Confession

A dying woman makes a confession to her husband, on her deathbed.

George raised his head and looked at the window as the rain started tapping on the window pane. He’d always liked the soothing sound of rain on the windows and roof. He shifted in his seat and winced when the chair creaked. He looked at the hospital bed where his wife slept. His eyes misted over. Tubes were snaking out of various parts of her body and were attached to machines and IVs. He couldn’t come to grips with the idea that life could continue without her but the Doctor’s verdict dashed any hopes he might have had. Not much longer now. She was soon going to a better place where, he hoped, she would be waiting for him.

Images of her younger self flooded his mind. Happier times. Emily running on the wet sand of the deserted beach where they went swimming and him chasing her. Her laughter was music to his ears. Emily blowing on the twenty-five candles on her birthday cake, her eyes shining and his heart bursting with love. The trip they took to Tunisia long before all the madness gripped the world.

Emily moaned and George jumped up and bent over her. She was only dreaming. Her breathing was regular. He looked at her face and saw her as she had always looked to him. The stunning beauty who captured his heart, not the withering eighty-year-old woman whose skin looked like old parchment.

George sighed and sat back down. He started when he heard a sudden ripping sound. He looked at his wife and frowned, puzzled. Then the smell hit him.

“Oh, honey..” he said softly and got wearily back to his feet. He opened the window a crack. “Gee!” he whispered, “whatever they put in that IV, darling?”

Emily stirred and George was by her side in an instant.

“George,” she croaked, an indication she was about to croak.

“I’m here, Honey,” he answered.

“Not much time left, I’m afraid.”

“Why? Where’re you going?” he teased.

“Silly man. But it was good while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“Better than good, Sweetheart. You gave life a meaning. You made me the happiest man on earth and I love you so much for that.”

“Listen, I need to tell you something before it’s too late.”

“What is it, honey?”

“We’ve been together for forty-five years, haven’t we?”

“And six months and twelve days.”

A tear run down her face. George tried to wipe it off with his thumb but it got lost in the wrinkles of her face.

“God, how I love you, George! Anyway, this is what I wanted to say. I can’t leave you without telling you the only secret I’ve kept from you for forty-five years.”

“Yes,” said George with some trepidation.

“Remove my necklace, will you? See, that small key is not really a lucky charm. It opens the trunk I asked you to bring from home. Pull it out from under the bed, please.”

George could hardly contain his puzzlement. He gingerly removed the key from his wife’s neck then stooped and dragged the heavy trunk from under the bed.

“Go on, open it!”

George had trouble turning the small key in the lock but finally managed to open the trunk. He slowly lifted the lid.

His jaw dropped when he saw what was inside. Well, not literally, of course. Imagine every time you are surprised, your jaw drops like in those cartoons. Actually, a friend of mine is a cartoon character. The things he does with his face and body, amazing! And come to think of it, I wonder where this expression, “his jaw dropped”, came from. Was it taken from a cartoon or was it the other way round? It’s like wh.. oh God, there I go again, and you’re probably curious about what George found in the trunk. Tsk tsk. Incorrigible! My wife always tells me: Focus, Woody, focus. I hate it when you go on a tangent.”  But you know women, all they do is nag, nag, nag. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. His jaw dropped figuratively.

Inside the trunk, were stacks upon stacks of wads of Dollar bills. Washingtons, Jeffersons, Lincolns, Hamiltons, Grants… There must’ve been thousands. A real treasure trove.

When George could finally speak, he asked: “where does all this money come from, Honey? Tell me you didn’t steal it, Em.”

Emily laughed weakly. “Don’t be silly, George. that’s my goodbye present for you, Honey. For the joy you gave me all along the years, in bed and out of it.”

George’s eyes watered again then he saw three round objects wedged among the bills. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and bent over.

He picked one up. It looked like a goose’s egg!

“Em, what are these eggs?”

“Oh that’s the second part of the surprise, Honey. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, George.”

“Forgive you what?” asked George, more than intrigued.

“Well,” started Emily weakly, “I’m not proud to say that I haven’t always been faithful to you, Honey. Every time I cheated on you I put an egg in the trunk to remind me of my evil deed. I’m so sorry, George.”

George was stunned. He sat on his haunches, not believing what he’d just heard.

“Please don’t be sad, Honey” said Emily, “It’s all in the past anyway.”

George was reeling from the revelation.

“I suppose three times is not dramatic during the course of forty-five years of marriage. Ehm.. and where does the money come from?”

“Oh, that’s from the eggs I sold, Darling.”

Author's Note

whenever work keeps me away from the site, I find it very hard to come back. my muse seems to be punishing me for staying away for so long. I didn't do any editing so I don't know how good it is. your feedback will be much appreciated, as always.

Reviews

[Jacob Clifford]

Ah, Woody, you son of a gun, you. I almost spit out my drink when I read that last line!

The whole story was engaging and held my attention. The sad parts were well-written, and the funny parts were too. I always love your breaking-the-fourth-wall moment in your stories. In this story, it was talking about jaws dropping. Many people try similar things with minimal, but you seem very adept at it.

[Woody]

thanks a ton Clifford. as always you make my day by your reviews. I'm glad you had as much fun reading this one as I had writing it.

[Marie]

I started this story saying to myself "Woody doesn't write things like this. He doesn't write about dying good-byes." And he didn't...

I loved the tangent; your tangents are always good. Perhaps you could put another in, so this one doesn't "stand alone". Also you don't need that business with George having to open the window. You can't open hospital windows anyway...

[Woody]

thank you very much Marie. hospital windows made me laugh. I honestly didn't know you couldn't open them. yes I'll definitely add another tangent. see, I was impatient. I wanted to post something and probably rushed it a bit.

[Taylor]

Hi Woody -- A joke with a punchline. As they say, "You're a wild and wooly man." I found the piece amusing. However, I did not feel the interjection of your own voice as a tangent worked particularly well; perhaps it could if there were consistent, amusing interruptions, but standing alone, I felt it slowed the flow without particular purpose. Sorry your muse has been punishing you; mine has had a well-deserved vacation and I'm hoping she returns full of inspiration.

[Woody]

Hi Taylor. thank you so much for dropping in. yes I see your point. I'll mull this over, though that might mean making the story longer which I'm always reluctant to do.