“Lou, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I want you to know everything so you hate me for the right reasons. I did write that review; I didn’t follow up. It was the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done, and it was a mistake. When I first met you, I was a very different person. I will never regret anything more than that review, except if I didn’t tell you the entire story now. I tried to get a retraction, or even write a new review, but my editor wouldn’t let me. That doesn’t make it right. I’m sure I could have done something.
“I didn’t know you were a chef until the morning after the barbecue. After our first night together. It never occurred to me you were the Lou of Luella’s—I knew the owner as Elizabeth. It was too late. I already loved you. I tried to stay away. I faked the trip to California and being sick to give me time. But I couldn’t stay away. You were so amazing, so wonderful, and I was selfish and greedy for you. I came up with the crazy plan to kill off Wodyski so then I could get hired as the new critic. I tried to protect you, but I know that was a mistake, too. That’s the story, the whole story. I’ve lied to you in so many ways, but you still know me better than anyone ever has. You know the real Al Waters, the Al Waters who loves you. I’m so sorry.”
Lou sat still, absorbing the long message. The onslaught of information came at her like a bear attack. She curled herself into a ball, tucking her head into her hands. Each loss was another clawed swipe. Her restaurant. Her family. Al. She was alone. Just she and the onslaught. She wasn’t brave enough to fight back or strong enough to run away—she could only take each brutal blow. She stayed curled tight, praying she’d survive.
• • • • •
The ringing phone pulled Lou out of her bed. It was a local number she didn’t recognize. She cleared her throat before answering so it wouldn’t sound like she had just woken up.
“Hello.” The throat clearing didn’t work.
“Ms. Johnson?”
“Yes?”
“This is Pam with the St. Boniface Hospice. I’m calling because Otto and Gertrude Meyer requested we contact you.”
Lou was awake now.
“Okay. Are they all right?”
“We’ve admitted them both. They asked that we let you know.”
Lou looked around her dark bedroom. Clothes lay scattered. Dirty dishes threatened to topple off her nightstand. There was a definite funk in the air.
“Can I visit today?”
Pam with St. Boniface Hospice paused.
“I think that would be a very good idea.”
“I’m on my way. Thanks.”
Lou hung up the phone.
Five days after Luella’s last supper and five days since her last shower, worry about Gertrude and Otto had her moving again. Life continued, and there were people who still needed her. She pulled on the nearest clothes and darted out of her apartment.
• • • • •
Lou rushed past fake presents stacked under an artificial Christmas tree to the hospice’s front desk. Paper snowflakes cut out by children hung from the ceiling and each door had red stockings with the patients’ names. The fluorescent lights made the decorations appear garish next to the boxes of gloves and hand sanitizer hanging every few feet. The staff tried to create a festive air, but you couldn’t hide illness and death under sparkly garlands and Santa window clings.
The woman at the desk wore reindeer scrubs and a name tag reading “Pam.” She had a Santa hat with a pin that read “All I want for Christmas is a narwhal.”
“Hi, I think I spoke with you earlier,” Lou said. “I’m here to see the Meyers.”
Pam looked up and raised an eyebrow at Lou. Lou looked down at her clothes. She wore hot pink sweatpants, a red “Teach me how to Bucky” sweatshirt, and her green Crocs. Covering her messy hair was a knitted cupcake hat. Pam blinked.
“Yes, that was me. Are you family?”
“No, a good friend.”
She nodded.
“They’re in one-seventeen, fourth door on the left.”
Lou hurried down the hall. As she approached the door, a nurse came out of the Meyers’ room. Lou pulled her hat off her head and smoothed her hair. The nurse saw Lou and stopped.
“Are you here to visit Gertrude and Otto?”
Lou nodded.
“You must be Lou. I’m Val. I’m their afternoon nurse today. They’ve mentioned you.”
“How are they?”
“They’re extraordinary, as I’m sure you know. Healthwise, not well.”
“I just saw them a few days ago.”
“At their age, things can change very quickly. Bottom line—Gertrude has had stage-four breast cancer for a while. They’ve chosen not to treat it and instead to manage the pain. Otto seems to be deteriorating along with Gertrude. It isn’t unheard of in a couple this close.”
“That’s it? They just die?” Lou’s knees wobbled.
“This is what they want. They’ve been very clear about their wishes—that’s why they’re here instead of the hospital. We’ll make them comfortable.”
Lou just blinked at her. It felt as if a dump truck full of sand had just landed on her.
“Are you going to be okay?”
She shook her head and tried to speak, but her mouth twisted itself like a Slinky mangled by a toddler. “Mmph,” was all she could manage.
Nurse Val opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again.
“You know you have mashed potatoes in your hair, right?”
She pointed to a spot near Lou’s shoulder. Lou ran a hand through her hair, feeling the dry, crusty chunks. That explained a lot.
“Ugh. Long story.”
Val smiled and nodded.
“I think you should go in and talk with them. You’ll feel better.”
Nurse Val squeezed her arm and left while Lou tried to scrape the potatoes out of her hair with her fingers. Sadness hung in the air, floating down the hallways, seeping under closed doors. People spoke in whispers to not draw Death’s attention too soon.
Lou entered the room, expecting the same sorrow and distress. Instead, thin and pale versions of Otto and Gertrude lay in twin beds, turned toward each other, both smiling. Their love sent out a beacon of calm, their shared memories a bulwark against despair. A few IVs dripped from their hooks, administering the pain medications needed, but serenity reigned in room 117.
Lou studied Gertrude. The hospital bed nearly swallowed her. Lou frowned at seeing her good friend so weak.
“Ach, Liebchen, don’t make that face,” Gertrude said as Lou stood in the doorway. “Come here.”
Lou squeezed Otto’s cold hand in greeting, then slipped into the chair between the hospital beds so Gertrude could see her face. She reached out to hold Gertrude’s hand, noticing the blue fingertips and chilled skin. She had never been around death. Her parents had died so quickly she’d only had coffins to comfort her.
“This face better not be for us. We have lived good, long lives.”
She looked at Otto, who had drifted off to sleep, then back to Gertrude.
“Does it hurt?”
“Nothing a tough woman like me can’t handle.” Lou chuckled. “It hurts more to see those we love sad about something inevitable. We are born, we live, if we are lucky we love, then we die. That is the way, not something to mourn. Only mourn those who haven’t lived, who haven’t found love. They deserve your sadness, not us.”
Lou held her hand, wanting to savor the powdery softness of it, the smell of ivory soap and tea, the comfortable sweat suit she wore, so unlike her normal crisp attire.
“I don’t know what to say,” Lou said.
Gertrude smiled at her honesty and reached up to touch her cheek.
“Say you will forgive your young man.”
Lou’s face turned stony; only her respect for Gertrude kept her from pulling back from the touch.
“I can’t do that, Gertrude. He betrayed me too deeply. He destroyed my life.”
“You love him, yes?” Lou nodded. “I saw his face. He didn’t defend himself; he didn’t try to talk his way out of your accusations. That is not how a bad person would act.”