Forever Friday (15 page)

Then, as if creating a colorful quilt stitched with the careful tenderness of loving fingers, Yevette pieced together each event that molded Huck’s childhood: her family, the secret glen, the Anacacho orchids, the mysterious Mister Jack. She told me how Mister Jack had revealed things about Huck no one else knew, causing Huck to decide that he was her guardian angel.

Pausing for breath, Yevette curled her finger over her lips once again, then spoke. “I can see from your expression that you don’t believe in angels. Is there a reason?”

“Because they turn into devils and leave their faithful husbands,” I answered coldly, then smirked. “Nowadays, I’m not so sure I believe in anything.”

“Angels included.” Yevette blinked twice, her eyes still green.

“It was a joke.” I gave a lighthearted chuckle to prove my point. “Don’t you believe in humor?”

“Only when it’s humorous.” She smiled. “That was a joke too.”

I couldn’t help but grin. There was something mysterious about this woman. Something intriguing. Something satisfying. It made me wonder about her. What she was interested in, how she spent her time. Did she work? Or was she independently wealthy? My curiosity was sparked.

Yevette stirred her soda and continued her story, explaining Huck’s fascination with the term “soul mate” and her youthful desire to never bear children. How a freak car accident at age sixteen fulfilled that desire, aiding in her decision to teach, but instilling fear about ever finding a husband.

“Do you believe in soul mates, Mr. Colby?”

“Call me Adam. And why do you ask such deep questions?”

“Because, Adam … without deep questions, there are only shallow answers.”

I shrugged, realizing the futility of reasoning with this woman. And yes, I did need answers. As far as I knew, Yevette was the only person who could provide them. “I believe the Alexanders were soul mates.”

Nodding her approval, she proceeded, explaining how Huck was first engaged to her childhood sweetheart, Clark Richards. Then for the next thirty minutes Yevette talked nonstop. She told every romantic detail from Gabe’s oyster comment, to Splash Day, to Mister Jack’s wild cry in the night.

Yevette stopped talking and looked at her watch, then took a final
sip of her Italian soda, which was mostly melted ice. I sat in stunned silence. Suddenly, Gabe’s poems took on new meaning. Huge gaps in the Alexanders’ story had been filled. With a little more work, I could begin to connect the dots. But the cry in the night? Was Yevette being serious or making that part up?

“I’ve got to go race—literally—and you’ve got a lot to think about.” Yevette stood.

“Race?”

“I race horses. Mostly Quarter Horses, but some Thoroughbreds.” She smiled. “You’ve never met a female jockey?”

“Not to my knowledge. And speaking of never, you never said why you … uh … changed your mind and decided to stay,” I managed, “except that I seemed real and my motives seemed genuine.”

“I stayed and told you about the Alexanders because I sensed you believed in hope.”

“And were you right?”

“Absolutely. Anyway, everything I’ve said is outlined in the postcards. But you already know that.”

“But what about the rest? There’s so many more blanks for you to fill.”

Yevette’s eyes had switched back to hazel. “Just call me.”

Before I could gather enough wit for an intelligent reply, she walked out the front door and disappeared into the parking lot.

I ordered a latte and returned to my corner table, noticing an entirely different group of patrons than when I’d first entered. How many times had the tables and overstuffed chairs changed their humans in the last couple of hours? How many times would I meet with this unusual woman before I got answers to all my questions?

It was hard to believe two weeks had passed since I’d met with Yevette at Starbucks. Since then, I’d written the first part of Huck and Gabe’s story. Read and reread the applicable postcards, filling in the blanks as best I could remember.

I still hadn’t decided if Mister Jack was an actual person, a character in Huck’s wild imaginings, or a mixture of both. There was a slim chance he could have been an escaped convict, since the state penitentiary was located near the Huckabee home. But it seemed, at least in the movies, that escapees hightail it as far away as possible. More likely, Mister Jack was a simple drifter and Huck’s secret glen was his campsite, complete with rare Anacacho orchids. However, children do create imaginary friends. And logic told me that Huck wouldn’t want or need an additional playmate with a house full of siblings. What really mattered was that Mister Jack had a profound impact on Huck’s self-worth, which played directly into her hope of finding a soul mate.

When Yevette assured me that I believed in hope, I thought I knew what she meant. Up until our meeting, I thought hope was more of an experience than a belief. I still
hoped
to love again, though I wondered if it had become more of a desperate desire. According to Yevette, Mister Jack instructed Huck to “grasp hope and never let go.” I knew Huck was concerned with finding her soul mate, but after an intense amount of thought, Mister Jack’s definition of hope seemed to include more depth, perhaps even a different meaning altogether.

I had to admit, before I discovered the postcards, I thought soul mates existed only in fairy tales. And couples lucky enough to stay together
might live “ever after,” but lied about the “happily” part. So the questions arose: Did soul mates evolve into lovers? Or did lovers evolve into soul mates? More plainly, were Huck and Gabe destined to be together forever, or did they make it happen?

The wisdom and insight of Gabe’s Long Division concept had much to do with the success of the Alexanders’ relationship. I was convinced that some males were born-romantics, where others broke out of the womb as athletes or musicians. What woman wouldn’t sell her soul for a man thoughtful enough to mail her an original love poem each week for sixty years? Even men who lacked Gabe’s creativity should adopt that idea and apply it to their own marriages in some form or fashion.

I’d not yet written about, nor discussed with Yevette, the postcard Gabe penned for their wedding night. The poem for that significant event highlighted this phrase:
two hearts commanding devotion
. When I considered how they practiced this idea early in their courtship—each putting the other’s needs first—I decided it most likely set up a lifelong pattern of selflessness. Haley and I had selfishly
demanded
each other’s devotion, even while dating. As a result, we were never in
command
of our relationship. So was their altruism fundamental to avoiding The Long Division? I expected I already knew the answer, but there was still so much to consider.

Yevette and I had made plans to meet the next afternoon at a steakhouse in one of the older parts of Houston. She wanted to show me something. Our plan was to discuss more of the postcards, which for me would probably result in as many new questions as answers. In some ways, I felt that she was hiding something. Something significant.

I was better, but most days I operated like a confused snail running the hundred-yard dash. At least I’d started, and at that point I just wanted to go the distance. My hope was that I had the guts to keep moving forward. Then perhaps … just perhaps … I’d find the secret to a lasting marriage.

Bayshore Extended Care Facility, 2004

Mrs. Alexander

“Oh, Gabe, must you go? Can’t we read the postcard today?” Huck whispered.

She knew it was morning but refused to open her eyes. Refused to wipe away the tears, some falling onto the silver strands of hair that covered her pillow. Tears of sadness turned to joy. Tears of long-awaited anticipation. For the third Friday in a row, Gabe had appeared just before daylight. Walked right into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, then drew her into the comfort of his sea-sky gaze.

She smiled.

On Gabe’s first visit, he’d apologized for not arriving sooner. Gently teased her about calling 911. Before she could explain, his lopsided grin burst into a laugh. “I’ll bet the expressions on those nurses’ faces were well worth it,” he repeated over and over, until his words and laughter no longer lingered with the dawn.

Then he was gone.

Raising one eyelid, Huck glimpsed the present day’s growing brightness and sighed. Wasn’t that just like Gabe? Not bothered in the least about their precious postcards being stolen. She toyed with the silly
idea of becoming upset with his nonchalance, but that had never worked. Instead, she decided to remember his return on the previous Friday. How wonderful it had been to feel the familiar warmth of his breath brush across her lips, awakening her from a dreamless sleep. She meant to ask if he’d brought her a card, but their brief conversation centered upon Yevette. Gabe was delighted about the albums and the fact that Huck had shared every detail of … how had he worded it? Oh yes. “Shared every detail of our love’s radiant hope.”

Opening her other eye, Huck smiled again at the now week-old memory of his second visit. Her caring man sure had a way with words. He knew Yevette was struggling with the nightmarish ghosts of two past relationships and needed expert guidance. And even though the albums were complete, he’d asked Huck to continue telling Yevette everything she could remember.

After blinking several times, Huck focused upon her drab surroundings: antiseptic walls, viewless window, plain curtains. Except for a fresh bouquet of yellow daises from Yevette, the only flowers in her room were artificial. Huck would’ve thrown the plastic eyesores away—along with an appalling imitation of Van Gogh’s
Starry Night
—if those items hadn’t belonged to Bayshore.

Pushing a button, Huck raised her bed into a sitting position. She touched her face, feeling a leftover happy tear slide down her wrinkled cheek. This morning, Gabe had arrived on the leading edge of sunrise. As before, he was young and healthy, and dressed in the same gray linen suit he’d worn on their first date. But unlike his two previous visits, he’d held a colorful postcard.

“Oh, dearest Gabe, you remembered.”

“I’ve wanted you to see this card for the longest time,” Gabe said
softly. “But may I show you something else first?” Even though Huck was in her bed, she suddenly envisioned Gabe standing in the center of her secret childhood glen. The same circle of soft Bermuda grass. The same crisp blue sunlight. It was the place where she’d met Mister Jack.

Gabe grinned. He was no longer in the glen but back sitting on her bed. “Next Friday, let’s meet at the glen. I know it was one of your favorite places.”

“But, Gabe. They won’t let me leave this room. And I can’t get out of this bed without …” Huck began to cry.

“I know, darling.” Gabe leaned close, the light from his smile illuminating Huck’s soul. “So when they’re not looking, I’ll come back to read the postcard.” Gabe stood, his handsome form fading into a shimmering glimmer. “And then I’ll carry you to the glen … in my arms.”