Lemmon's Journey

Chapter Three

Sherriff Hank Cannouk got the call while almost done with dinner. His wife saw the resigned look on his face when he returned to the table after answering the home phone and knew it wasn’t good. If it had been anything less than someone dying, he would have made a light humor of it before buttoning his shirt and picking up his hat. He kissed his nine year old daughter before leaving the table, promised he would be back in time to read her a bedtime story before she went to bed. His wife Bridget walked him to the door though didn’t enquire what the call was about. She knew he would tell her when he returned; if it was something big she reckoned she would hear it before he returned home. Hank gave her a kiss before walking toward his patrol car and pulling out of his driveway with his blinker lights flashing into the cold night.

He drove down Baker’s Street where the call from the station had notified him about the tragic situation that had happened nearly a half hour ago. The neighbors all stood outside their homes and some were on the victim’s driveway, milling together, talking and speculating. Hank sighted two of his deputies’ patrol vehicles parked behind the county ambulance with its back doors open; one of them kept the crowd at bay. People parted for Hank as he parked halfway into the driveway and got out. He adjusted his wide-brimmed hat on his head and pushed his pants an inch down his waistline to let his gut breath a little before strutting toward the house. He saw his deputy standing by the porch speaking with the medical examiner. His deputy turned and saw him and he signaled him over.

“Evening, Sherriff,” Aaron his deputy said to him. He was a young lad of twenty-three. He sported a moustache, though he was yet to outgrow the cluster of acne that dotted his cheek.

“Evening, Aaron. What happened here?”

“A death in the family, sir. The husband’s inside, but the wife is leaving in a stretcher. Doctor says she had herself a stroke.”

Hank sighed. “What a shame. What were the circumstances?”

“It happened in the bathroom. She banged her head pretty bad on the wall. Her husband arrived and found her that way; he was pretty hysterical when he did.”

“That’s Lemmon, right?”

“Yes, sir. The doc gave him a little sedative to calm him down. Neighbors heard him hollering and came over to investigate. They pried him off his wife and dragged him away, and then one of them called the station.”

Hank rubbed at his chin. He knew Lemmon Grandee very well and knew his wife Abby, too. She’d babysat his daughter in the past; it was a shame this sort of tragedy had happened. He told Aaron to take statements from the neighbors who’d been in the house, also to help keep back any strays from crossing into the yard. He went inside and conferred with the doctor in the living room. Two orderlies carted the Abby Grandee’s corpse on a stretcher with a cloth draped over her body.

“How’s he doing, doctor?” Hank asked.

Doctor Marlin took a handkerchief out of his pockets and wiped the lens of his glasses before returning it to his nose. He was a reedy fellow with a hawk-like face and a bald-headed plate.

“He’s doing all right. Pretty calm since I sedated him. He’s in the bedroom with one of your officers. I thought it best someone watch over him in case he became suicidal. I’ve seen such happen before and didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You did good. It’s too bad nothing could be done for her,” he gestured at the two orderlies whom he could see past the screen door fixing the corpse inside the ambulance and then slamming the doors shut.

“I won’t know everything until I’m done with an autopsy. My guess is she had a blood clot in her brain that triggered an aneurysm that led to stroke. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Death must have happened in less than five or ten minutes tops. Nothing anyone could have done to prevent it. I feel very bad for Lemmon coming home and finding her the way he did.”

“Don’t I know it. You’d better head on out of here, Marlin. I’ll talk with you about it in the morning.”

The doctor packed up his bag and left the house leaving the Sherriff standing there alone in the living room. Hank went to the master bedroom where Lemmon sat slouched on the bed gazing at the floor with his hands resting on his thighs. His body shook like he had a fever. One of Hank’s deputies stood five feet from him and he tipped his hat at the Sherriff and exited the room. Hank drew closer to him.

“Hi, Lem,” Hank spoke with a soothing voice.“How’re you doing?”

Lemmon looked up at him with dazed pair of eyes. To Hank, he looked like an old junkie; his face was wet from crying.

“Not good Hank,” his voice sounded groggy. “Not good at all.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry about what happened to Abby. I really am.” Hank sat on the bed beside him.

“I held her in my arms, Hank. There she was, lying on her back in the shower stall. I picked her . . . I picked her up, but I couldn’t move her. I wanted to get help . . . I tried to move her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” His mouth moved but no words issued from his lips. He gave up and shook tremulously.

“It’s okay, Lem. Doctor said it was a stroke. There was nothing you could have done. Once again, I’m sorry.”

Lemmon let go a moaning cry. He brought his hands to his face and resumed weeping. Hank allowed him the benefit to vent his tears. It was heart-wrenching to see such moments happen, especially to people he knew so well.

“Are you going to be all right, Lem?” Hank felt awkward asking this. It wasn’t the right type of question to ask, but he couldn’t think of any. “You don’t have to stay here alone tonight, do you?”

“I don’t know, Hank,” he sniffled. “Abby was the world to me. Now she’s gone, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Hank looked up as his deputy who had left the room appeared at the doorway and gestured to speak with him. Hank excused himself and got up and came to him. His deputy, Jeremy, whispered that Lemmon’s friend Marley was standing outside wanting if he could come in and see him. Jeremy resumed his watch over Lemmon while Hank strolled to the living room.

Marley stood out in the porch beside Aaron. Hank came out the house and beckoned Aaron to go inside. He shook hands with Marley and led him away from the doorway. He wasn’t surprised to see him there, knowing how deep was his friendship with Lemmon. In a small town like Sheffield, no news traveled faster than the wind like bad news.

“I got here as soon as I could, Sherriff,” said Marley. “How’s he doing?”

Hank shook his head. “Not pretty good, Marley. It’s a good thing you’re here. I’d like if you could take him over to your place and try to babysit him. At least for a day or two. He’s pretty stricken with grief, and I fear if alone he might do some harm to himself, especially with no one around watching him.”

“My wife was the one that called me. She said she heard it from one of the neighbors here. Was it that bad?”

“As far as what the good doc said, she got hit with a stroke. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it from happening.”

“My God. Abby’s a wonderful woman. Lem’s definitely going through a lot of pain right now.”

“Yeah, same with all of us. You think you can help me out and take him with you to your place? You’ll be doing him a lot of favor.”

“Say no more, Sherriff. It’s the least I can do to help my buddy out.”

Hank let him into the house and they went to meet with Lemmon. He hadn’t changed from the posture Hank had left him in. Lemmon looked up when he heard Marley’s voice. Seeing the look in his friend’s eyes made his body tremble once again with grief. Marley came to his side and hugged him, told him how sorry he was. Both of them cried over each other’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Marley wept. “I miss her just as much as you. I’m so sorry.”

* * *

Lemmon wanted to wash his face but didn’t want to go into the bathroom. The fear of relieving his wife’s final posture inside preyed on his mind. He chose instead to use the kitchen sink. He returned and put on his clothes and helped his friend pack some in a bag for him. They turned off the lights and every other electrical appliance before leaving the house with Sherriff Cannouk and his deputies one step behind them. Marley led his friend to his truck. Much of the neighbors had returned to their homes, though a few remained outside presuming there was more happening. Marley said goodnight to Sherriff Hank before driving away from the scene.

Marley lived halfway across town from his friend, on St. Vincent Avenue which led out to the I-98 highway. He parked in front of his house and saw his wife appear behind the screen door watching as he and Lemmon approached. She opened the door for them; her face too was wet from crying. She hugged Lemmon and shared her condolences with him.

“If there’s anything we can do, Lem,” she said to him. “Anything at all, please let us know. We’re here for you.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Right now I’m still all choked up with what’s happened. I can’t believe it. Everything was just fine a couple of hours ago, and now . . . now she’s gone. She’s gone and I’m all alone.” He choked up.

“You’re never alone, Lem,” said Sarah, hugging him again. “We’re here for you.”

Marley and his wife held either of his hands and they all cried together.

* * *

Lemmon spent two nights at his friend’s home before feeling bold enough to return to his. Marley kept him in one of his son’s room. Sarah watched over him while her husband was out of the house during the daytime, working at the store. When together, they tried avoiding any subject about Abby, but even that was impossible. Her ghost occupied the house with them. Both women had been best of friends just like their husbands. Death, or the thought of either of them relocating from Sheffield were about the only things that could have separated them. Sherriff Hank dropped by the following day to see how Lemmon was coping. He gave him his house keys and once again extended his condolences.

Lemmon fought to contain his tears that first night and the night before. The nights were especially difficult for him. Whenever he shut his eyes to sleep, he replayed the moment he’d stumbled on his wife’s body. He calculated how much time might have elapsed between him and Marley been at the football stadium to when he’d returned home. He hypothesized that if by chance he’d returned earlier half hour earlier, give or take fifteen, he would have been there for Abby. Somehow he could have helped her, at least held her from hitting her skull against the wall. He wrestled with this notion the two nights he laid in Marley’s house, regardless of how futile it sounded. The regret of not been there bit at him and got him moaning in his sleep about it.

He returned to his home on a Wednesday afternoon. Marley drove him back to his place that evening. He wasn’t happy doing it and a foreboding worry on his mind was what his friend might do alone with himself. Lemmon wasn’t the suicidal type, Marley knew this. But with Abby not around anymore to watch over him, God only knows. He was wrestling with this thought while he drove.

“You sure about this?” Marley asked him a final time. “I can turn around, you know. You don’t have to do this today.”

“I’ll be all right, Marl. Thanks for everything.”

Marley felt like saying more but didn’t know what exactly. He sighed as Lemmon came down and waved at him, smiling. Marley waved back before pulling away from his compound.

Lemmon dropped his bag on the porch to get out the bunch of keys from his pocket. His hand shook as he inserted the right one into the lock. He held his breath as the key turned and stood there nervous under his clothes as the front door creaked open for him, half expecting Abby’s ghost to appear and welcome him back home. He was understandably dismayed not to find any surprises. The only thing that welcomed him was the tomb of quietude the house carried. He picked up his bag and entered his house and closed the door behind him. Silence. He turned on the living room’s lights. Everything was as it was before he left. Lemmon went into the kitchen and looked every corner, expecting to find something out of place, but nothing. He felt like a stranger in his own home, like he’d spent a decade away. He stifled the urge to holler Abby’s name, to let her know he was back.

Lemmon went upstairs and looked in his wife’s studio room. Nothing about it had changed either. Her easel stand and paint brushes were all lined up on the cabinet walls where she’d left them. They too had a dowdy look like they missed her. Everything inside the room seemed to be expecting her return any moment.

Lemmon shut the door quietly, as if afraid to alert anything inside to his presence, and trooped downstairs to his bedroom.

The bedroom was dark and funereal. The windows closed behind the curtains, just as he had left it. The side of the bed still showed a ruffled imprint of depression as if the weight of emotion he’d encountered that night had been like him lifting the world on his shoulders. He switched on the light, threw his bag on a chair, and surveyed the room. Everything appeared alien and strange to him. The Asiatic-looking bedside lamps, one on his side of the bed and the other on Abby’s: stuff which she’d purchased at a flea market years ago. Abby had never traveled to any Asian country before, though a long time ago they’d talked a lot about traveling. This was before Gloria interrupted their lives. He’d had the idea of saving a month’s salary to take her on a boat cruise across Europe. The idea had hatched in his mind like a bug and plenty of nights he’d speculated what better time to spring the surprise on her. Still his factory job took his time and just when he’d summoned the courage, she had sprung her own surprise on him—I’m pregnant!

Lemmon laid on the bed, listening to the numbing silence in the room.

He recalled the day Abby announced her pregnancy to him. he remembered been so stunned he’d forgotten his own surprise he’d wanted to share with her. The next day he had delivered the news to his colleagues at work; he and Marley had gotten wasted on beer that night. Abby gave birth to Gloria in the fall, the year he turned thirty.

The memory disappeared and Lemmon returned to the present. Everything in the room reminded him of his wife, and made what happened three nights ago fervent in his mind. He could feel his grief welling up inside of him, waiting for the slightest inclination to bubble to the forefront.

First, they had lost Gloria.

That happened years ago, going seven now. They had held firm together and shared their grief when Gloria gave notice that she was leaving Sheffield with her son in tow, telling them she had no intention of coming back ever again. The period she left had been the hardest thing either had ever gone through and Lemmon was amazed it hadn’t ended their marriage with all the finger-pointing he and Abby gave to each other. They had held on somehow and managed to pull through. The years had passed and their grief had gone from fragility to them resuming their lives again. Abby had recovered faster and converted her pain to painting, turning their daughter’s room into her studio. Lemmon griped at first, but resolved when Abby explained that it was the best thing they could do: why leave their room as a shrine for a daughter who wasn’t coming back. Now God had taken Abby away and left him empty and alone. Lemmon wished he had the nerve to take his own life and be with her. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose, did he?

A shiver ran through him and he broke into a whimper. Lemmon sat there and cried, wishing for the night to hurry and come to him.

* * *

The dream of before returned to him later that night.

The same dream of him dressed as a man on a journey floating above a lonely highway. This time there was something different. There was someone hovering in the distance. Lemmon couldn’t make out the figure until he drew closer and he gasped awake when he realized it was the ghostly feature of his wife smiling at him.