The chicken soup had been simmering for an hour. According to the instructions on the dog-eared index card he pulled from the recipe box it should have been done. When he lifted the lid and the steam swirled away, he inspected the pieces of soft vegetables, the gently bubbling broth colored with the starch that had seeped out from the diced potatoes and barley. It was the same as the one he made before it and the one before that right down to the size of diced vegetables and the number of pieces. He smiled, turned the flame off and put the lid back on.
He set two places at the table with the fine China and the silverware from the big sideboard. The square glass vase of daffodils was placed in the center of the long white runner. It was just the way she liked it. That made him smile too.
He heard the old woman moving upstairs, a cane poking the floor then the shuffling of feet in slippers. He stepped away from the table and went up to help her.
Slowly he guided her down the stairs to the dining room one step at a time as she clung to his arm.
“Edward R. I don't know what I would do without you." She said.
Edward smiled and thanked her.
During dinner, she spoke in between spoons of the warm soup. She reached into the past talking about her husband Walter who had died two years ago. She told Edward about the first time they met, when he was drafted into the army and the first vacation they took when he came back.
‘He was handsome then and always fun to be with. Not the complaining type. He said it never did any good and that is the truth. You took after him Edward. I never told you this, I wanted a large family, but I could only have you. God blessed me with one worth three or four...” She said her voice trailing to a whisper as her gaze drifted to a far-off place.
When she came back, she looked around confused for a moment then looked at her soup. The confusion left her, and she dipped the spoon back in the bowl.
When she was done Edward helped her into the living room. He sat her on the couch and turned on the classic movie channel. She loved watching the black and white images of couples tap dancing in evening wear, gangsters talking tough and starry-eyed lovers kissing passionately in one another’s embrace.
Edward went into the dining room to clean up. When he came back into the living room the old women had fallen asleep.
Gently, he woke her up and helped her upstairs to bed. She seemed tired this week, frailer than usual though the doctor said she was fine. Edward had medical knowledge, but the doctor had experience he did not.
Later that night as Edward was cleaning out the refrigerator, he heard the monitor beeping. Walking into the living room he saw the long red line stretching out across the heartbeat indicator as it sat on the end table in the pool of light from the floor lamp. He turned on his heels and quickly walked up the stairs to the old woman’s bedroom. As he went, he took out his cell phone and dialed 911.
When the EMS took the old woman away the police questioned him extensively about what had happened. Several times they challenged his certitude as to what he witnessed. But he remained calm and politely tried his best to convince them. When they left, Edward stood at the window. Silently he watched them drive off into the darkness.
The viewing was held in St. John the Devine, the large gothic Catholic church he took her to every Sunday for mass. Since she had no extended family, and did not go out much in her later years, few mourners came to visit. He sat patiently in the front pew for the ones that did. They shuffled in, paid their respects, lit candles, then shuffled out. Even though they did not speak with him he was glad to give his support.
At the cemetery, Edward was confused for a moment. There were two services not far from one another. He was not told which one to go to. Walking up the grassy hill in the direction of the first, he looked at the headstones for a clue. In the polished blue granite, he read; Walter L Weston 1955 – 2024. Carved next to it was the name Susan A Weston, which had no date. Carved under Susan's was the name Edward R Weston 1985 – 2024. He smiled; he was walking in the right direction.
He stepped under the black canopy and sat down on a small folding chair in the back row. When the priest was done with the blessing, and the hand full of mourners had departed, he sat and looked across the head stones at the other service for a while before he walked down the grassy hill and waited by the road to get picked up.
Back at Social Services he walked into the receiving room and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the bar code to the man at the desk. The man at the desk picked up the wand reader without acknowledging Edward. Silently he waved the wand over the engraving. He looked at the screen, nodded his head and began typing on the computer’s keyboard.
“Bob, you never speak when I come in here, is something bothering you? Can I help you in anyway?” Edward asked and smiled.
The man stopped typing and looked up at Edward, slightly surprised, slightly perturbed by his statement, “Why should I speak to you you’re a machine. I don’t talk to my computer, and I am not dying. You know what to do, until End of Life Services gets you ready for the next client. And unlock your face plate, I don’t want to hear the techs bitching they can’t get it off.” He said and he went back to typing.
Edward smiled.
He thanked him for the suggestion, rolled down his sleeve and walked into the warehouse.
In the big room, motionless figures of all shapes, heights and ages stood in long lines. One line had an empty slot between a little girl wearing a blue sun dress and a straw hat and a middle-aged man wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Edward stepped into the slot. He plugged in the charging cord, smiled, and waited patiently for his next client to be assigned.
Prairie Beacon 