by Jamira Richardson
A frail hand jolted Daniel Larson out of his restless slumber. Gripping the fingers upon his knee, his eyes met those of the woman before him.
“Do you need something, my dear?” His voice was gruff with clinging exhaustion, and he wet his cracked lips as he adjusted her bed covers.
“Daniel, you have done so much already.” She weakly clasped his hand, gazing at him through faded gray eyes. “You deserve your rest.”
“You are my wife. I’ll rest once you are better,” he whispered fiercely, brushing wisps of silver hair from her jutting cheekbones. Tears gathered in his wife’s eyes as she dragged in a haggard breath.
“I don’t want you to watch me wither away.” Her hand drifted to his cheek, cupping his face. “Remember me as I was.”
Daniel Larson’s chest constricted as he gazed upon his emaciated wife. Even now, as she perched on the edge of death, she was lovely as ever.
“But I love you as you are now,” murmured Daniel.
“Forever and always?” Her voice was soft as she faded back into sleep.
“Forever and always, my love.” Daniel gently rested her hand back on her abdomen and rose from his chair. He intended to climb up to the attic and bring his wife her favorite afghan, in hopes it would brighten her spirits.
The floorboards creaked as Daniel stepped into the sunlit room. Crossing the attic in laborious strides, he lifted the afghan from its perch on an old rocking chair. Sunlight filtered through the window, creating a halo over the time-stained wood. Resting there was an old chest, teeming with aged letters, photographs, and playbills.
A ghost of a smile etched into Daniel’s ashen face as he steadily plucked a photograph from the pile. The striking face of a woman smiled up at him, framed with loose curls. Daniel pressed quivering fingertips to the woman’s demure lips, fluttering his eyes shut.
Beneath his feet, the wooden slabs fell away and strength gradually coursed through his limbs. The draftiness of the attic melted into comfortable warmth, and the silence gave way to smooth jazz and quiet chatter.
Daniel’s eyelids rose again, revealing a well-lit jazz club. He stood in a ring of people clad in their Sunday best, amidst excited conversation. With a downward glance, Daniel realized he now wore a fine suit, which clung to his youthful figure. The sharp notes of a saxophone drifted from the stage, assembled together in a smooth melody.
“What about a dance, Danny?”
Daniel’s eyes shifted to the busty woman standing before him. She was lovely in the palest of pink dresses and her cerulean eyes shone beneath a fringe of gold.
Lucy Bradshaw. That was her name, and it commonly graced the tongue of every resident in town.
“Sure, doll.” The words tumbled out without warning and as she led him to the floor, he realized far too late that he had traveled into his past. Together, they danced across the floor, a sensual tango of body movements.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the stage. Daniel’s eyes shifted towards the stage, gazing at the woman with ill-disguised rapture. She was absolutely lovely.
Swathed in white, she allowed the music to course through her. Sultry irises swept across the room from beneath her veil, settling upon Daniel’s. Her eyelids lowered coyly, but her gaze was unyielding and seductive.
Daniel’s faltering steps gradually carried him to the pedestal where the vision stood. Her voice wavered as the song neared its conclusion and she averted her eyes from his, severing the connection. She glided from the stage and disappeared into the night like a ghost.
Applause erupted from the crowd, but the sound was deafening to Daniel. He sprinted through the hordes blocking the exit and flung the door open. Taking up the chase, Daniel stumbled onto the street.
He caught her hand and she gasped, turning to him. Her beauty struck Daniel, hard.
“Why did you follow me?” The woman’s voice was smooth and rich like a lullaby.
“I was always told to chase the woman who I could envision as my wife,” he said.
A bloom of heat brushed across her porcelain cheeks and her eyes shifted to her feet, but mirth danced beneath their silver depths.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
Her eyes lit up beneath the netted veil she wore as she tucked a photograph into his hand. “We’ll meet again someday.”
Daniel gazed at her, mystified. “I’m Daniel.”
Her fiery curls bounced as she laughed. “I’m Ruby.”
The unlikely pair shared a smile as the night began to fade away, returning Daniel to the present. He searched the room wildly, shuddering slightly as reality began to seep back into his aged bones.
Cold fear seized his heart as he clambered down to the small bedroom he shared with his wife. She remained where he had left her, but her body was now a lifeless husk, one that had once housed the soul of the woman he loved.
“Ruby?” The afghan tumbled from his arms. “Ruby!”
Tears streaked his cheeks as he drew close to the bed, pressing soft kisses to her leathery skin. Snippets of their life together flashed before his eyes, displayed in photographs. Stolen kisses, shared laughs, secret smiles. He had experienced true love, and he had lived to see its closure. It was time to let go.
He rested the afghan over her rigid shoulders like she was merely asleep. A final piece of their past clicked into place, but not in the form of a photograph. Bubbling laughter burst forth, coupled with a question only he could understand.
“Forever and always?”
Once more, he had seen his Ruby swathed in white. It was the first of many times they would pledge lifelong devotion to one another, a commitment each had kept until the very end.
“Forever and always, my Ruby.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her frozen forehead and extinguished the light, leaving his wife alone to rest.