Chapter Eleven: Nick
Holly Gardner stood in my kitchen and wanted to talk. She was clearly used to being in charge as she removed her coat and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair.
My first impression of her was that she was certainly an attractive woman. She had chestnut hair which cascaded past her shoulders, a clear complexion free of make-up and soft features offset by a determined countenance.
Holly scanned the kitchen, possibly looking for a woman’s presence, or more likely with Toby in her contacts, evidence of a lazy widower. She seemed interested in a guitar I keep on a stand just outside the living room. She stepped over to view the signature.
“Randy Bachman?” she asked.
“Yeah, I took some shots for Mark Rashotte at the Empire Theatre when Randy was there. Great guy. He offered to sign the guitar. It’s more of a showpiece now.” I said.
Holly seemed to be satisfied with that as she moseyed over to the kitchen island and leaned back to face me, folding her arms.
A defence mechanism. Whatever she wanted to talk about would be awkward for her.
I leaned back against the sink, consciously keeping my arms relaxed at my side. An open, inviting pose.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” Holly started, “or at least an explanation of how I reacted last Saturday.”
“I don’t think so”, I said, and was rewarded with a hand up to stop me.
“Please, just let me get this out, then I will leave you alone, OK?”
I gave her a slow nod and waited out the silence.
Holly took a deep breath, and looked to the ceiling, forestalling perhaps a tear as she composed herself.
“The worst night of my life happened on the crest of that knoll at Jane Forrester Park four years ago. I haven’t dealt with it well…to be honest, I haven’t dealt with it at all, so it seemed a big deal to walk to the same spot to see if it would hold any power over me, and it did. The only thing that gave me some consolation was that no one saw me.” Holly paused a moment to gather herself.
I wanted to save her from the tale. “So, when I showed up with a picture…”
Holly nodded vigorously. “I wanted to go, be rid of the pain and misery, then have it behind me. Instead, it felt like I got confirmation that I would never get over it, and you have physical proof of that.”
I gave her pain the silent space it deserved before saying. “I will destroy the negative. You never have to worry about seeing it again.”
The first tear snaked to her neck as she said, “No, that’s OK. The picture is only a symptom of the bigger problem, and I just wanted to apologize for my reaction. I made it out to be your fault. It seems to happen a lot to me.”
I had an immediate flashback to this very kitchen, months after moving in, days after Melanie’s initial diagnosis. She would talk, and I would rush in with unfounded encouragement and well-meaning platitudes. When that happened, she would always say, “Nick, please just let me talk. I just want you to listen.”
With Mel’s voice ringing in my ears, I asked Holly, “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve learned to be a pretty good listener.”
Whatever she thought I was going to say, it sure wasn’t that. Tears streamed as her smile cracked and she turned to look for tissues or anything to wipe her face.
The best I had was a roll of paper towels. I quickly ripped three squares and forced them into her hands. “They’re pretty absorbent. And there’s plenty more.”
She smiled through the pain and did her best to remain dainty, though I’m sure it would have felt better to let it out good and ugly. When she composed herself a second time, rather than return to the island, she came and stood beside me. She could tell her story without looking at me, but was close enough that I understood how personal it was.
“I had been in a relationship for about two years with a guy,” she said. “He was a rep for a sporting goods company, Amer Sports near my shop on Bell Boulevard, so he was away a lot for business. I was working hard growing ‘Hearts and Roses’, so I was busy too. Anyway, it was coming up on Christmas, and I started getting this vibe from him that something big was coming. We hadn’t really talked about marriage a lot, though we both knew the clock was ticking. We were both turning thirty years old in the next year.”
She paused, so I gave her reassurance. “You must have expected that it was going to be a pretty special Christmas?”
She nodded and said, “I did. In fact, I thought about it a lot that week and found it really excited me.” She stopped again and wiped her eyes, exhaling a held breath before plowing on.
“So, Christmas Eve, he called to say that he wanted to meet for a talk, and I played dumb like ‘what about’, and he said…can we meet at Jane Forrester Park? Back then, they didn’t have the light show, so it would be dark and private.
My hands shook. This took place on Christmas Eve? I couldn’t believe it.
“What time was this?” I asked in a whisper.
It took her a moment to respond, so lost in her painful memories. “It was about 8:00. I got to the park and saw his car, but he was up on the hill. It was a chilly night, but I was so happy that I barely felt the chill.”
“So, what happened?”
“I bounced up to him with a stupid smile on my face, playing along with the surprise. He was staring out at the water, so I was looking at his back. He didn’t even turn around when he heard me. I was so sure it was because he had the ring in his hand. So when he did finally turn to face me, he had this pained look on his face and started with, “Look, I’m sorry”…and my heart just smashed.”
Her tears flowed again as she buried her face in her hands. Had I known her more, or wasn’t as lost in my tragic pain, I may have tried to comfort her, but it would have seemed pretty forward to hold her.
She stood straight up with a heave. “I really only remember snippets. He had met someone else. We wouldn’t have worked out. I’m really sorry, blah blah blah. And I just stood there, even after he walked away. Like an idiot, I just stood there. But then, that explains why I felt he was different. It wasn’t because he was getting ready to commit. It was because he was excited to leave.”
I pulled myself out of my memories and said, “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sure you know it’s not your fault. To do something like that on Christmas Eve? Why didn’t he say something sooner? Surely, he’d have known for a while if he started seeing someone else.”
“Yeah, well, I think it’s like what they say about monkeys. They only let go of one branch when they are sure they have a firm grip on another. He was probably playing both of us until he decided.”
“I am very sorry that happened to you, Holly, and it is completely understandable that you reacted the way you did, but I want you to know that had I any idea, I never would have taken that picture,” I said.
Holly took a deep breath and walked over to her coat. “I know that. That is why I felt I owed you an explanation, not only as an apology, but so you would understand the depth of the pain. I didn’t want you to think I go around flipping out.”
I took a couple of hesitant steps toward her, thrusting my hands in my jeans. “You did not need to apologize, but if it helps, your total unnecessary apology is accepted.”
Holly pursed her lips in a rueful smile. “It helps, Nick. I have told no one about that night in so long. It felt good to get it off my chest. It’s why I don’t go to Jane Forrester Park, and why I will never look forward to Christmas.”
I nodded my head in agreement. Despite my turmoil, I shared some of what I had heard after Melanie died. “I went through it all after my wife died. The ‘firsts’. First birthday, first anniversary, first Christmas. They all said it would get easier. They lied.”
Holly nodded as she reached for the door. “Again, thanks for listening and letting me explain.”
“Anytime, Holly. Have a glorious afternoon.”
She shrugged. “I’m back to work to stock the Pop-Up Shop for tomorrow in Trenton. You should swing by.”
“Why? I already have a poinsettia.” I teased.
“Funny things about poinsettias,” she said, opening the door. “They grow better when they have a friend.”
She smiled as she walked onto the porch, gently closing the door behind her.
I stood in the kitchen’s silence, literally hearing my heart beating through my chest, my breath becoming shallower. How could have that have happened to her on Christmas Eve?
As I turned to escape the descending darkness each time I thought of Melanie, I spotted something Holly had dropped.
As she lifted her coat from the kitchen chair, something must have fallen out of her pocket. On the seat of the chair lay a small piece of cloth. I reach down to pick it up, but it slid through my fingers.
It wasn’t a cloth.
It was a rose petal.
Chapter Twelve: Holly
I remember little about the drive back, except that I felt…lighter. I had shared nothing of that night with anyone other than Martha and Toby over the years, so I’m not sure why I thought Nick deserved the complete story.
But I felt different. Like I said… “lighter”. Borderline “happier”.
Perhaps it was because I knew Nick also suffered an enormous loss. He could be more compassionate and less likely to judge me.
I stocked up the delivery truck with wreaths, plants, knick-knacks, and trinkets for the Pop-Up Shop and headed to Trenton in the early evening to stock the shop. Following that, I might treat myself to a bath and get a good night’s sleep.
I hummed while I worked and thought about Nick and his house. It was a large home for just one man, but he kept it in great shape. Maybe his bedroom was piled with dirty clothes and day-old dishes, but from what I could, I seriously doubt it.
I finished up the inventory check, confident that I had more than enough stock to last the entire day this time, and locked the back door.
As I walked to the delivery van, I had to admit that today had been a success.
I hoped Nick was feeling the same.
Chapter Thirteen: Nick
I can recall the first doctor’s visit. The hushed voices, dire diagnosis, and hypothetical treatments. I can visualize the first clinics, Melanie’s hair falling out, the sudden weight loss. My mind can easily find any of the x-ray appointments, filled with hope on the drive there, dashed with disappointment and dread on the way back.
Each of those days was filed away in my memory’s hard drive.
All but the last.
It sits in its own file folder in my head. Never opened.
I lived it once, and I don’t wish to re-live it.
“I don’t want you to be alone, Nicholas. You are too much of a good man for that.”
My eyes watered at the intrusive sound of her voice comforting me. I shook my head at the playback and willed the memory to be locked back up. But my mind’s eye had spied her face and wouldn’t be denied.
Suddenly, I was there again. Four years ago, sitting in the guest bedroom, Melanie’s skeletal hand in mine, a pained smile on her face. The bandana cloth covering her scalp.
The nurse pronounced the time was imminent. She gave us the room alone.
For over a year, we had been warned about this moment, but I refused to believe it. She had too much life to have it taken so quickly at just 29 years old. Yet, here it was just the same.
I bolted upright as her voice sliced through my mind.
“Promise me you’ll try to be happy, Nick.”
“Mel, you know that won’t be possible. I am too devastated to even think about tomorrow without you.”
“I know, but I will do whatever I can to help you live the rest of your life beyond today. If you love me, Nick, then you have to let me help you, because I love you so much that I’d rather you be happy with someone else than miserable alone.”
The tears streamed down my cheeks as they had at that moment four years ago. I was so shocked at the clarity of the memory, so carefully preserved and untouched until now.
“I love you, Mel, but I don’t think you could help me get over you. That is impossible, and something I will never do.”
And then she gave me her last smile. The last twinkle in her hazel eyes. She licked her parched lips and gave my hand as firm a squeeze as she could manage. I could feel it right then, as if it were more than a memory.
“You don’t have to get over me to love someone else. I will prove that to you.”
Melanie tried to sit up, so I reached behind her shoulder to cradle her one last time. She looked past me as I imagined her vision clouded. Then, my beautiful wife whispered, “When the time is right, I will send you the sign.”
I was beyond grief as I answered, “A sign?”
Melanie lay her head upon my shoulder as she revealed to me the sign she would send before breathing her last.
The sobs began as I choked them out. I understood the significance of her words. “I would love that, Mel.”
I didn’t know whether Melanie Barron, 29 years old when she died, heard that last statement of love, but when I pulled back to kiss her forehead, she was gone.
I dropped to the floor of the studio in Mel’s barn and ripped open the wound for the first time since her death. I cried, I screamed, and I sobbed for the woman I had loved who had been stolen from me. The time we didn’t have, the children we didn’t raise, the future we’d never know.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, curled in a ball, calling her name.
Then I finally said it.
The one unforgiveable sin I couldn’t bear to say out loud for four long years. The prison in which I had sentenced myself for being so weak in the face of her strength. What I believed was my ultimate betrayal.
“Melanie. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Then I cried all over again.
Chapter Fourteen: Holly
Saturday was a busy market day, but that was to be expected, with only a week to go until Christmas. I woke up that morning and tried to convince myself that it might be a little less painful if I made of point of asking Nick if he’d like to spend a day or two together, just to keep each other company. At least I knew where he lived.
The Pop-Ups were busy all day, so when 4:00 rolled around, I had a few plants left, but not many, and I was worn out. I started emptying off the tables when a voice called out, “Do you have any medium size poinsettias? I have one at home that needs a friend.”
My heart leaped in my throat as I turned to find Nick standing there in a dashing wool peacoat, holding a small bouquet of roses. “I had to pick some up, so I found this little shop on Bell Boulevard.”
“Oh, do you have a date tonight?” I tried to make it sound teasing, but I didn’t quite pull it off.
“Uh, no,” he answered. “I’m actually involved in a bit of an experiment. Being a rose expert, I was hoping you could help me, then I’ll be on my way.”
I cleaned up my hands and stood at the small counter as he pulled a single red rose from the half dozen-wrapped bouquet.
“Is there any way to tell,” he asked, “whether this long stemmed, fully bloomed rose is related to this single petal?” He reached into his pocket and, raising his hand, allowed the loose petal to float to the counter. “I have had no women in my house in years, so I do not know how a single rose petal could have ended up, coincidentally, on the seat of the very chair where you hung up your coat.” He made an exaggerated perplexed stare. “Do you have any idea where it may have come from?”
I tried to give him a serious look, but was in too much of a good mood not to laugh. “Well, it appears to be of exceptional quality, so I’d say it came from my shop.”
“You don’t say,” he scoffed. “What a relief. I was afraid some woman broke into my home and dropped it in the kitchen.”
I laughed. “Be grateful it was only a rose petal. I’ve found onions in my pockets, or bits of cactus.”
Nick leaned across the counter, handing me the bouquet. “I know you can get these anytime you like, but I wanted to thank you for the poinsettia, and for coming by yesterday.” He stole a peek over his shoulder before adding, “it was very courageous of you.”
I twitched my nose. “You’re welcome, but I think it was better for me than it was for you, so thank you.”
He offered to help clean up the shelves and tidy the shop before asking, “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
“No, I don’t. What did you have in mind?” I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
Nick bit his lip before answering. “I’d like you to return the favour.”
That caught me off guard. I was expecting dinner and a movie, or even maybe drinks at his place. “What favour?”
He thrust his hands into his coat and replied, “The one where you listen while I share.”
We got the last of the cleaning done and agreed to meet at a small diner off RCAF Road near CFB Trenton, Canada’s largest air force base. Nick got there ahead of me and had secured the secluded back booth. There was already a steaming mug of coffee waiting for me as he sipped his own.
“Thank you”, I said, as he waved it off. The server returned, and we ordered small finger foods and refills. We made small talk about the foot traffic at the market. I knew he was stalling. This was going to hurt.
“Are you sure you want to talk in public? I didn’t bring a roll of paper towels with me.”
He smiled at the memory. “No, I think public is better. My demons show up when I’m alone. I do better when people are around to keep my mind busy.”
I nodded in encouragement, and he stared at his mug before starting.
“Moving to the County was Melanie’s idea,” he said. “We had purchased a condo in Toronto before we got married when the market wasn’t exploding. We lived there for about six years when Mel thought a slower life would be better for raising a family. She had spent time in Picton as a kid, and started looking at properties on line. She found our current home…my current home on a property page. We drove one weekend, and it was love at first sight. I could tell. I loved the house and all the property. But it wasn’t until we got there, I realized the real selling point for Mel was the barn. She was a painter and always wanted a studio / gallery. She loved the ‘rustic authenticity’ of it. Her phrase, not mine.”
The server brought the carafe over and refilled our mugs. Nick politely nodded and waited until she was no longer in earshot.
“We had enough equity to buy the property with a small mortgage, and enough in our line of credit to make some major renovations to the barn. It would really stretch us, but Mel was confident it would give us the life we wanted.”
He sipped his mug, doing exactly what I would have done. Reorganize the memories, choose the most relevant, and decide what to keep to yourself.
“We moved in the day after Canada Day in 2018. We didn’t have much stuff coming from a condo, but Mel set to work shaping up the house and drawing up plans for the barn. She was going to sketch out ideas and talk to local builders throughout the fall and winter and start on it in the spring.”
I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and cupped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It started out as aches and pains that she attributed to all the physical moving we were doing. Then a persistent cough. Again, being new, we hadn’t had time to find a local doctor, so by the time she went back to Toronto to get a physical…it was too late.”
I waited him out, but the pain was creeping into his voice. “Cancer?” I asked.
He nodded. “It had started in her lymph nodes and spread everywhere in what seemed like no time. We did all we could with specialists and treatments, but each time, it did little good and gave her only a little more time.”
He finished his mug, and I gave him the silence to compose himself.
“I couldn’t accept it,” he said. “I kept encouraging her. We’d find more doctors who were engaging in studies every day. She was strong, and she was only twenty-nine-years old, but she knew it was inevitable. I couldn’t accept that.” Nick looked up at me. “It was my job to save her. I made that promise at the altar, that I would look after her in sickness and in health, and I let her down.”
The first tears lined his cheeks as he self-consciously turned away. He wiped a napkin across his face.
“Anyway, she died in my arms eighteen months after we bought the house. She never got the chance to renovate the barn, so I made it my project for Melanie. If I could bring that old barn back, I could keep her alive. Instead of it being her art gallery and studio, I turned into my photography studio. So that barn is like a shrine to me. For Mel.”
He punctuated the last phrase with a nod of his head and looked up as the server brought our food and filled Nick’s mug. If she had noticed his distress at all, she kept it to herself.
I gave his hand a gentle squeeze again, saying, “Nick, I’m so sorry. What an awful time you’ve had going through all of this alone.”
“Yeah, thanks. But you stopping by yesterday had a most profound effect on me,” he said with a smile. “In ways you don’t even know.”
He pushed his plate away and gave me an even stare. I returned it with a quizzical look. “What?” I asked.
He shook his head, as if he was at the end of his story, but I knew there had to be more. How had I made an effect yesterday? What did I say that made him want to share his story today?
I nibbled on some fries as I weaved through my painful tale. I didn’t see the connection.
Then I did.
I looked up at Nick, who continued to gaze at me, painfully waiting for me to say what he could not.
Oh My God. The pain must have been excruciating. How he must have suffered yesterday when I left.
“You moved into the house in July 2018, and your wife died eighteen months later.” I said. Nick’s eyes streamed a fresh set of tears as he nodded. “No, it can’t be,” I whispered.
“But it is, Holly. It’s true. Incredible, but true.”
The tears came quickly for me as well. “Christmas Eve, four years ago…while I was standing on the crest of that hill…”
Nick filled in the missing piece. “My wife died in my arms.”
OK. A tear slipped out. And I like a story where seemingly unrelated events are twisted together.