A Song For Edie

by Kurokami

George walked into his empty house with leaden feet. He laid his old, battered fedora and overcoat on the table by the door and went to the living room, where he collapsed into his familiar old armchair. The house seemed oddly silent.

Over the years, George Wright had gotten used to the sounds of this household: Edie busy in the kitchen with a fresh batch of bread dough, or putting away the supper dishes. Even their weathered old upright piano seemed to mourn her passing by its deafening silence. It was the first time George had been back in the house since it happened.

Edith Holmsted Wright, laid to rest today by her loving husband, George. Dead of a stroke only two weeks before, and now interred in the family vault at the cemetery. It was all a jumble of confused images to George, and he felt at a loss as to what to do now. His children had been kind enough to handle most of the arrangements, but he knew there were still things that had to be done.

Now the children were nursing their own wounds, and seemed to have forgotten their father. George Wright wasn't angered by this; he would not have known what to do with them all when he wanted to be able to grieve alone. As he sat, George thought of his wife and all the things, good and bad, that had happened over the years, and how in every case they had stayed together.

Sixty years! Who could claim that many happy years? Damn few.

The phone rang three times before George heard it. He stared at it a moment, forgetting what the imperious bell was for. Then he blinked in sudden comprehension and reached over to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad, it's Norman. I just realized you're over there all alone. Why don't you come over and have supper with Agatha and me? We're having Mulligatawny stew and fresh sourdough bread. We'd love to have you Dad," Norman said to his father. George smiled to himself at his second youngest son's thoughtfulness.

"No, Norman. I'm all right here. I need to be alone for a while, anyway. I don't really want to be around a lot of people. Don't get me wrong, I do love you all. It's just that I need to be by myself."

"That's okay, Dad. I think I understand. Remember, though, if you change your mind, I'm just a phone call away."

"I know, son. I love you, Norman. Good night."

"I love you too, Dad. 'night." The phone gave an abrupt click and went dead.

George sighed and hung up the phone. Taking a deep breath, he got up and walked into the kitchen, the center of his life for the past sixty years.

Everything was neat, as though Edie had just finished the supper dishes and had stepped out for a moment. The metal work gleamed invitingly, and the counter looked freshly scrubbed.

Not really hungry, George took a plum from the fruit bowl and almost absently took a bite. It was obvious that one of the kids had been there to clean the place for him and stock the kitchen pantry. George wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"You know that's not a proper meal, George, dear." Edie's voice sounded in his head. George gave a wry grin at his imagination and wandered back into the living room with his plum to sit in his chair once again.

"I miss you, Edie." George said aloud.

"I know, dear."

George looked around, startled, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The voice had sounded so much like his beloved Edie that it had seemed as though she had been in the room with him. He finished the plum and threw the pit into the trash. He headed for his bed with the flowered comforter he had bought Edie for their fifty fifth anniversary.

George changed into his pajamas and climbed in to bed, though he did not sleep for a long time. It was so strange without Edie in the big old bed, too. Finally, he fell asleep. He dreamed of Edie that night.

He dreamed of the day they met, and how beautiful she had been, as she had always been. She smiled at him and touched his cheek with a warm, loving hand. George marveled at the reality of the dream.

"I miss you so much, Edie. I don't know what I'll do without you."

Edie smiled reassuringly. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly. Please don't mourn me, dear George. I'll always be with you," she said and kissed him lightly on the lips with her sweet mouth.

The soft aroma of roses, Edie's favorite flower, tickled his nose. The dream ended abruptly and George awoke to find his pillow wet from his tears. A warm aura surrounded him and he knew, somehow, that Edie was near and watching over him. Happiness and sadness overwhelmed him, causing more tears to flow.

He was out to the store early and bought a dozen long stemmed red roses, which he arranged in Edie's favorite vase. He put the roses on the table by the front window, and opened the curtains to let the light in. The light of the sun made it almost seem as though Edie was indeed home.

Sometime after nine, someone knocked at the door. George answered it to find his daughter Alma and her family standing there.

"Hello there, kids. Come on in! Have you eaten? How about some bacon and eggs? There's fresh coffee in the pot. Help yourselves."

Alma was a bit taken aback at her father's cheerful attitude. This could not be the same man who had been no more than a robot for the past week.

"Are are you alright, father?"

"Yes, daughter. I've decided I'd be doing your mother a disservice by moping around any longer. She hated anyone to spend time feeling sorry for themselves." Alma grinned at that memory of her mother. Edie Wright always said that moping about got nothing done, so it wasn't to be indulged in within her home. Alma had learned early that if she wished to mope, she should find some out of the way place in which to do so. Edie Wright tended to put moping, idle people to work at the most unpleasant chore she could find.

"I guess you're right, father. Tell you what, though. I'll make breakfast and you can relax."

"Relax?! Goodness, I've been doing almost nothing for the past two weeks! I need to be doing something."

Breakfast was excellent, and Alma enlisted her sons to do the dishes so the adults might have a quiet talk together. Nine year old Brad and twelve year old Bryce hated dishes, but they knew better than to argue with their mother.

"Father, there's no reason for you to be alone here. Why don't you close up the house and come to live with us?" Alma came quickly to the point of her visit.

"Alma, honey, I'm too set in my ways. I couldn't live in the same house as my grandchildren. Brad and Bryce are always fighting for one reason or another and I like my peace and quiet. Besides, strange as it may seem, I can almost feel your mother in the house. I'm not really alone as long as I can remember her. You are always welcome to visit, darling, but I need my own place."

"I guess that's concise enough, father. Are you sure, though? We have that extra bedroom at the back of the house."

"Yes, Alma. You're a grown woman now and I'm an old man. We each belong in our own houses. Don't worry, I'll be fine." George reassured his daughter.

Then they spoke of the trials of raising children, and other things, finally ordering in when they realized no one really wanted to cook anything for lunch. The boys cheered at this and reminded their mother to ask for paper plates from the pizza place. Conversation continued until the sun began to lie low in the sky, casting soft pastel hues across the horizon.

George gently but firmly shooed his daughter and her family from the house, then sat down to a quiet supper. Afterward, he sat back and opened a novel he had put down a few weeks ago, reading a few chapters until his eyes threatened to slam shut. Before he went to sleep, he called his son Blake to say hello and let him know he was alright.

"Hi, Dad."

"Well, my boy, how did you spend your day?"

"Trish and I and the kids went to the park and chased the ducks until the ranger asked us to stop or leave."

"You know, Blake, I seem to remember a certain boy who used to do the same thing."

"You must have me confused with some other little boy," Blake responded with mock indignation.

"You mean there's another Blake Wright in the world? We should alert the militia!"

"Was I really all that bad, Dad?"

"No, Blake. The ducks at Hummingbird Lake might have a different opinion, though." They spoke of incidental things for quite some time, and the conversation ended with them both laughing warmly.

After he hung up the phone, George went to bed with a light heart.

"Goodnight, Edie. I love you."

"I love you too, George," responded her voice from the darkness.

George slept in Edie's spiritual embrace that night and didn't wake until after eight the next morning, ready to greet the new day.