority because most of her other patients had left. Though she didn’t admit it to the solider, she hadn’t left his side except to get food and take an occasional cold shower. She slept in short fits in the chair at his bedside.

 

“When can I go home?”  

 

Annabelle Pearl gave Jack an injection of penicillin, and then gingerly began removing the dressing around his leg, trying not to pull off the new skin beginning to grow. “It’s not for me to say,” she responded without looking up, her attention focused on his wound. She blew at a wayward ringlet of hair that kept creeping out from under her nurse’s cap. “I suppose the doctor will give you an all-clear when the danger of infection passes. Right now, you’re still in pretty bad shape.” She dabbed at the wound, cleaned off dried blood, and applied a salve.

 

Jack let out a long sigh. “I suppose I should be grateful I’m alive.” He studied her wrapping new gauze around his leg. When she pressed it on the open wound, he winced, and an involuntary spasm shuddered through his body.

 

She stopped and looked at him. “Are you okay? I do need to secure the gauze.” He nodded, and bit his wide lower lip.

 

“You know, you’re lucky to even feel this,” Annabelle admonished him, never taking her eyes off of his leg. “Many boys have gone home in boxes and others are returning without arms and legs. You’ll get out of here in one piece, with wounds, of course. And scars. You’ll heal though and live a normal life.” She finished dressing the wound and moved up to his torso to begin removing the bandage covering his shoulder and chest.

 

Jack reached up and placed a large hand over hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“For what?”

 

“Taking good care of me.”

 

“I’m doing my job; I would do the same for anyone in this tent.”

 

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I think you’re doing a little bit more. A lot in fact. If I survive this, honey, it will be because of you. You’re one hell of a nurse.”

 

A slight smile crept across Annabelle’s narrow lips as she removed the dressing with slow, careful movements, one inch of the bandage at a time.

# # #

 

A Promise Kept

Dear Readers,

Here is the first segment of my new short story, A Promise Kept. Come back each week for a new segment. Enjoy!

A Promise Kept

 

2010

 

The old man sat at the defense table, head hung low, his eyes watery as he listened to the prosecutor describe him as a coldhearted killer, devoid of humanity. He clasped his large, boney hands together, the joints swollen and gnarled with age. Without thought he twisted his hands over and under, digging at his calloused palms, his nails long from neglect.

 

“Is murdering your wife of 65 years a way to show your love and devotion?” the prosecutor bellowed at the jury box. “Is resorting to murder when the going gets tough what you promised to do when you exchanged your vows? When you promised to love, honor and obey?”

 

A tear coursed down the old man’s face, leaving a trail in the wrinkles traversing his cheeks. His defense attorney reached over and laid a hand on his forearm, giving it a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. It didn’t comfort him; a second tear followed the first; he touched his ruddy cheek and wiped it away. He turned his head around and looked at his daughter, Mary Ellen, and son-in-law, Vinny, their eyes also filled to the brim. She mouthed the words, ‘I love you’ and he turned back to face the front of the courtroom.

 

After both the defense and the prosecution finished their final arguments the judge dismissed the jury to begin their deliberations. A deputy took the old man’s elbow and with gentle guidance escorted him to a holding cell to await his fate.

 

To be continued.......