Forever Friday Page 11

  “Because, Adam … without deep questions, there are only shallow answers.”

  I shrugged, realizing the futility of reasoning with this woman. And yes, I did need answers. As far as I knew, Yevette was the only person who could provide them. “I believe the Alexanders were soul mates.”

  Nodding her approval, she proceeded, explaining how Huck was first engaged to her childhood sweetheart, Clark Richards. Then for the next thirty minutes Yevette talked nonstop. She told every romantic detail from Gabe’s oyster comment, to Splash Day, to Mister Jack’s wild cry in the night.

  Yevette stopped talking and looked at her watch, then took a final sip of her Italian soda, which was mostly melted ice. I sat in stunned silence. Suddenly, Gabe’s poems took on new meaning. Huge gaps in the Alexanders’ story had been filled. With a little more work, I could begin to connect the dots. But the cry in the night? Was Yevette being serious or making that part up?

  “I’ve got to go race—literally—and you’ve got a lot to think about.” Yevette stood.

  “Race?”

  “I race horses. Mostly Quarter Horses, but some Thoroughbreds.” She smiled. “You’ve never met a female jockey?”

  “Not to my knowledge. And speaking of never, you never said why you … uh … changed your mind and decided to stay,” I managed, “except that I seemed real and my motives seemed genuine.”

  “I stayed and told you about the Alexanders because I sensed you believed in hope.”

  “And were you right?”

  “Absolutely. Anyway, everything I’ve said is outlined in the postcards. But you already know that.”

  “But what about the rest? There’s so many more blanks for you to fill.”

  Yevette’s eyes had switched back to hazel. “Just call me.”

  Before I could gather enough wit for an intelligent reply, she walked out the front door and disappeared into the parking lot.

  I ordered a latte and returned to my corner table, noticing an entirely different group of patrons than when I’d first entered. How many times had the tables and overstuffed chairs changed their humans in the last couple of hours? How many times would I meet with this unusual woman before I got answers to all my questions?

  It was hard to believe two weeks had passed since I’d met with Yevette at Starbucks. Since then, I’d written the first part of Huck and Gabe’s story. Read and reread the applicable postcards, filling in the blanks as best I could remember.

  I still hadn’t decided if Mister Jack was an actual person, a character in Huck’s wild imaginings, or a mixture of both. There was a slim chance he could have been an escaped convict, since the state penitentiary was located near the Huckabee home. But it seemed, at least in the movies, that escapees hightail it as far away as possible. More likely, Mister Jack was a simple drifter and Huck’s secret glen was his campsite, complete with rare Anacacho orchids. However, children do create imaginary friends. And logic told me that Huck wouldn’t want or need an additional playmate with a house full of siblings. What really mattered was that Mister Jack had a profound impact on Huck’s self-worth, which played directly into her hope of finding a soul mate.

  When Yevette assured me that I believed in hope, I thought I knew what she meant. Up until our meeting, I thought hope was more of an experience than a belief. I still hoped to love again, though I wondered if it had become more of a desperate desire. According to Yevette, Mister Jack instructed Huck to “grasp hope and never let go.” I knew Huck was concerned with finding her soul mate, but after an intense amount of thought, Mister Jack’s definition of hope seemed to include more depth, perhaps even a different meaning altogether.

  I had to admit, before I discovered the postcards, I thought soul mates existed only in fairy tales. And couples lucky enough to stay together might live “ever after,” but lied about the “happily” part. So the questions arose: Did soul mates evolve into lovers? Or did lovers evolve into soul mates? More plainly, were Huck and Gabe destined to be together forever, or did they make it happen?

  The wisdom and insight of Gabe’s Long Division concept had much to do with the success of the Alexanders’ relationship. I was convinced that some males were born-romantics, where others broke out of the womb as athletes or musicians. What woman wouldn’t sell her soul for a man thoughtful enough to mail her an original love poem each week for sixty years? Even men who lacked Gabe’s creativity should adopt that idea and apply it to their own marriages in some form or fashion.

  I’d not yet written about, nor discussed with Yevette, the postcard Gabe penned for their wedding night. The poem for that significant event highlighted this phrase: two hearts commanding devotion. When I considered how they practiced this idea early in their courtship—each putting the other’s needs first—I decided it most likely set up a lifelong pattern of selflessness. Haley and I had selfishly demanded each other’s devotion, even while dating. As a result, we were never in command of our relationship. So was their altruism fundamental to avoiding The Long Division? I expected I already knew the answer, but there was still so much to consider.

  Yevette and I had made plans to meet the next afternoon at a steakhouse in one of the older parts of Houston. She wanted to show me something. Our plan was to discuss more of the postcards, which for me would probably result in as many new questions as answers. In some ways, I felt that she was hiding something. Something significant.

  I was better, but most days I operated like a confused snail running the hundred-yard dash. At least I’d started, and at that point I just wanted to go the distance. My hope was that I had the guts to keep moving forward. Then perhaps … just perhaps … I’d find the secret to a lasting marriage.

  Bayshore Extended Care Facility, 2004

  Mrs. Alexander

  “Oh, Gabe, must you go? Can’t we read the postcard today?” Huck whispered.

  She knew it was morning but refused to open her eyes. Refused to wipe away the tears, some falling onto the silver strands of hair that covered her pillow. Tears of sadness turned to joy. Tears of long-awaited anticipation. For the third Friday in a row, Gabe had appeared just before daylight. Walked right into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, then drew her into the comfort of his sea-sky gaze.

  She smiled.

  On Gabe’s first visit, he’d apologized for not arriving sooner. Gently teased her about calling 911. Before she could explain, his lopsided grin burst into a laugh. “I’ll bet the expressions on those nurses’ faces were well worth it,” he repeated over and over, until his words and laughter no longer lingered with the dawn.

  Then he was gone.

  Raising one eyelid, Huck glimpsed the present day’s growing brightness and sighed. Wasn’t that just like Gabe? Not bothered in the least about their precious postcards being stolen. She toyed with the silly idea of becoming upset with his nonchalance, but that had never worked. Instead, she decided to remember his return on the previous Friday. How wonderful it had been to feel the familiar warmth of his breath brush across her lips, awakening her from a dreamless sleep. She meant to ask if he’d brought her a card, but their brief conversation centered upon Yevette. Gabe was delighted about the albums and the fact that Huck had shared every detail of … how had he worded it? Oh yes. “Shared every detail of our love’s radiant hope.”

  Opening her other eye, Huck smiled again at the now week-old memory of his second visit. Her caring man sure had a way with words. He knew Yevette was struggling with the nightmarish ghosts of two past relationships and needed expert guidance. And even though the albums were complete, he’d asked Huck to continue telling Yevette everything she could remember.

  After blinking several times, Huck focused upon her drab surroundings: antiseptic walls, viewless window, plain curtains. Except for a fresh bouquet of yellow daises from Yevette, the only flowers in her room were artificial. Huck would’ve thrown the plastic eyesores away—along with an appalling imitation of Van Gogh’s Starry Night—if those items hadn’t belonged to B
ayshore.

  Pushing a button, Huck raised her bed into a sitting position. She touched her face, feeling a leftover happy tear slide down her wrinkled cheek. This morning, Gabe had arrived on the leading edge of sunrise. As before, he was young and healthy, and dressed in the same gray linen suit he’d worn on their first date. But unlike his two previous visits, he’d held a colorful postcard.

  “Oh, dearest Gabe, you remembered.”

  “I’ve wanted you to see this card for the longest time,” Gabe said softly. “But may I show you something else first?” Even though Huck was in her bed, she suddenly envisioned Gabe standing in the center of her secret childhood glen. The same circle of soft Bermuda grass. The same crisp blue sunlight. It was the place where she’d met Mister Jack.

  Gabe grinned. He was no longer in the glen but back sitting on her bed. “Next Friday, let’s meet at the glen. I know it was one of your favorite places.”

  “But, Gabe. They won’t let me leave this room. And I can’t get out of this bed without …” Huck began to cry.

  “I know, darling.” Gabe leaned close, the light from his smile illuminating Huck’s soul. “So when they’re not looking, I’ll come back to read the postcard.” Gabe stood, his handsome form fading into a shimmering glimmer. “And then I’ll carry you to the glen … in my arms.”

  Tonight,

  Sweet mystery we explore.…

  A timeless understanding

  Of how The Long Division’s foiled by more

  Than tender touch along love’s way,

  But two hearts commanding

  Devotion.…

  On our first

  Forever Friday.

  Forever, Gabe

  May 1926

  Houston, Texas

  Huck and Gabe secretly wed the Friday evening after Mister Jack’s wild cry in the night. Their week-long engagement had been fun but hectic: securing a marriage license, buying rings, packing Huck’s belongings, transporting them to Gabe’s garage apartment. They’d even purchased a shiny new Oldsmobile they immediately dubbed Blue Norther, due to its azure color and whirlwind speed.

  On “Elopement Friday,” Huck taught school at Sidney Lanier in her colorful pastel shift, while Gabe worked the books at Cecil’s in his gray linen suit. At five o’clock sharp, he selected a dozen perfect pink roses from a nearby florist, then drove across town to pick up his bride. An hour later, they knelt in the stained-glass glow of Christ Church, where a portly rector announced them man and wife, his emotional spouse insisting they come to the parsonage for a celebratory supper of chicken-fried steak and banana pudding.

  “I shouldn’t have had that second helping of pudding,” Gabe said as they motored away from the parsonage in the humid Houston twilight. “I don’t want to be a fat married man.” He laughed.

  “Let’s promise to keep an eye on our waistlines,” Huck replied, thinking how many couples she’d known had gained weight shortly after they married.

  “It’ll be a pleasure watching yours, Mrs. Alexander.”

  “I love my new name.” Huck slid over to Gabe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Blue Norther swerved.

  “So Mrs. Alexander likes to sit close and live dangerously.” Gabe grinned.

  “She does. From now on, next to you is my assigned seat. Yours is behind the wheel.”

  “Yes, teacher. But what if I become distracted and we crash?”

  Huck scooted closer and clung to Gabe’s arm. “Mrs. Alexander won’t allow that to happen … I mean the crashing part.” She leaned her head back and laughed, her mind repeating her new name in various ways, mimicking the scribbles of a lovesick school girl:

  Mrs. Alexander.

  Mrs. Gabe Alexander.

  Huck Alexander.

  She’d wondered if the transition from “Miss” to “Mrs.” would make her feel old. It didn’t. It just made her feel warm. Warm and wonderful.

  Peering through the top of the windshield, she could see a speckle of stars peeking out from underneath the vast blanket of heaven. Just like on their first date, the stars seemed to shimmer with excitement. “I love you … Mr. Alexander.”

  “Kiss me again and prove it.” With a squeal of tires, Gabe braked the car to a sudden stop. They kissed deeply until someone honked. Waving an apology, Gabe let out the clutch and moved on.

  “I wonder why at a wedding the preacher always says, ‘You may now kiss the bride’?” Huck let go of Gabe’s arm long enough for him to shift gears.

  “Didn’t you want to be kissed?” Gabe turned his head to meet Huck’s gaze, this time almost swerving into a pair of oncoming headlights.

  “You watch the road and I’ll watch you,” Huck replied. “And to answer your question … of course I wanted to be kissed. But ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wondered why the preacher doesn’t say, ‘You may now kiss the groom.’ ”

  “I don’t want to kiss the groom.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  At the corner of Louisiana Street and Texas Avenue, Gabe pulled up to the newly constructed Lancaster Hotel. They’d toured, then chosen the Lancaster because it was small, only twelve stories and a mezzanine, but the most luxurious and romantic hotel in the city. After checking in, they followed the bellman up to the entrance of the honeymoon suite on the top floor. He gently set down their bags. Instead of opening the door after inserting the key into the lock, he merely grinned. “Sir. Everything is exactly as you’ve requested. Happy honeymoon.” Before Gabe could offer a tip, the bellman spun on his heel and was gone.

  “What exactly have you requested, Mr. Alexander?” Huck reached up and placed her arms around Gabe’s neck. His eyes twinkled like an entire galaxy.

  “Why don’t we open the door, Mrs. Alexander? Then you’ll know.” Gabe turned the key and the door swung open.

  “Oh, Gabe … When did you …? How did you …?”

  “I had some connections,” Gabe answered, his voice mirroring the excitement in his eyes. “The owner of this hotel is now one of Cecil’s most satisfied customers.”

  Huck wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The entire sitting room was aglow with hundreds of candles attached to tiny blocks of balsa floating in leaded crystal punch bowls, their rainbows of brilliant light flickering over walls and ceiling. The floor, removed of its Persian rugs and elegant furniture, had been covered with a large tarp upon which pure white sand had been sprinkled. In the room’s center, a weathered porch swing swung from a wooden frame, with “his and hers” emerald silk robes hanging from one end. The swing was identical to the one in which they’d snuggled the night their love was born. A large covered picnic basket and modern Victrola completed the room’s furnishings.

  Huck kicked off her shoes and twirled around in a circle. “Oh, Gabe. You’ve re-created our own private beach. Come dance with me. Come dance with the happiest girl in the world.”

  Gabe removed his shoes and socks and wound the Victrola. Strains of the waltz “Waves of the Danube” filled the room, its gypsy-like melody lovely, haunting. He stepped toward Huck, placing his arms around her.

  “I can’t believe you remembered.” Huck melted into his embrace as they moved with the passion of the music. “But you did.”

  “It’s only been a week, my darling.”

  “Not the beach. You remembered that ‘Waves of the Danube’ is my favorite waltz.”

  “That’s what porch swings and secrets are for,” Gabe said softly. “Things about you I didn’t know, I get to remember.”

  “And what will you remember about … tonight?”

  Gabe stopped dancing. Pulling Huck into the depth of his firm embrace, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers as he spoke: “Tonight, we are the music. Tonight, we are the rhythm. Tonight, we are the mystery.”

  A little while later, they put on the emerald robes and returned to the swing, sitting side by side. Huck cuddled next to Gabe and shivered with delight. Wearing only a robe beside a man who was dressed the
same way was daring, even if he was her husband. She laughed.

  “What’s so amusing?”

  “My parents.”

  “Your parents?” Gabe lit a cigarette. “Why would a girl think about parents during her honeymoon?”

  Huck stroked the delicate silk, feeling the softness of her body underneath. “Mama would die before she’d let Papa see her dressed like this … and vice versa.”

  Gabe chuckled. “I’ll admit, that’s not quite how I pictured your folks.” He inhaled slowly and released the smoke. “So when do we tell them?”

  “About these beautiful robes? Never!”

  “About us,” Gabe replied softly, meeting Huck’s gaze. “I can’t wait to see the two people responsible for making you.”

  “I’m starved,” Huck said, wiggling forward in an attempt to stand. “What delicious snack is in the basket?”

  “Why are you so worried?” Gabe gently placed his hand upon her leg. “I’m a lovable man.”

  “Extremely.” Huck sighed and scooted back into the swing. Her stomach tightened. “You’re my lovable man and that’s all that matters.” She paused, struggling with her hidden fears. “We’ll tell Mother when the time is right.”

  “Because of the church thing?”

  “Please, Gabe. Let’s not discuss that now.” A single tear rolled down Huck’s cheek. She swallowed hard, refusing to cry about her mother’s stubborn religiosity, even though the entire evening had brimmed her heart with emotion. “There’s no telling what Mother’s heard about you already.”

  “Because of Clark?”

  “Oh, Gabe, this is our wedding night. Let’s not ruin it.”

  “I agree.” Gabe snuffed his cigarette, then held Huck close, wiping the tear trail with the hem of his robe. “I guess your lovable guy needs to learn when to ask his wife questions.”

  Huck buried her cheek against Gabe’s chest and sniffed. “You’ve already asked the most important question … and I said yes.”

  Their lips met once again, this time with the unquenchable fire of rekindled understanding. As the blaze burned hotter, their lovers’ symphony flamed into a tone and rhythm more impassioned than before. Then gradually, their music slowed, fading into the softness of satisfied slumber.