Every Precious Second Read online

and open the door as a blast of cold air knocks the delivery slip from the screen door. The yellow scrap of paper blows off the porch and towards the truck where the deliveryman is already behind the wheel.

  “I’m here! Stop!” I wave my hand, nearly slide right off of the icy porch. The snow seeps through my slippers.

  The truck pulls away from the curb as I hobble down the slick stairs, gripping the handrail.

  Another gust of wind picks up the small slip and carries it into Peterson’s bushes across the street. I prepare to step off the curb when the UPS truck circles back. I’d been in such a panic I hadn’t realized he’d have to make a u-turn at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  The deliveryman pulls right up next to me. I wave once more because I can hardly breathe. He asks, “Mr. Hanneman?” I gulp and nod.

  The deliveryman hops down from the truck with a small package in his hand. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside.”

  The man offers his outstretched arm, and as much as it makes me feel like a damn fool, I take it. It’s like we’re going to prom. I mumble a thank you and try to keep pace as he helps me up the walkway, then the stairs. By the time we make it onto the porch and into the house, my slippers are completely soaked. I kick them off, turn, and reach for the package, but the young man is holding out the electronic pad.

  “Sign here first, please.”

  My arthritic, frozen fingers can’t even pick up the pen. I want to scream, cry, and punch the guy in his face. I guess my frustration shows because he tells me it’s okay, hands me the box, and scribbles a name on the pad. This might actually come in handy should the authorities ever track this down. No, Officer, I never signed for drugs.

  “Sorry about you having to chase me down,” the deliveryman says. “You get warm and have a great day.”

  With the box in my hands, I’m suddenly no longer cold or anxious. “You’ve made an old man’s day. Thank you.”

  I close the door, head over to the hutch, grab my wooden box of secrets, and carry everything to the kitchen. Rose is still sitting in her chair, shaking. At first, I think it’s another stroke, but then realize she’s freezing. I left the door wide open chasing down the deliveryman. The entire house has turned into an icebox.

  I set both boxes on the table and hurry over to the hallway closet. My feet are still wet. I find her favorite red quilt on the top shelf, pull it down, walk back, and wrap it around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, honey.” I place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Is that better?”

  She nods, and I take a seat. I pat my little wooden box. “This one’s from me. And that one’s from Billie.”

  She eyes the one I’m tapping. “Open it for me?” Her smile is back, warmer than a radiator.

  “In a minute. Let’s just make sure this is okay.” I scrape my thumbnail on the UPS package. The tape is stronger than it looks. After a few attempts, I set the box down, angry I can’t do the simplest of things. Rose, always prepared, passes a butter knife across the table. It takes half a dozen tries, but I carve through and find a bottle of Extra-Strength Advil.

  “Advil?” Rose says. “All this for Advil?”

  I struggle with the cap and dig out the cotton ball, dump the blue pills into my hand. “Billie couldn’t very well put a label with the real name on it, could she?”

  “I don’t know. We never took drugs before. Not once.”

  “You smoked a joint at Barbara Wilcox’s Christmas party.”

  “That was forty years ago.”

  “These are fine, Rose.” I slide the pills back into the bottle. “They’re no different than your heart medicine.”

  “Then why are they illegal?”

  “Darling, trust me on this. We don’t have much time left together. These pills will help us enjoy every precious second. Billie said they’ll intensify our perceptions and feelings.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  “It does not. One minute is gonna feel like an hour, one hour will feel like a day.” Something splashes against the back of my hand. I realize it’s a tear. “And that’s exactly what I need right now.”

  Rose bites the inside of her cheek, like she always does when she’s about to give me an earful. Only this time, she says, “You really sure about this?”

  “Positive.”

  “Oh, Lord, I hope you’re right.”

  I thank her and open the wooden box, take out the plastic case with a DVD inside it. “This is a slideshow. Pictures of our family and friends. All of our memories. Vacations, weddings, anniversaries, Billie’s birth. Everything you can imagine.”

  “All on this disk? Oh, honey, that’s so thoughtful.”

  “We’ll watch this one tomorrow.” I then pull another DVD from the box. Rose asks what’s on it. I say, “This one is all videos. It’s for the third night. Sandra, Jimmy, Elaine, and Frankie helped me edit it. I used to hate it whenever they would get out those recorders, but now I’m glad they did.”

  Her faded blue eyes sparkle. “Third night? Why not tonight?”

  “No. Tonight we have this.” I pull out the final plastic case. “This is a recording of all of your favorite songs.” I motion towards the door to our enclosed back porch. “We’ll have a nice evening out there, listening to it as the sun sets.”

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that’s just too bad. I’ve got some setting up to do and it’s about time for your nap.”

  “Oh, you sure do know how to spoil a treat.” She pretends to be upset, her grin giving her away like always. I swear, the woman would be the world’s worst spy.

  I close the box, get up from the table, and offer my hand. “Let’s get you rested. You’re all mine tonight.” I help her to her feet.

  “You devil. You’ve never changed.”

  “And you never needed to.”

  Rose pats my hand and we make it a few steps before she grimaces, quickly covering it with a smile. I start to ask if she’s all right, if she wants to stop, but she hushes me as we head into the bedroom.

  The grandfather clock strikes five o’clock just as I finish setting up the back porch. The CD player is on the coffee table next to the pitcher of sweet tea, along with two glasses. There are two napkins, each with two blue pills. I turned the thermostat up to a toasty seventy-eight, a nice contrast to the winter wonderland on the other side of the plate-glass window. The entire back acre is covered with virgin snow, the sun almost ready to drop behind it.

  I take one last look making sure I haven’t missed anything, then head to the bedroom. When I open the door, I see Rose is still in bed. Any other night, and I’d let her sleep.

  “Rose, dear,” I whisper softly, then again, a little louder. Her good hand is resting over her heart. She’s not sleeping. I ask if she’s okay.

  “Just so tired.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but do you think you can get up?”

  She gives a weak nod and I help her to her feet. “Take your time,” I tell her, but I’m practically pulling her out the door.

  She says, “Someone’s got ants in his pants.”

  “I’m wearing a robe.”

  “Oh, you think you’re so cute.”

  I don’t respond, just help her cross through the kitchen. “Now let’s have ourselves a nice time.”

  Two minutes later, Rose is in her chair and I’m pouring her a glass of tea.

  “No wonder we don’t come out here much,” she says. The trip from the bedroom clearly exhausted her. “I feel like we walked to Vermont.”

  I hand her the glass. “It’s nice, though, isn’t it?”

  Her blue eyes seem to gain color as she looks out the window. “It is, dear. It really is. Thank you.”

  I pluck two blue pills off her napkin and hold them in my open palm. “Are you ready?”

  “Didn’t she say only one each?”

  “If one is good, two is better.”

  Rose looks at the pills. I worry she’s going to back out, but she opens her
mouth and sticks out her tongue. Gently, I place them. Two swallows of tea and they’re gone.

  “Here’s to us," I say. I pop mine in and wash them down with a swig. Then I push the play button and “From You I’ll Never Part” starts.

  Rose sighs. “Our wedding song.”

  I start to sit when I realize I’ve forgotten the final touch. I head up the three stairs into the kitchen. A sharp twinge of pain shoots down my leg. My sciatic is acting up. Doc would tell me to rest, that I’ve overdone it, but I can’t think about the pain.

  “Where are you going?” Rose asks. “The sun’s setting, and our song’s on.”

  “Won’t be a minute.” I hurry around the table and reach my hand into the little sliver of space between the cabinets and the top of the icebox. A single white rose. I picked it up from the grocery store yesterday, had to sneak it in when Rose was napping. It’s a little dusty. I blow on it and gently wipe it with my finger. The soft music floats in from the porch and I can’t wait to get back to my wife. I shuffle towards the back porch with the rose in one hand and the other running along the wall to steady myself. It’s so smooth and cool to the touch. I look over and see the rose, a streaming trail of petals carving through the air.

  The wedding song stops, snaps me out of this trance. I realize I’ve been sliding back and forth across the floor in rhythm to the music. The next song begins, “Gone but Not Forgotten.” I stare out the window, mesmerized by the sunset. The purple strip of sky between the snow and the clouds reminds me of the nights that Rose and I snuggled on the couch, holding each other as darkness descended.

  I reach the porch