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Authors: Tom Winton
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time curled up in bed. For a while I could still smell Elaina’s lilac perfume in the blanket and sheets. Not certain whether the scent was deepening my grief or giving me some small sense of comfort, I kept myself wrapped up in them. When the familiar fragrance began to dissipate, I sprayed more of the purple liquid onto the bed. I did this several times.
I really had no right being alone in my condition, but I was, and I wanted to be. Other than my brother, his wife, and my mother (who lived with them) there was nobody to turn to, nowhere to go. When I phoned Stanley, he insisted I come back up to Long Island and stay with them for a while. But I wasn’t about to endanger what was left of my family, and as I said before, all I wanted was to be left alone.
Since both Elaina’s parents had died in an automobile accident twelve years earlier, and she’d been an only child, there was nobody to notify in her family. She did have two cousins and an aunt, but years before her own death Elaina’s mother had a falling out with the aunt. Their small family had been estranged ever since. As for Elaina and I, we never had any children. She was unable to conceive. Although that had bothered us for many years, it now seemed like an extraordinary blessing. For there were no children to advise of their mother’s death.
Chapter 7
Exactly one week after Elaina’s passing, the RV’s permanent license plates arrived. I thought about that sleazy salesman, Kincaid, but seriously doubted he had anything to do with what had taken place. I contemplated every possible scenario and decided the odds of him being involved, particularly so soon, were miniscule. Had I known for sure that he was involved, I would have gone right back to Jersey and ended him—no matter what the consequences.
After bolting on the plates in a pouring rain, I unhooked the camper, put the Glock in my glove compartment, cranked up the engine and pulled out of that campground. I’d lost a few pounds and still looked like hell, but it was time to move on—or at least try to. I hadn’t discarded any of Elaina’s belongings. I left her toothbrush alongside mine in the holder, her new potholders where she’d hung them and her makeup in its tray on her nightstand. On my own nightstand I left her burgundy cap. Every night before going to sleep I would kiss it, and to this very day, I still do.
Before heading out of Asheville, I had to make one stop in town. As much as I dreaded it, there is no force in this world or beyond that could have stopped me. I had to go to a crematory to pick up Elaina’s remains. With all the sorrow, unhappiness, and fear for the future already weighing on every frayed nerve in my body, I didn’t know if I could handle it. All I can tell you here is that I did pick up the brass urn with its four-pound contents. I did it as quickly as I could. As I paid and signed the necessary papers, I somehow managed to fight back the flood of dark, devastating emotions swelling inside me. But as soon as the business transaction was completed and I picked up that urn, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I rushed for that door like a man on the verge of vomiting.
Stepping out of that building into the rain certainly didn’t help. Clutching Elaina to my chest as if she’d just returned from the dead, running through puddles beneath that doomsday sky, all my pent up pain and misery imploded at once. I did not retch. Along with tears, I spewed those vile feelings all over the asphalt parking lot. Once inside the camper, with my head and convulsing shoulders dripping wet, I continued to purge the hurt. I didn’t get rid of it all, of course. It should only be that easy. None of us are capable of ever completely shaking such an immense sense of loss. I cannot (here or anywhere else) expound any further on how I felt that day. What I’ve already described in these last two paragraphs is about as close to reliving that day as I ever
I really had no right being alone in my condition, but I was, and I wanted to be. Other than my brother, his wife, and my mother (who lived with them) there was nobody to turn to, nowhere to go. When I phoned Stanley, he insisted I come back up to Long Island and stay with them for a while. But I wasn’t about to endanger what was left of my family, and as I said before, all I wanted was to be left alone.
Since both Elaina’s parents had died in an automobile accident twelve years earlier, and she’d been an only child, there was nobody to notify in her family. She did have two cousins and an aunt, but years before her own death Elaina’s mother had a falling out with the aunt. Their small family had been estranged ever since. As for Elaina and I, we never had any children. She was unable to conceive. Although that had bothered us for many years, it now seemed like an extraordinary blessing. For there were no children to advise of their mother’s death.
Chapter 7
Exactly one week after Elaina’s passing, the RV’s permanent license plates arrived. I thought about that sleazy salesman, Kincaid, but seriously doubted he had anything to do with what had taken place. I contemplated every possible scenario and decided the odds of him being involved, particularly so soon, were miniscule. Had I known for sure that he was involved, I would have gone right back to Jersey and ended him—no matter what the consequences.
After bolting on the plates in a pouring rain, I unhooked the camper, put the Glock in my glove compartment, cranked up the engine and pulled out of that campground. I’d lost a few pounds and still looked like hell, but it was time to move on—or at least try to. I hadn’t discarded any of Elaina’s belongings. I left her toothbrush alongside mine in the holder, her new potholders where she’d hung them and her makeup in its tray on her nightstand. On my own nightstand I left her burgundy cap. Every night before going to sleep I would kiss it, and to this very day, I still do.
Before heading out of Asheville, I had to make one stop in town. As much as I dreaded it, there is no force in this world or beyond that could have stopped me. I had to go to a crematory to pick up Elaina’s remains. With all the sorrow, unhappiness, and fear for the future already weighing on every frayed nerve in my body, I didn’t know if I could handle it. All I can tell you here is that I did pick up the brass urn with its four-pound contents. I did it as quickly as I could. As I paid and signed the necessary papers, I somehow managed to fight back the flood of dark, devastating emotions swelling inside me. But as soon as the business transaction was completed and I picked up that urn, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I rushed for that door like a man on the verge of vomiting.
Stepping out of that building into the rain certainly didn’t help. Clutching Elaina to my chest as if she’d just returned from the dead, running through puddles beneath that doomsday sky, all my pent up pain and misery imploded at once. I did not retch. Along with tears, I spewed those vile feelings all over the asphalt parking lot. Once inside the camper, with my head and convulsing shoulders dripping wet, I continued to purge the hurt. I didn’t get rid of it all, of course. It should only be that easy. None of us are capable of ever completely shaking such an immense sense of loss. I cannot (here or anywhere else) expound any further on how I felt that day. What I’ve already described in these last two paragraphs is about as close to reliving that day as I ever
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