"At Last"

This is a story I have written for a final asignment for a class of mine. It is a retelling and / or coninutation of a short story by the Canadian author Jack Hodgins entitled "Inheritance"

“At Last”

 

            The blistering cold bit at his nose and ears as he gingerly made his way up the front concrete steps. Careful not to drop the box tucked in the crook of his frail arm, he unlocked the door to his haven of brick, engulfed by the surrounding slabs of stone and artful glass.  Submersed into the comforting darkness of his dust and memories, he strips off his frozen layers of clothing.  Clutching his new toaster to his chest – only today had he remembered that the previous one was on the fritz – he wound his way through the stacks of old boxes and papers to the kitchen.

            Liberating it from its box he eagerly placed the new toaster next to the microwave, in its place, on the chipped tile counter. 

Perfect. 

Standing back to admire the view of his kitchen and its new addition, it is then that he sees the soft glow of the bulb reflecting off of not one, but two chromed surfaces.  His heart plummets and his stomach lurches in self-loathing.  Sinking onto the tarnished wood chair, he drops his head in his hands as he remembers the two other toasters already stored in the spare room across the hall.  Four brand new toasters, the broken one still sits in its place next to the fridge.  Pushing back the wet at his eyes with the heels of his hands, he sits up and stares at the decrepit face staring back at him in the newly polished surface.  Not bearing the sight, he unplugged it and carried it to the spare room to put it with the other various items to be returned. 

Sitting on the corner of the bed filled with treasures from assorted department stores, he looked around at the mess of his life and finally welcomed the idea that something needed to be done – that he’s on his way out and there was no denying it now.  Pulling the bedside phone into his lap he spuns the dial from 0 – click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click and waited for the voice to answer.

“Operator”

“Hi, can you please connect me to a, uh, lawyer’s office?”

“For what city sir?”

“Uh, well, whatever one pops up first in Ottawa”

“Ashton and Leighton is the first on the list, shall I connect you sir? A nominal fee of 65 cents will appear on your next phone bill.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome sir.  Have a wonderful day!”

The soft music flowed into his ear as he tried to remember exactly what it was he wanted calling a lawyer’s office.  On the verge of panic, he caught sight of the box full of Christmas cards, birthday cards and letters from his nephew’s wife Frieda over the years.  Yes, his dearest Frieda…

“This is Blake Ashton, how can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Hugh Macken and I’d like to make an appointment to see someone about writing up my will. I’ve finally decided who I want to have as my heir.”

~ * ~ * ~

The dry burnt toast had to be washed down with a swig of orange juice each time he took a bite.  He’d have to remember to pick a new toaster the next time he was out; he was getting sick of the burnt toast every morning.  He looked up and smiled his slack-jaw smile as Mrs. Thorpe came through the front door with another armload of groceries, “Thanks again for running some of my errands for me…”

“Oh, well, not a problem, Hugh,” she said in her pleasantly sweet voice as she unloaded the bags onto his yellowed linoleum floor, “I had to run some of my own today.  Did you want me to give you a hand putting these away?”

“Nawh, nawh, I’m fine… you run along and spend the rest of your Saturday with your family.”

“You’re sure, now?  ‘Cause it’ll only take me a minute…”

He rose to politely scoot her out, “Sure as sure can be.  Now, let an old man do something for himself.  Oh!  But before you go, I want to give you something for you always helping me out – a gift!”  Ignoring her protests he made his way to the spare room to find something to give her.  Grabbing the first thing he saw from the numerous choices, he made his way back to the kitchen.

“Oh, Hugh.  I can’t take that.  Really, that’s not necessary – ”

“But it is!  Please, you were just saying the other day that you took in another one over at your place… I’m sure a new blender could come in handy!”  He pushed the boxed blender into her hands, “Please, I insist!”

“Well, thank you then, Hugh.”  She smiled and gently rubbed his arm in gratitude.

Jolted from the first human touch in months, he could only stand there, motionless, in the middle of his tiny kitchen, smiling like a little schoolboy, as he watched Mrs. Thorpe wave goodbye and leave him alone once again in his dingy, little house.

After some time, he roused from his trance by the loud screaming of his phone.  Startled by the unusual sound, he stumbled to reach it before the person on the other line decided to give up, “Hello?  Hello?  Who’s this?  Hello?”

“Uncle Hugh?  Uncle Hugh, it’s me, Frieda.”

“Frieda!  Yes, my dearest Frieda!  How are you?”

“Oh, fine.  A little tired from the flight, and… what had Kitty called it?… Jet lag?  Anyway, but we’re fine all in all.”

“Flight?”

“Yes, I called you the other day to tell you Eddie and I were going to finally make the trip out to see you – “see our fortune” as you suggested… I’m just calling to let you know we have arrived and are settling into the hotel.”

“Yes, of course, of course, I remember!  I’m so glad you could finally make it!  I can’t wait to show you everything I’m leaving you Frieda.  So, when can I expect you?”

“I thought we’d head over to your place sometime tomorrow morning, I’ll give you a call before we leave. Wait – what was that? No, no dear, it’s Uncle Hugh… I’m talking to Uncle Hugh – Sorry, so does that sound good for you?”

“Sounds good.  I’ll see you in the morning.  You two get some rest. Have a good night.”

The excitement was almost overbearing.  Hanging up the phone, he tried to decide what to try and tidy first.  Thinking the bathroom was probably the most in need of work, he began to wind his way through his towers of marked and unmarked boxes to the bathroom, leaving the still bagged groceries in the middle of the kitchen floor.

~ * ~ * ~

Unable to contain himself, he pulled on his boots and an extra flannel shirt for warmth – it would only take them a few minutes to get here from the hotel – and nearly did a jig out the door.  Up to his ankles in frigid snow, he waited for his dearest Frieda and his nephew, Eddie, to arrive.  He tried to recall the last time he had seen them… must have been the Christmas just after their daughter Megan had been born – No, it couldn’t have been that long… could it?  Twenty-five years? – She had already had two boys and now a brand new baby girl.  Frieda had looked just as beautiful as her mother… glowing complexion, crisp eyes, and that catching charisma.  A storyteller’s soul, a smile to melt all hearts – including my own, a laugh of angels singing, and a heart so full and welcoming.  ‘Oh, how I loved her, my dearest Katie – if only I had known, Sweetheart, if only I had known…’

Catching the taxi rolling up to the curb out of the corner of his eye, he nearly jumped out of his skin with hope, and thanked the Lord with his whole heart.  “She’s here, she’s finally here!” He beamed, “You’ve finally come back to me – I knew you’d come back to me, my dearest Katie…” Opening his arms wide for her expectant embrace, he couldn’t help the tears of his anguish and his unyielding, desperate love.

“Uncle Hugh!”

His smile faded, but only a fraction and only for a moment – that’s right it was his Frieda – his dearest Frieda.

~ * ~ * ~

Had it already been three whole days?  But he supposed, they had to be on their way, they had lives in Vancouver to get back to and he was already so very appreciative.  He dreaded being alone.  Alone with his thoughts and memories to get lost in, confusing the reality.

Snapping off his thoughts upon seeing their expectant faces, he was inspired, “You’ll not go without a gift.  It’ll all be yours anyway, but I want you to have something now.”  Bustling into the spare room, he began to search among his useless treasures for the perfect thing – but what? – Unable to decide, he grabbed one of the four toasters off the bed and turned to leave, passing the set of red suitcases by the door.

‘That’s it!’

Turning back around, he headed back into the room, tossed the toaster back onto the bed and grabbed the set of red suitcases Frieda’s father had loaned him years ago.  He thought it only fitting to return her husband’s – no, her father’s – most cherished suitcases to her as a parting gift, she’d be so pleased to have something of his.  Hugh’s heart sank as they protested, “You don’t like them?”

“Of Course we like them!” Frieda said. “They’re lovely.”

‘Well of course they are,’ he thought. ‘They used to belong to me.’ 

Was it that?

It was always that, wasn’t it? 

“You have to take them, I want you to have something of mine, to remind you.” He said. ‘Something to remind you of what could have been, Katie!’ he nearly thought aloud, ‘No, Frieda.  This is Frieda.’ – He nearly missed what she had said, “You’ll come again?”

“We’ll try.”  Frieda smiled and grasped her husband’s hand, “Now give us a hug.”

~ * ~ * ~

He felt numb from the medication the doctors had given him at the hospital.

Numb to the bone.

Numb to the soul.

“Hugh?  Hugh, where do you keep your suitcases?  I’m going to pack up some of your things to bring on over to our place, remember?”  Mrs. Thorpe called from the bedroom, “Hugh?”

“Yeah.”

She sauntered into the living room with her dashing smile and her hands full of his underwear, “Your suitcases?  What do they look like?  Where do you keep them?”

“Yes, of course.  They’re in the spare room, in the corner by the door.  Bright red ones.  There should be two.”  Right were he always left them.  After a few minutes of rummaging, Mrs. Thorpe returned with a withered face of confusion.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ 

Rousing himself from the cluttered couch, he made his way into the spare room and stared helplessly at the empty spot where he had kept his suitcases.  “But they’re always here… I don’t understand…” he scratched his paper thin cheek as he tried to remember.

“Did you move them recently?  Can you remember the last time you used them or even looked at them?”  Mrs. Thorpe asked.

“No, I, ah – wait!” Then he saw her face, his dearest Katie, “She took them back, my Katie… – no, that’s not right…”

“Do you mean Frieda?  Frieda and your nephew, that came to visit a little while ago?  Did they take them?”  She asked.  Her face began to turn shades of red, “How dare they!!  Take advantage of an old man like that!  Did they take your suitcases, Hugh?”

“Hmm?  Take what? Oh, suitcases?  I don’t know… all I can remember is seeing her walk off with them, get into her taxi and drive away…”

“Well, don’t you worry about them anymore, Hugh, Daryl and I will take good care of you.  Just as the doctor ordered.  We won’t let them take advantage of you again! Okay?”  Her face had softened, just like Katie’s used to do.

“Okay.  Thank you my Sweetheart.”

~ * ~ * ~

           The soft sunlight seeping through the metal blinds and the rhythmical beeping of the machine calmed his nerves.  The Thorpe woman told him he’d had an “episode” in the middle of the night – whatever that was – and he’d have to stay there, in the hospital to be monitored.  Something was happening to him and at times, he couldn’t quite tell who was who or what was what.  Everything just confused him and he didn’t like it.  One day he’s angry about some stolen suitcases, another day he’s at the drive-in with his lovely Katie, today he’s in the hospital.  Shifting his weight seeking comfort, he smiles at the Thorpe woman as she entered his room.

“How are you feeling today, Hugh?”  She asks.  She presents him with a balloon bouquet and a card.  “These are from me.  I thought they might brighten your day, make you smile, maybe?”

Hugh chuckled to himself, “You know it’s your smile that will brighten my day, Mrs. Thorpe.”

“Oh, Hugh… I’m going to go speak with the doctor; I’ll be right back, you open your card there, hon.  There is a letter there for you too… Someone in Vancouver… be right back…” Mrs. Hugh flew from the room leaving him to bask in her light perfume.

He loved the smell of her, the way she’d smile.  He opened the card and grinned.  He even loved his Katie’s penmanship, the swirls of her S’s and the loops of her L’s.  It hadn’t even mattered that she’d taken his name, even signed the card in it.  He loved her all the same…

A woman crept in his room, her blue eyes full of concern, “The doctor says you’ll have to stay for one more night.  Daryl and I will bring you some of your things to make you feel more relaxed, comfortable…”

“Who… who are you? – Do I know you?…”

“Oh, Hugh, you remember me!  Darla, Mrs. Thorpe.” She smiled.

Her green eyes sparkled under tears and her face softened.

Just like it always did when she looked at him.

“Yes, there you are… yes, that would be wonderful Sweetheart… thank you for everything… you’ve worked too hard over the likes of me.”  Tears burned the back of his eyes and his breath caught with emotion, “I want you to have it all, I know it’s not much… probably a bunch of junk, but I want you to have it.  A gift to… remember me by.”

“What?  Hugh, all of what?”  She asked.

“All I’ve got… my treasures… even, even the fiddle – you remember the fiddle, and how I made you dance?”  She shook her head slowly in confusion, but all he could see was her smile.  “I just want to thank you for taking such good care of me, Sweetheart…”

 

            Mrs. Thorpe stroked his hand, then his hair and wiped away his tears, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when I come to visit.  You try and get some rest.”

 

           Left in solitude, he closed his eyes.  It was so quick he didn’t feel the skull splitting pain.  He merely drifted on the melody of his precious Katie’s voice, slipping into a deep and restful sleep where everything made sense and he could finally see himself in her crisp, green eyes. 

 

“At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song

At last the skies above are blue

And my heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you…

… I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill I have never known

You smiled, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

And you are mine at last.”

-- “At Last”, song as originally sung by Glen Miller.

Reviews

[*~Imperfectly Me~*]

Ooo... i like it... Sorry it took me so long to review... lol... this is a really good piece and you make the reader know the characters and feel their emotions...

Your description is amazing... Great job!!!