Simply Friends (4) and his friend would keep him sane. He was glad he had found all three of them. Two summers after Ted bought the little house on Flowing Stream Lane, Ted’s world fell apart again. Ted lingered for six months after his mother’s death in a lethargy that even he could not understand. The day of the funeral Kim hosted the reception at her café. Mary and Joe and Lauren and Debbie and a few others she had hired for the occasion made sure there was food an drink and that the place was sparkling after everyone had left. Walking out into the parking lot after cars streamed away, Kim found Ted sitting forlornly at one of the outside tables. It was a warm spring day, plant life cheerily went about its business and Ted sat hunched forward, his hands covering his face. Kim approached him quietly and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He moved his head, moved one finger so he could see out of the corner of one eye. Then he returned to his hunched position, as if, Kim thought, he were trying to protect himself from something. Kim was tired. She had been on her feet all day it was a good thing she had worn sturdy nurse’s shoes. All day Ted had greeted people, condolences flooding in. Mrs. Marjorie Hamilton had been a popular woman and everyone knew her. Ted had greeted them as the only son of his mother, his two sisters Irene and Danielle being busy with guests. Irene married to a cell phone network technician and Danielle employed in the hospitality industry, working at the local hotel, all had known friends of her’s. Ted engaged in his law practice, raising two daughters part time, working full time in the defense of the United States government, involved in his church, the local scout group had his own share of well wishers and friends who came to express their sorrow. Now he sat in this defensive posture barely responsive to perhaps his best female friend. Kim sat down beside him, glad to be off of her feet. She had somehow assumed the role of Ted’s comforter. But she wasn’t sure if she could help now. This was a pain even deeper than the loss of his wife, who, by the way, had not appeared for the funeral. His daughters had been there, they were with him for two days, but Leslie had studiously avoided the whole affair. Now Kim moved beside Ted and put her arm around him and began to rub his back. She could feel the tenseness of his muscles, like a cat about to spring. A sudden fear went through her, maybe he would push her away, but suddenly, he relaxed, he put his head on her shoulder and stayed there quietly for a long time. She could feel him relaxing, shivering, afraid of his own grief. She rubbed his back, and then lowly he turned, he collapsed against her. Kim,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “Kim. Please just hold me. OH Kimberly I’m so exhausted.” “Long day,” she said. “Just sit here for a few minutes.” Kim was never quite sure how she and Ted had become friends. Maybe it was a high school dance they had attended together when she couldn’t find anyone to take her and so Ted who wasn’t particularly interested in taking anyone to the dance had offered to take her as a favor. He often came around and offered to help her family with the restaurant though he didn’t really want to work in the business. Marjorie Hamilton had eaten here plenty of time with civic groups and church groups and Ted had volunteered to help out the family and clean up after the last customers had gone. Kim was in a few of Ted’s classes in high school but she had gone to a different college for a culinary degree and he had gone to school to get his degree in English and then law. While Ted learned the art of arguing, Kim learned the culinary tricks to soothing Ted’s ruffled spirits, though of course fifteen years before Marjorie Hamilton’s death neither of them realized that this was what they were both doing. Now here in this sunny little alcove, Ted and Kim sat, his heart heavy and her spirits quiet, easing him. She didn’t know how long they sat there, but after a while he got up and she stood up with him, looking at his fragile posture. He looked as if touching him would cause him to fall and crumble like a dead leaf. Slowly he pulled himself together. He looked around as if trying to find someone. “Ted,” she said gently. “Would you like me to drive you and the girls home?” “No,” he said kindly. “no I’ll be okay. I’ll go home and try to sleep.” “Are you not sleeping?” she asked looking at his face. His eyes were bloodshot. “Not very well,” he admitted. “I’m tense.” “I know,” she said gently. “Ted, why don’t’ you go out to your little hideaway and just be out there for an hour or so. I can keep the girls.” They both knew that she was talking about a particular place just before a mountain ledge where he could look off into the sky and be alone with his grief. It was his secret place; a place he had discovered on one of his hiking trips with the Boy Scouts. He had told Kim about it in one of their conversations and even shown her a few pictures. “Not today,” he said, his mouth tugging into a half smile. “But I will, Kim. I will.” He looked around again. “Where are the girls?” “I don’t know. Let’s go find them.” Andrea and Melanie were in the kitchen with Angie and Joe and Mary, And Lauren. They came to greet their father. Andrea stood back a little but Melanie hugged him shamelessly. As Ted embraced his young daughter, Kim sensed that Melanie’s affection would go a long way toward sustaining Ted through this difficult process. Kim’s heart went out to Ted when she saw him come into the restaurant in the next few months. Some days he would seem like his old self, cheery, quiet, kindhearted and some days he was withdrawn, aloof, his eyes softening a little when he saw her. On one particular day just before Christmas, on a Friday night, Kim came and sat down at his table. “hello,” she said. “How was court?” “I haven’t tried any cases for a while,” he said flatly. “No? But that’s your favorite thing to do.” “I know,” he said. “I can’t seem to get into it lately. So I’m writing briefs.” “I see.” They sat silently. Kim didn’t know what to say. Ted didn’t seem to want to make conversation. “You’ve seen the girls?” “No. They went to Europe for the holidays. I only get them for the summer. They write letters.” “I miss them,” she said. “I guess I don’t have a right to miss them.” A short silence fell over them as Debby set down Ted’s dinner. He looked at it and fell to it with some sense of returning delight. “Its okay to miss them, Kim,” he said, cutting into a juicy, tender piece of flank steak. “They like you, Kim You always bring them ice cream.” Ted’s face squeaked out a tiny smile. Another moment passed. “I miss them, too,” he continued. “I miss them very badly.” “What are you doing for Christmas?” “Going to Irene’s place. We’re all meeting there for Christmas.” Kim let him eat. She sat back, relishing in the quietness. Ted’s face was peaceful today. She had a big catered event to work on Christmas, she would be busy. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit with you for a while, Ted,” she said. “I have a big event on Christmas and well I need the time to relax.” “Kim,” he said, sopping up the last of the gravy with his roll, “I don’t mind. You are comforting. I can say that without getting into trouble.” “I know what you mean. Can I ask you something, Ted? Just about your day. What kind of day is it for you today? You look peaceful, like everything is in order.” “It’s an okay day,” he answered, “I haven’t felt like crying today.” “Good. Just rest when those days come, Ted. Go home and watch baseball or go to the park or whatever you like to do.” “Research,” he said. “But sometimes not even that is appealing.” Ted motioned for his bill. “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, his voice holding no trace of the excitement that usually accompanied such a statement. “I’ve got to go home and get ready for tomorrow.” Ted followed Kim out to the fountain. He paid the bill and signed the receipt with his neat, precise hand. They stood together by the fountain, alone in the entrance. NO customers were in the first room and it was the lull between lunch and the dinner hour. “Kim,” he confessed, his heart heavy, “I don’t feel like doing anything. But I can’t do nothing. I need to go on.” “Do you feel like you can’t go on?” she asked with a note of fear in her voice. “Like you don’t’ want to?” Ted looked at her seriously. The soft look in his blue eyes calmed her anxiety. “No,” he said. “Not like that. I just don’t have long periods of energy. I do something and then I have to rest.” Kim walked him out to his car. “Just one day at a time, Ted. One day at a time. Come in as often as you like. And call me if you need anything. I’m here to help.” “I know,” he said, his eyes appreciating her. “I know it.” He got behind the wheel of his car and put his key in the ignition. He adjusted his mirrors. “Thank you, Kim.” In the months that followed, when Ted came home from work, his heart heavy with grief he would go to his house and make some hot tea and sit on the screened in porch on his swing. Sometimes Snooty would join him on the swing. His cat would climb up on his knee and purr and he would stroke his fur. Sitting in the cool, summer breeze watching the robins with their red breasts and multicolored feathers seemed to help. After all it was his mother who told him he could do anything he wanted and one thing he had wanted was a house. This small piece of land was his, three acres stretching out to the Matheson property. He would sit there breathing in the wind and the hot humid air and the flowers and the sound of the birds and watch mosquitoes lazily tread the air. Sitting here seemed to make remembering his mother easier. He had helped her through her last difficult months, driving her to her chemo therapy sessions and sometimes taking her to get coffee so she could do something nice when she was up to it. He and his two sisters had been there at her death, and as the time slipped away from that day where he felt like he was under water, he had sometimes been relieved that she had passed away so she wasn’t in any more pain. Sometimes he felt guilty about the sense of relief that accompanied his grief. As the months went by he remembered how Marjorie Hamilton had encouraged him to go to law school. If it was what he wanted to do, she said, then he should do it. She had helped him pay for mounting costs and part of him had worked harder because she had believed in him. As the six month time came along and then the anniversary he felt the house, Kim, the girls, restoring his energy. Even stroking Snooty’s little white head helped. Ted was one to use all his strength, to go see Kim in his dark days and just sit there looking out the window or at the people or just enjoying her quiet company. He would go out sometimes to the mountains and breathe in the hot humid air and watch the birds. And then sometimes he would bury himself in his books. Some days he couldn’t do anything but be sad, or weep. He didn’t know why this was, exactly. At these times, he took personal days and went to his quiet retreat. On those days when he thought his tears would water the earth, he went into the small garden he had started, the tomatoes, the beans, the small garden that helped him heal, made him feel like he was contributing to the earth somehow. His heart slowly healed, life resumed, and once again Kim had been there to help him. His daughters had been there, too, his littlest one climbing up in his lap some times, snuggling, her warmth, her young life breathing healing into him. While Ted went through his period of adjustment, Kim was experiencing her own moments of uncertainty. Kim attended conferences and at one of them in Minneapolis she met a man, Eric Sanderson, ad a few meals with him and was attracted to him. And yet there were misgivings. On a warm spring day in April she packed her bags and caught a flight to St. Paul for another conference. While Ted wrestled with the foibles of fraud cases and such, Kim learned how to expand her business and wondered if she was attracted to Eric for all the wrong reasons. On the same day that Kim was having dinner with Eric Sanderson in St. Paul Minnesota, Ted was at home attempting to prune the big tree that grew majestically in his front yard. It was going pretty well till something caught under his foot and he slipped, catching a branch of the tree with his left hand to prevent himself from falling. Already off balance Ted slipped to the right, missed the step, pulled his shoulder, turned his wrist, fell, and landed on his right hip, whacking his head on the side of the tree. He lay there in the warm, green grass for a moment, the wind knocked out of him, pain coursing through him. He moved his left hand, hot, stabbing pain made him cry out. He tried to get to his feet, flashing lights and nausea overwhelmed him. He leaned against the tree and vomited. Dizzy, sick, in pain, his head throbbing, he knew he was in trouble. The journey to the front door of the house, only yards away, seemed a far off feat he was unwilling to try. He gingerly rolled over, wrenching his left arm. He remembered that he had his cell phone with him, but he didn’t think he could get to it. Dear God please help me, he cried out silently, or thought he did. He thought he heard someone call his name. "Hey Ted, what's wrong," there was a startled voice. "Oh, Ted." It was John Matheson, big John Matheson, six foot four inches, 240 pounds, a feller of trees, a carpenter, a nice man, Ted's neighbor. "Hey Viv, come here. Something's wrong with Ted.” When Ted came to again, he was warm and rapped in blankets, his head throbbing, nauseated and not on his front lawn. A shadow moved over him. He closed his eyes to keep from being sick. "Well, hello there, counselor." Ted thought he recognized the voice. "It's Doc Miller. How do you feel?" Ted moaned, he didn't quite know what he said. "Yeah, I bet," said the cheery Doc Miller. "Ted, what did you do? Your friend called the ambulance. You feeling okay?" Ted's face drained of color, a nurse stood beside him while he dry heaved and lay back, dizzy and relieved. Now his head ached dully as the doctor’s words swirled around him. "You fell off a ladder, sprained your wrist and pulled your shoulder out of joint, and bruised your brain. You've got a concussion. A pretty good one. I've ordered you off work for at least three weeks, Ted Hamilton. You're here for a few days for observation till that brain swelling goes down a little. Even when you go home I want you in bed and quiet. You're going to be out for a while. You did good, Ted." "Thanks," said Ted Hamilton. And then he wanted Kim. At the moment Ted wanted Kim, she was sitting across from Eric Sanderson, feeling more unsure than ever about her interest in him and wondering what had attracted her to him in the first place. Kim was learning that Eric handled his friendships like he handled his businesses: deliberately and with his eye on the bottom line. The bottom line in this relationship it seemed was to get Kim into bed, and she knew she didn’t want that. There was a part of her that hoped she could change that, that she could convince him of her other qualities, that she was worth more than he wanted. Still, Kim was feeling uneasy. There was something missing, something easy, easy companionable silence, like what she had with Ted Hamilton. Funny sitting in a St. Paul hotel eating a salad and some salmon filets that she should think of Ted Hamilton. He was comfortable, even if she only saw him once a week or at least every two weeks. She always made time to sit with him, to relax, to see how he was doing, but she wasn't in love with him or anything. It was just funny that in the middle of a convention of restaurant suppliers and marketing strategists and the like that Kim should think of Ted Hamilton. "You're not listening," Eric's voice brought her back to the present. "I'm sorry, Eric. What were you saying?" Eric sighed peevishly. He took a drink of his wine. "I was asking you if you were going to do anything with the advertising campaign that that big firm mentioned earlier today. Appeal to younger diners. That kind of thing." "Oh I don’t think our demographics match," she said. "But he did have some good ideas." "And speaking of good ideas,” Eric said, moving a little closer to her across the table, I'd like to take you to the dance tonight." Kim didn't want to go to a dance with Eric Sanderson, even if it was sponsored by that big advertising firm. It would be a place to do some networking, and if she did go, she wouldn’t stay long. She knew one thing, she wasn’t going as Eric Sanderson’s date, not even if she did think she admired him. She was almost reluctant to have given him her phone number. He'd probably call her and she wasn’t sure what she’d do. "No, Eric, thank you but I'm tired,” she said now. “My plane leaves early in the morning and I have a lot to do before I leave. I’m going for about an hour to say goodbye to friends and make a few new ones and that’s it. I'm calling it an early night." Eric looked disappointed. "Want a night cap?" "No, I don’t' want a night cap," she said. "No, I just want to pack and get home to the cafe. I miss the place." When Kim put her coat away in the hotel room closet and pulled out her suitcase she spied her cell phone flashing. She picked it up. There was a call and she listened to it. Ted’s voice sounded weary, hazy. She stood still in the middle of the room. She looked at her watch. It was 10:00 Pm her time. She picked up her phone and heard his sleepy voice on the line. "Ted, I woke you." "It's okay, Kim. It’s after visiting hours but phone calls are always welcome. Especially yours, Kim." "I'm coming home from St. Paul in the morning.” her voice grew light, “what did you do this time?" “This time?” he questioned, then he told her. “Ted,” she said, horror in her voice, “yikes!” Suddenly her face broke into an easy smile. Finally for the first time tonight she was at ease. “you just want some sympathy. Poor baby. When I get home I’ll drop by and see you. It might not be for a week or so I’m swamped with business and errands.” “Take your time, Kim,” he said through a haze of pain medication. “I’m sure the cat will keep me company. It will be nice to see you.” Kim was swamped. She had almost relegated Eric to a safe spot in her mind when he called and said he was in De Moine for a business meeting, though what she thought he would do here she didn’t know since De Moine wasn’t exactly a hot spot for restaurant owners. She went out with him to dinner and a movie. By the time she reached Ted’s house a week later, she was in complete confusion. She would have to ask Ted what she should do, and if he didn’t feel up to giving her advice maybe he could just listen. Ted sat on his swing, leaning his aching shoulder on a cushion. Around him a gentle summer breeze wafted the gentle fragrance of iris, jasmine, and damp grass that had been wetted by a gentle summer rain. Ted looked up at the clear sky, the air a bit humid, and was glad that he could see more clearly now. His head ached dully, but slowly he was starting to feel better. Beside him on a table was a tall glass of iced tea. He reached over and picked it up, sipping from his freshly brewed iced tea with lemon, he relished it’s bite, and set the glass on the table, the ice clinking against the sides. Today he had overextended his shoulder, taken some pain medication and had fallen asleep. When he awoke, he went to the window and discovered the beautiful day. He eased himself outside and sat down on the swing he had installed two years ago. Now Ted perked up as a car turned onto the street and came toward his house. The car slowed down as it approached his driveway. A woman got out and shut the door, the sound carrying in the quiet afternoon. Ted smiled. He got up, testing his balance. His head hurt only slightly, the bruise on the side of it growing smaller. He reached up and touched it, rubbing it, then eased his left hand and arm next to his side. He walked to the rail, and watched Kim Hemming come up the driveway. She held something in her hand and now as she approached the porch, Ted came to meet her. “Ted,” she said, holding her arms out to him. Ted embraced her laying his head on her shoulder. “Kimberly,” he sighed. “I’m glad you’re back.” “Ted, I told you I’d come to see you.” “I didn’t know you were gone to St. Paul. I had forgotten.” “You’re a busy man,” she said, “defending your country, writing briefs, entertaining Snooty, raising two daughters.” She smiled. “Cutting down trees.” “No,” he said, “leave that last one out. It’s not my calling.” Ted motioned for her to join him on the swing. “Can you pass the time with an invalid?” he joked. “Sure I can,” she smiled back at him. “But let me put this in your fridge, first. I thought since our best customer was under doctor’s orders we could deliver at least one meal to you.” “thanks,” he said, “I’m not hungry now,” he smiled, “but I will be. Make yourself at home, Kim. There’s ice tea in the fridge. Then come out and tell me about St. Paul.”
Copyright © 2008 Shelley J Alongi |