Read Online Providence by Chris Coppernoll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Coppernoll
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love this woman?” Ray asked. His voice was composed and strong, not the trembling mutter of the tottery and aged, but the voice of a father.
I leaned in closer and quieted my voice so only Ray could hear. “Because I’ve never met anyone before or since who so moved me, stirred me to the core, and made me feel blessed just to be in the same room with her.” The tension in my voice surprised me. I relaxed into my seat. “She was a great woman, Ray, and I miss her.”
It was the first time I’d said it out loud. Even though Jenny and I hadn’t spoken to each other in nearly twenty years, hearing just how strong my feelings ran for her unnerved me. I’d dealt with losing her the only way I knew how, by putting everything about her out of my mind. What else could I do? She was in love with someone else, married to someone else.
Ray nodded his head. I don’t remember Ray ever having accepted a statement from me without commenting. I can’t count how many times he’s told me how full of baloney I am (though he doesn’t say “baloney”). But not this time. This time Raymond was quiet, and when he spoke a moment later, it wasn’t about my shortcomings but about Ella, the woman he loved.
“Ella was a great lady too. I met her in Memphis in 1961. She was working as a maid at the Century Hotel, and I was in the army.” Raymond chuckled. He gave me his Bill Cosby grin, laughing a contagious and irresistible chuckle I couldn’t help but join.
“She was friends with Darrell Robertson’s wife, Dolores. Darrell, he was my best friend. We’d come down together on leave out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It was April, and Darrell’s mother and Dolores threw a welcome-home party. That’s when I first saw her. I asked Darrell to introduce me to her after dinner, and he did.”
Ray wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “We wrote each other for seven months before I saw her again, but the next chance I had, I rode the bus to Memphis and asked her to marry me … which she did.”
“You were married for thirty-five years.”
“I was in love with that woman for thirty-five years. I loved her, watched her raise my son, watched her make us a home. And I watched her get the cancer, taking her through all the radiation and the chemo. I watched her get frail, and I watched her pass away. But I had her life, because she gave it to me. Do you see that? She gave me the best part of her, and I gave her the best part of me. She gave me her secret heart, the one a woman only gives the man she loves.”
Raymond closed his eyes and rolled his head back, swept away in the swell of memories that wash you down below the waterline. His face looked ragged and tired. His seventy-five years descending back upon him like a heavy, wet coat.
“What do you have, Jack Clayton, other than your world of regrets?” he asked, opening me up like a can of beans.
“I don’t know what you mean, Ray.” I said, but his eyes rolled long. They said, “We’re making progress here; don’t go back to being a jackass.”
“There was no other woman for me,” Ray said. “Never could be. I never broke her heart, and I never broke her trust. You may have the same love, but you don’t have the life . She gave that to her London man.”
I opened up my hands and pasted a smile on my face. He was right, but I didn’t want to hear that truth.
“So where does that leave me?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. Not really wanting one.
“Alone, I’d say.”
I dropped Raymond at his place after lunch. His energy had drained quickly. After our good-byes and his expression of gratitude for the meal, he set his wooden cane on the sidewalk and made his way to the front door, warmed by memories of his wife and his trademark red and black plaid coat.
He unlocked the front door of his small white house with bold black shutters the students had painted last summer and vanished inside.
I was tired too. The caffeine from my lunchtime tea got me
I leaned in closer and quieted my voice so only Ray could hear. “Because I’ve never met anyone before or since who so moved me, stirred me to the core, and made me feel blessed just to be in the same room with her.” The tension in my voice surprised me. I relaxed into my seat. “She was a great woman, Ray, and I miss her.”
It was the first time I’d said it out loud. Even though Jenny and I hadn’t spoken to each other in nearly twenty years, hearing just how strong my feelings ran for her unnerved me. I’d dealt with losing her the only way I knew how, by putting everything about her out of my mind. What else could I do? She was in love with someone else, married to someone else.
Ray nodded his head. I don’t remember Ray ever having accepted a statement from me without commenting. I can’t count how many times he’s told me how full of baloney I am (though he doesn’t say “baloney”). But not this time. This time Raymond was quiet, and when he spoke a moment later, it wasn’t about my shortcomings but about Ella, the woman he loved.
“Ella was a great lady too. I met her in Memphis in 1961. She was working as a maid at the Century Hotel, and I was in the army.” Raymond chuckled. He gave me his Bill Cosby grin, laughing a contagious and irresistible chuckle I couldn’t help but join.
“She was friends with Darrell Robertson’s wife, Dolores. Darrell, he was my best friend. We’d come down together on leave out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It was April, and Darrell’s mother and Dolores threw a welcome-home party. That’s when I first saw her. I asked Darrell to introduce me to her after dinner, and he did.”
Ray wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “We wrote each other for seven months before I saw her again, but the next chance I had, I rode the bus to Memphis and asked her to marry me … which she did.”
“You were married for thirty-five years.”
“I was in love with that woman for thirty-five years. I loved her, watched her raise my son, watched her make us a home. And I watched her get the cancer, taking her through all the radiation and the chemo. I watched her get frail, and I watched her pass away. But I had her life, because she gave it to me. Do you see that? She gave me the best part of her, and I gave her the best part of me. She gave me her secret heart, the one a woman only gives the man she loves.”
Raymond closed his eyes and rolled his head back, swept away in the swell of memories that wash you down below the waterline. His face looked ragged and tired. His seventy-five years descending back upon him like a heavy, wet coat.
“What do you have, Jack Clayton, other than your world of regrets?” he asked, opening me up like a can of beans.
“I don’t know what you mean, Ray.” I said, but his eyes rolled long. They said, “We’re making progress here; don’t go back to being a jackass.”
“There was no other woman for me,” Ray said. “Never could be. I never broke her heart, and I never broke her trust. You may have the same love, but you don’t have the life . She gave that to her London man.”
I opened up my hands and pasted a smile on my face. He was right, but I didn’t want to hear that truth.
“So where does that leave me?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. Not really wanting one.
“Alone, I’d say.”
I dropped Raymond at his place after lunch. His energy had drained quickly. After our good-byes and his expression of gratitude for the meal, he set his wooden cane on the sidewalk and made his way to the front door, warmed by memories of his wife and his trademark red and black plaid coat.
He unlocked the front door of his small white house with bold black shutters the students had painted last summer and vanished inside.
I was tired too. The caffeine from my lunchtime tea got me
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