I Will Always Think About You

Epilogue

Kerry Miller roamed through St. Mary’s Hospital, looking for her husband. She knew he wasn’t there, and she wasn’t going to find him, but she continued to walk.

She knew the place almost as well as she knew her own condo. All of the staircases, the long hallways, the service elevators, and the nooks and crannies that all big buildings have. Kerry worked there for ten years before she left, to be a full-time writer. The building hadn’t changed that much, except the floors weren’t cleaned that often. The place reeked of that peculiar hospital smell, a combination of alcohol, rubber gloves and poop.

Many of the workers still remembered Kerry, including the security guards, two years after she left. So she would come in and wander around to her heart’s content, with no one bothering her, asking her what she was doing there. She’d come in once a week or so. The hospital was walking distance from her place. It was a rare thing for her now, to leave the safety of her own condo.

She didn’t want to admit to anyone exactly what she was doing. She was searching for Ron, who had been a patient there. If she kept walking through the hospital, maybe she’d get caught in a time warp, like on some TV show. She’d be transported back in time to before Ron got sick, and be able to do things over.

The new outpatient lab lay ahead, the place where she’d taken Ron the month before he got sick. She walked to the spacious waiting area, with couches and big screen TVs. She and Ron had watched a game show as they waited, and laughed at the contestant. It was one of the last times they laughed together. Ron had a good, booming laugh. Sometimes people would turn around and look at him, when she would make a comment and he thought it was funny. He laughed at all of her smart remarks.

Kerry reached the registration booths. She’d been there only a few weeks ago, after she’d seen her doctor and got orders for labs, x-rays and an EKG. Kerry had hoped they’d find something wrong, that she had weeks to live, so she could join Ron and be done with her miserable life. All of her tests were good. Her doctor even told her, she was in excellent shape for a thirty year old woman, and she was lucky.

Yeah, real lucky.

She sat down on a chair in the waiting area, unzipping her bulky winter jacket, and looked around. There were three long lines of patients waiting to be served. She wondered what kinds of tests these people would have and what results, good or bad, they’d get.

Ron’s tests were all good. All negative. That was a year ago September. And four months later, he was gone. Kerry rubbed a worn spot on her jeans, and watched the patients stroll by.

Oh, no. A nurse she used to work with was coming. Please don’t talk to me, Kerry thought. Please don’t ask me how my writing is going. There is no more writing. There is no more anything, since I lost my one and only.

The nurse saw Kerry, and ran to her. Kerry! How the heck are you?

I’m OK, Cindy. How are you?

You’re just OK? I hear your latest book sold well. Don’t look so sad. I wish I could…

Cindy, you know Ron died.

Yeah, I heard about that. That was over a year ago, right?

One year ago January 7.

Cindy shook her head. Come on, Kerry. You got to snap out of it.

Kerry’s eyes darkened. I don’t got to do a goddam thing.

But life goes on. You have to realize…

Kerry stood up. Look, Cindy. Don’t tell me what to do. Ron is gone. And I want to be with him. That’s all I want. That’s all I could ever want. She grabbed her purse. If you’ll excuse me, I have to leave.

Kerry, wait! I want to talk to you…

But I don’t want to talk to you, Kerry thought. Not someone who can’t understand what I’m going through. Why can’t people get this? Better yet, why couldn’t these stupid people just leave her alone?

After Kerry got all the legal and medical business settled, and she cleaned out Ron’s stuff, the grief hit her full force. Grief clobbered her, laying waste to her life, like a tornado that destroys everything in its path. She woke up every morning with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She still wore her gold wedding ring, engraved with her and Ron’s initials and the date of their wedding. They were married for only eight years.

And her agent called her, more than once, asking when she’d begin work on a new book. Kerry had started research for a new book, but after Ron died, she didn’t want to write anymore. She couldn’t write love stories, when her own ended so suddenly and so badly.

She felt tears starting. Again. She’d cried so many tears, she was surprised she didn’t ruin her eyes.

She couldn’t decide whether she should run to a bathroom and let herself cry, or keep walking. When she spotted the cafeteria, she kept walking. She had to eat, no matter what. She heard a grieving spouse lost her appetite and had trouble sleeping, but that did not happen, not to her. She always had a healthy appetite. Ron used to tease her, she ate more than any linebacker for the Chicago Clout. And she slept like she was in a coma. She loved to sleep. It was her only enjoyment now. Blessed oblivion.

What was on the bill of fare? She’d have to check it out. As she made her way to the employee cafeteria, she became aware of someone following her.

A security guard, in uniform, complete with a gleaming badge and a surly look on his face.

May I help you, ma’am? Are you looking for directions?

Kerry looked at the guard, who towered over her. His shirt sleeves could hardly contain his bulging arms. Did she see a gun in a holster? Would he ever dare to use it, Kerry wondered.

I’m fine, thank you. I know where I’m going.

May I ask where you are going, ma’am? He was polite but stern.

Go away, Kerry thought. She wasn’t causing any trouble. I’m going to visit my old unit. I used to work here.

May I see your employee ID?

I said, I used to work here. I don’t have an ID now. Kerry began to sweat. This guy wouldn’t let up.

Well, then. Do you have any other ID? A driver’s license, or…

Kerry stood up straighter. Her palms grew wet. Why do you need a driver’s license? I told you, I came here to visit. Now this was a change at St. Mary’s. When she worked there, the guards would check employee ID’s and let anyone from the public come in with no questions.

You need a pass to visit a patient. Where is your pass?

She rolled her eyes, and blew a big sigh. I used to work here. I told you how many times! What’s the problem?

The problem is, you need a pass or an ID, and you won’t show me any. He took her arm. I can show you to the front entrance…

Visitors and employees passing through the hall turned to look at her when she raised her voice. What the hell is this? I’m being thrown out like some troublemaker?

He led her away from the entrance. Maybe you better come with me, to the office, to answer a few…

I’m not going with you. And don’t touch me! She shook free of his grip on her arm.

When another security guard approached, Kerry panicked. She had to get out of there.

Just then, the overhead PA crackled, then blared a message. Code grey, Emergency Room, North entrance. Code grey, Emergency Room, North entrance.

Both guards broke away from her and ran to the ER. Kerry remembered, code grey meant a patient was being combative. All security had to report stat—immediately-- when they heard a code grey.

It was her chance to get out of the hospital. She ran through the big front door to the cold outside, not even zipping up her winter jacket.

I gotta go home, she thought. The safety of home, where she could sit and think about Ron and what happened and what she could have done to save him.

What she should have done.

Kerry stepped into the cold February day. The skies were thick grey, as if they were about to open and send more snowfall to the ground. Piles of black snow and ice adorned the streets and the corners of the sidewalks. February in Chicago, when it seemed that spring would never return.

Directly across the street from St. Mary’s stood the Camelot Nursing Home, where Ron stayed for three horrible weeks. Long ago, Kerry applied for a job there. She never dreamed that her young husband would wind up there, sitting in a wheelchair. And one night he was alone, no one around, and he…

Stop, Kerry. Stop. She told herself, again, to stop dwelling on what happened. It’s bad enough. Don’t think about the worst of it. Think about what you’re having for lunch. Another turkey sandwich.

Pretty much all she kept in the fridge now was lunchmeat, milk for coffee, and soda.

Think about grocery shopping. Think about the things you have to do around the house. Think about anything except your empty life, life without Ron.

A life that stretched out in front of her like a destroyed town after a tornado.

Shaun Everett almost punched a hole in the wall of his living room. He didn’t need to read this crap. But he should know better, than to pay attention to the sports section.

That first line rang in his head like a shattering hit. The Clout will probably carry three quarterbacks next season, which is good news for beleaguered Shaun Everett.

Beleaguered? Where did they come up with these words? They don’t have to print that. They don’t have to rub it in. All he did was work his ass off and do his homework, and take the game of football seriously. Perhaps that’s more than the number one quarterback did, but he couldn’t say anything.

Brad Kennedy was the number one guy. He did lead the Clout to a playoff berth, but the Clout were eliminated right away, by the Detroit Lions, who went on to win their first Super Bowl. Plenty of fans and writers questioned Kennedy’s leadership and devotion to the game. But Coach Simmons and everyone else on staff stuck up for Brad. They gave Brad a huge multi-year contract, biggest in Clout history, so what else could they do?

When Shaun first made the team, he figured he’d be a kind of apprentice to Brad. After all, Brad had been the backup to a Super Bowl winning quarterback. But Brad didn’t exactly embrace this role. He treated Shaun more like a pesty kid brother.

Shaun couldn’t entertain himself with any more memories. He drove to a bakery in Lincoln Park to buy himself a special dessert, their famous chocolate cake. He usually stayed away from too much sweet stuff, but he needed it today. Then he stopped at a nearby hangout, The Watering Hole, to see if anyone he knew was there.

Yes, there certainly was. His sweet and sincere girlfriend, Belle. It was definitely her. Long brown hair reaching halfway down her back. A tight, low cut blouse, the better to show off her full breasts. A short skirt that barely covered her thighs. Lovely Belle, who told him she’d stick with him no matter what.

She wasn’t alone. She was sitting at the bar with a Blackhawks player.

Maybe she had her hand on his leg. Shaun didn’t look that closely. He turned and got the hell out of there before anyone recognized him.

Work hard. You have to want it. Your day will come. He knew all the clichés, heard them all his life, from coaches and teachers. Do the little things right, and you’ll be a success. Everyone told him.

He was proving them all wrong. Three years with the Clout, and he’d started one game. He did damn well. But then he resumed his position on the bench, charting plays, preparing to be the next man up in case Kennedy got hurt.

His cell phone buzzed. Who was calling him? His brother, asking for money again? He almost ignored the call. But he saw it was Thomas, his agent.

Yeah, it’s me.

Shaun. I have a job for you.

A new team? I want out of here. I want a trade, away from the Clout.

You can’t do that, Shaun. They need you.

They need me like I need a new asshole. Did you see the paper? The beleaguered Shaun Everett?

He sighed. During the off-season, it’s hard to dig up anything.

There must be some team that needs a quarterback. San Francisco? Minnesota?

Buffalo might need a quarterback. Their number one guy retired.

Buffalo, New York? The land of ice and snow?

Like there’s no ice and snow in Chicago. Check the weather lately? It’s beautiful February.

Shaun rubbed his tired eyes. You said you had a job? Maybe signing autographs at a sports show, if anyone wanted the signature of a beleaguered quarterback.

This might be fun. The producers of ‘Let’s Dance’ called, and they want you on the show. As a dancer.

You got to be kidding.

Thomas described what was involved. You’ll be paired up with another Chicago celebrity. Each couple has a choreographer to train them, rehearse them. You’ll get to wear a sharp costume. Every week. The show is on for seven weeks, and you and your partner could last the whole seven weeks. The competition is rough, but it…

Why didn’t they ask Brad Kennedy?

Brad didn’t want to do it.

Jesus Christ. He wasn’t even the first choice on a local TV show.

Thomas went on, Shaun, I know you’re down right now. No one knows what next season will bring. But this might be good for you, the exposure. It may lead to great things, who knows? You know what, get back to me. I’ll give you time to think about it. But let me know by next week.

Even the commercials made her cry.

Kerry always listened to the radio, the news station, in the morning. There was a commercial for a mortgage lender that had slow, sad music in the background. The music reminded her of Ron’s last weeks at home, in hospice care.

February 7 was last Wednesday, thirteen months since he died. She felt worse every day. The handouts from the hospice center said a bereaved spouse could mourn for over a year, two years maybe,