John Ebbs was already sipping champagne in the hotel bathroom as he buttoned up his tux. He was celebrating something on his own. John Ebbs was fifty-eight, married, and pulled in a decent living as an editor for a small town newspaper called the Free Press of Our Time. Besides editing and writing, he did a little photography on the side. He always claimed to have a clear vision of the world. He recently celebrated his silver anniversary. It had seemed an easy marriage for John and Martha. They had a beautiful house, plenty of knickknacks and collections, and a slew of hobbies. They always had time for their things. Before the marriage, at John’s urging they made a pact - no children. They were in their late twenties and Martha didn’t protest. She agreed and just was quiet. In the first few years of marriage, to brace their pact, John boasted about how bad a father he would be with the amount of time that he spent on his job and his drinking. He sometimes would go on about all the things that they could do without kids.
Martha listened; she loved John. She abstained from comments and always nodded in affirmation at his soliloquies. The deal had been sealed.
Forever took a long time. Martha had accepted the terms and busied herself with going back to college for some administrative assistant courses. She excelled at school and eventually took a great job. At home, for years, Martha cooked delicacies, dabbled with watercolor, and cared for her cats: Simon II, Peter III, and Paul I - replacing each when the time came. She also collected Hummels - boasting hutches full. The Ebb’s house was always surrounded by a forest of shrubbery and flowers. Clipped and trimmed. She had had time.
John’s resolve waned about not having children. Once he turned fifty, John tormented himself by constantly playing out the scenario of dying alone in his old age. What if Martha died first? Who would be with him? Who would take care of him? What had he done? His early convictions had sentenced him. Each day, John struggled to keep his thoughts in the present, never daring to think about all he bypassed.
Eventually, the castle crumpled. He ran out of lies to hold the bricks of his being together. John longed to be a father. Nature and time had ended Martha as an option. John had some faults but he couldn’t be an infidel. Behind Martha’s back, he looked into adopting. Too old. John pushed the weight of an empty baby stroller everyday. After work, John began taking long walks and staring out the living room window.
One evening the phone startled John from his trance. He reached the phone just before the answering machine was about to pick up.
“Hello, this is John.” “Hello, this is Lori, your niece.” “Oh how are you Lori, good to hear from you, what’s new?”
John was excited. He fired questions faster than she could answer and shot out story after story. His usual polite demeanor was stalled for the moment. John loved his nieces and nephews. He never forgot to send cards or special presents on important occasions. He tried to visit each one at least once a year. Lori was his secret favorite. She was unconventional and down right stubborn. Lori and her father had not always hit it off. An outside observer could have called it hate. John never played peacemaker between them, but he was always something special to her.
As John spoke to her, he remembered last Christmas. He went down to a family celebration on his own. Martha had had to work late. Attending this gathering was Lori and her four sisters. The group had been uncharacteristically subdued. Their father had passed away that year. John himself out of character had consumed too much spiked eggnog. He became depressed. He liked to drink but not to this point. As the night wore on, he spoke to the women full of dark solitude and death. In a rambling, he confessed to his fear of dying alone. In his own way, he had asked them to take care of him when he got old. Taken by surprise, they never responded.
The next day at breakfast, no one mentioned it. This phone call was the first time that they had spoken since that night. After about ten minutes, John realized that he had not let her speak. “Sorry, I filled your ear. But it is good to talk to you. What is new?” “John, I have a proposal for you. Griffin just asked me to marry him.”
“Fantastic, congratulations,” John exclaimed. “I can think of no one else except you that I would want to give me away. John, will you give me away at the wedding?”
Tears sprinkled from John’s eyes. He tried to tug his emotions back. He choked out, “Yes, yes.” . . . John placed his champagne glass down on the white bathroom counter and smiled with a sense of fulfillment. He looked at himself in the hotel mirror. He had been excited since the night that she had asked him. He was glowing.
Martha walked in on him. She smiled pleasantly but with lines around her eyes that hinted tension or torment. “You look nice,” She paused. “Well, at least you get to be a father for one day. How does it feel?”
“Great. It feels great.”
“I hope you enjoy the moment.” On her way out of the room, Martha stopped and hauntingly whispered, “I never will.” Then she left him alone.
John heard this. He breathed deeply. Crushed. He felt like the dead hand of the past had pounded him into place.