After Forever Ends

After Forever Ends

A novel

By

Melodie Ramone

Cover Photo by Cynthia Heim

Cynthia Joy Photography

Plymouth, Indiana

[email protected]

Story edited by Sean Comer

Mesa, Arizona

[email protected]

All contents copyright 2012 by Melodie Ramone. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

I Melt With You
Words and Music by Richard Ian Brown, Michael Francis Conroy, Robert James
Grey, Gary Frances McDowell and Stephen James Walker
Copyright © 1982 UNIVERSAL - MOMENTUM MUSIC LTD.
All Rights in the U.S. and Canada Controlled and Administered by
UNIVERSAL - POLYGRAM INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING, INC.
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation

For my children, who believe in elves.

For my husband, who dared me to write a love story.

For Randall, who’s whispered secrets to me all my life.

And for everyone who was ever brave and lucky enough to have

loved somebody with their whole heart, and, to have had somebody

brave and lucky enough to love them back.

“Gran?”

I can hear Kitty’s voice from the back of the house, but I am not going to answer her. I am sitting on my chair in her garden trying desperately to hear a natural noise, something other than the dim hum of a freight train from several blocks away. All I hear at her cottage are air planes, freight trains, auto-mobiles, motorcycles and lawn mowers. All day long. They hurt my head. It makes me wish I had been blessed with the deafness that Alexander has acquired over the last few years.

It’s nothing against Kitty. Kitty is my favourite grandchild. I’ve never made too much of a secret of it. She and I have been a duo since the day she was born and it was more than generous for her to invite me to stay while I mended from my surgery. When Alexander and Lucy couldn’t handle me anymore, Kitty was the only choice to take me on. I was hell to deal with when I first arrived, but the Scottish blood I passed on to her runs strong in her veins and she dished my unpleasantness right back at me. I would reckon not too many could go toe to toe with her and survive, which is why, because of my age, I surrendered and stopped bickering. It wasn’t easy. Nothing bothers me more in this world than a person who behaves as a sheep and not as a dragon.

I love Kitty to bits. I don’t suppose that her home would be in a place of my choice, being as I was not consulted when she and her husband purchased it, so I shouldn’t complain about the noise. No, Kitty is not my problem and neither is her house. My problem is that I am homesick. I miss my little house in Wales where the only sounds are the chumming of the stream that leads to the lake, the tweeting of the birds and an occasional owl at night. So different it was there from everything here in England. I haven’t lived in a city since I was fifteen years old. I’m out of practice with the noise.

It does get quiet here at night, though it’s an eerie sort of quiet. It’s as if everyone in the world has gone away and left on the lights. The back garden is the darkest spot I can find. I can’t see the stars for the illumination of street lamps, but I often slip back there and watch the bats dart past the lights. Swift, silent and graceful, they remind me of myself as a girl. Darkness gives them the chance to finish their business and live their lives without interference from those that misunderstand them. In that way, they are more like Oliver.

My Oliver. He was my best friend. He was my husband and my whole life. I’d give anything to spend one more minute with him, to feel his arms around me or listen to his heart beat inside his chest. But he crossed the veil last summer. I was never lonely a minute in my life before he went away. And although his memory keeps me company, sometimes his absence wakes me up in the night. I’m eighty six years old now and I cry just like I did when I was separated from Oliver at Bennington those two weeks after we returned from the cabin. I may be an old lady, but in my heart I am still just Oliver’s girl.

I do have a trick, though, that keeps me from doing something stupid while he‘s away. It’s really very simple and I learned it in the wood. If I sit quiet and I think about him hard enough, concentrate long enough, I can see him anyway I want, at any point in time that I can remember him. It’s like watching a film almost, but it comes in flashes. Thank heavens I have a lifetime of memories. The one I love the best of Oliver is the tall, dark haired lad with the contagious grin that I fell in love with. I watch him with his twin brother and their friends playing football on the grounds of Bennington. I listen and I can hear their laughter gliding along the breeze. Oliver is yelling, “Foul! Foul!” and Merlyn Pierce is jumping on to his back, trying to pull him to the ground. Instead of going down, Ollie spins and jerks poor Merlyn until he falls off. Two years later, I hear Oliver whisper, “I love you, Sil.” I can see his hands around my middle and feel his chin resting on my shoulder as we watch the sun set over the lake at school. We were still students at Bennington, so very young. Yet still, I love him just as much when he is that old man standing in the doorway of the home we built together, always with that grin, telling me I am as beautiful as I was the day he met me. Seconds later he is confessing that he has only weeks to live.

“Now, Sil,” He tells me, “I need you to be strong through this. We’ll get through it together like we always have. I’ll love you still even more after I’m gone. That’s part of the magic.”

“Oliver!” I whisper out loud, suddenly coming back into the present. I often talk to him when I think no one is listening. I think he can hear me better when we’re alone, “I did something last night. You’ll laugh. After my bath I looked at myself in the long mirror. It was hysterically funny, Sweetheart. You would not believe how old I am! I’m a shrivelled, saggy, silver haired old lady. You’d never know I’d once been a curvy red headed bombshell with boobs no one could believe!” I chuckle, pulling my fingers through my hair, “Carolena talked me into letting her cut off my hair. I don’t know why I let her do it, except it was always in knots and I have trouble sometimes holding the brush. It’s at my shoulders now, curlier than ever. It’s not the same. I wonder if you still think I’m beautiful,” Tears spring to my eyes, “I miss you, Ollie. I miss you more than you can imagine. I miss you more every single day. I know you’re inside my heart, but…”

I pause for a moment, waiting to hear from Kitty again, but her voice does not come, “Anyway, listen to me, I walked right up to that mirror and I looked at myself closely. I’ve lost a ton of weight. The skin on my face is loose, so is the skin on my neck. I have loose skin everywhere, really. I look like a turkey, I swear it. I don’t look so good and my eyes… they’ve faded. They used to be so blue they’d catch people off their guard, but now they’ve tamed down to a sort of grey,” I sigh, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. “I’m tired, Sweetheart. I want to go home. I’m inclined to lose my faith. Oh, Oliver, I don’t want to be here anymore! If I can’t go home I thought maybe if I told you, you’d come and get me. So…”

“Gran?” It’s Kitty, leaning out the door. She is thin and straight backed as a rail, “Are you here?”

I stop speaking and look back at her, pretending I am scratching my face and not wiping my cheeks. My granddaughter is absolutely gorgeous. Her mother is the perfect combination of Oliver and me; tall and thin like her father with high cheekbones and dark chocolate coloured eyes, but she has my flaming red hair, and round, pale face. Kitty is an exact copy of her mother, only younger. “Yes, Kit?”

“Gran, are you OK?” She asks quietly. She comes out into the garden and leans over me, setting a mug on the stool, “I thought you might like your coffee. Were you taking to someone?”

“Talking to the winds,” I tell her, “And the whispers. I’m missing the trees.”

She sighs and puts her hand over mine as she sits, “I know you are.” Kitty pulls her chair to face me. “You’ve been looking a little down lately. How’s the ankle?”

“Itchy.” I tell her, “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, unless it’s from an overdose of drama,” She says this as a joke, but she does not laugh and that is a good thing since I don’t think it’s funny. She checks the incision scar on my leg, which didn’t want to heal for a time, and then changes the subject, “I was thinking about your little house in Wales.”

“Yes?” I am not going to allow myself to be hopeful that I will ever see it again. I have the correct suspicion that certain people in the family think that I’m better off not being there since my fall. That’s the dilemma that came with getting old. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but the children sit around and wonder when I won’t be. They watch carefully and intrude on my decisions while they call it love. And it is love, I suppose, that spawns their interference, but it puts me in a situation. If I go ballistic and throw my weight around, they’ll be in a position to say I’m not in my right mind. And if I am too patient and too passive, they will run me over like a marble pastry roller on soft dough. I always have to figure out how to play it so I win.

“Well,” She is still looking down at my leg, “Nigel went out there to have a see. He said Warren cleared the downed branches from the lot this spring and had the well repaired. That was a big job. Warren says everything is fine, but Nigel…well, you know, Nigel knows all about maintaining property because of his dad’s work. He says the front part of the cabin is in decline. He wants to take down that half and build a new one…”

I can’t help it now. Tears fill my eyes and spill over. I know Nigel is right. The original part of the cabin is well over two hundred years old and much of it is wood instead of stone. It’s more than likely in the condition he says. But still, the thought of taking down our house is breaking my heart. The history of that place is overwhelming. That house was our home.

“Gran, please don’t cry. Just listen. This was a while ago and Alexander went positively ape about it. You know how he can get. I’m sure Nigel nearly lost a limb!” She looks me in the eye and chuckles, “From what I understand when he was through shouting at Nigel, Alex rang Gryffin and shouted at him, too,” I have to smile now imagining Alexander going off on those two, but at the same time I pity them both, “When it was all done, Gryffin told Nigel not to do a thing with the cabin and reminded him that it’s not his decision. So don’t you worry. Gran, please stop crying, because I have a surprise for you.” She waits for me to take a few breaths as she gently pats my hand. When I have recovered, she speaks softly, “You know how Devon and Zachary have their rugby tournament in London this weekend?” I nod, turning my head to look up into her dark eyes, which are catching all the light from the morning sun and reflecting it back at me, “Well, I love my boys and I’m as proud of their being athletes as anyone, but I told their dad and them that I’ll not be coming to this one. I told him it’s time me and my old Gran took holiday on our own and I take her back to Wales.”

My heart is pounding, “Really?”

“Really,” She grins. Oh, how she looks just like her mother when she smiles. “I want to take you home, Gran. I’d like to see it again as well. We can check it out and see if Nigel’s right or he’s gone mad.” She stands up, “Your ankle is mended well enough. We can’t hold you hostage here forever, although I’d like it. Nigel and Warren and Natalie are there if you need them. Nat says she’ll come and stay with you if you need. You know Warren would, too. Any of us would.” She pauses, “Right. I’ve already got you packed, but I want you to go have a pee before we leave off. We’ll be taking the train to Wales and I know how you hate public toilets.” She pauses, her face suddenly serious. “Do you think you can make it to the house, though? With your leg? I rang Warren to let him know and he says the path is cleared right to the hill, but you know it’s steep.”

“I know I can,” I say. I know my old legs may not be able to make the climb up the hill, which is indeed steep, but I am sure of one thing; if I cannot, Alex will berate them until Nigel or Warren carries me. I know I will make it there somehow. I have to. I promised Oliver I would stay and protect what he no longer could.

I know Kitty is not certain that I can make it to the house, but she’s not going to say it. She’ll see to it that I do. That is the power a good grandmother has over her granddaughter who was loved as much as mine. The child will do anything for you when you’re too old to do it for yourself.