Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…

She had always thought her mother’s vanity was cherry. So when she passed, Lonna bought a stool for it. Naturally, she paid for solid cherry. Come to find out, the wood was a less expensive poplar painted with a cherry finish.

Sixty-four, sixty–five, sixty-six…

Then she had to find another poplar one and got stuck with a vanity stool she didn’t need. Ended up selling it in the neighborhood garage sale last spring. Brand new…not a scratch on it…and she got less than ten percent of what she paid for it.

She leaned closer to the mirror and took a hard look. Her hair was the only thing she saw worthy of vanity, though there were little sprigs of gray here and there. Everything else was not bad…nondescript. She grasped the bristles of her pearl handled brush and pulled the hair from them.

Never had she questioned how her life would have been different if she had not met him. She simply couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

Oh…she’d had other relationships. So had he. When he told her he liked to visit prostitutes…expensive ones…she didn’t bat an eye.

But, when he told her that, he’d made her wait longer than she expected before he demonstrated the absolute fairness their relationship was built on.

“Of course, if you want to see someone else, I wouldn’t object,” he told her.

“Of course,” she’d agreed. “That’s understood.”

She’d watched as the color (what little he had) ran out of his face.

When, in fact, the twenty years they’d been together, she’d only had two affairs. One with a fellow teacher. The other with one of her students…a seventeen year old football player who knew way more about sex than she did.

Of course they were never caught. It was purely physical. They were careful.

Always assuming it was her figure that attracted him (she watched it religiously …jazzercise…restricted calories…plant based diet) she was surprised to find an old photo album with pictures of a wife he’d never told her about.

The old wife? The two of them could have been twins…but not according to figures.

It was a bit of a let down.

When he told her about the cancer, in a moment of weakness, she’d asked...why me, Jay? Why’d you pick me?

“Because I love you,” he’d said.

“Buy why?”

“Because I can trust you,” he’d said.

She laughed. “That’s not very sexy.”

He kissed her lips very gently, very lightly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lonna. It’s very sexy…”

“Hey, hon. What’re you up to in here?”

Her heart fell to her stomach–and her backside came off the stool like she was riding a wild bull.

“Damn it, Jay! You scared me!”

He stood in the doorway, laughing. “Sorry love!”

Then, suddenly, he stepped back, steadying himself against the door frame.

“Whoa! Whoa Nellie…”

“Jay!?…what’s wrong? You all right?”
“No,” he gulped. “Dizzy…”

She moved lithely toward him without even realizing it.

“Lean on me, Jay,” she gasped, wrapping both arms around his waist. His weight enveloped her as, somehow, she stayed upright. They waddled to the bed.

“Here. Lay down. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“Lonna, no!” He grasped her forearm, his grip hard…painful. “Sit down! Sit with me, please.”

“Jay!…you’re hurting me!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He let go of her and fell back on the bed.

She pulled off his loafers and grabbed both legs–like his bottom half was a wheelbarrow.

“Help me, Jay! Move with me so I can put your legs on the bed.”

Together they managed to get him perpendicular with the bed, but his feet were hanging off. Lonna moved the night stand and stood above him. Gaining leverage with one knee on the bed, she ran her arms under his armpits and clasped her hands.

“I’m going to count to three and then pull you toward the headboard,” she said. “Can you help?”

“Yes.”

“Okay…one…two…three!”

She pulled and he pushed–flaying frantically, like a fish out of water– scooting his butt backward.

“Okay! Okay!” She put a pillow under his head.

“Don’t call an ambulance,” he pleaded. “Just let me catch my breath.”