support was firmly in place, ready for use.
Leaving the bank, Lester felt the vanishing of the burden he had borne for almost two years since the accident that had befallen his sister. The guilt of his inability to help had only risen with every sacrifice, and it had reached a point of desolation with his looming mortality, but it was gone now! He had vanquished it, the fear and the guilt, using nothing but the cruel advantage of knowing what lay ahead. He reckoned he deserved it. Edith, for certain, did.
Lester rushed back home. His final job finished, he was eager to celebrate his existence before it ended as well. A pain shot up his back and his bones started to ache, and his pace slowed a little. The rain wasn't as mild as before, splattering on his clothes, turning them damp so the cold wind made him shiver. He kept walking, shunning the thoughts of disease and death and only thinking of getting home.
He quickly closed the door behind him and made his way to the bathroom. He dried himself, his hands shaking, and he changed into dry, soft clothes, but the cold persisted in him. Drifting out with his hands wrapped around himself, he saw his nephew sitting on the sofa-chair, his eyes fixed on a book.
“Walter,” he sat down on the arm of the chair and gave him a lazy embrace. Walter looked up in astonishment that soon turned to delight.
“Uncle! Are you feeling better?”
“I think so,” Lester said. “Though I feel it wearing off a bit.”
“You should rest,” Walter shut his book.
“Yes, I think I should lie down for a while.”
Walter held his hand and walked him back to his room, where Edith was still sitting in the chair, whispering a prayer into her hands.
“Lester, dear!” she said. “How are you feeling?”
The two took him to the bed, where he sat down and caught his breath, before wrapping himself in a plain blanket.
“I took care of everything,” he said to her.
“Really?” she asked, not believing it. He knew she wouldn’t; it had been too unforeseeable, what had happened, and he smiled at her skeptical look. He told her what he had done, how it was not like before. When he was finished, she saw the serene contentment of his face and let go of her mindful nature. He was delighted to see her doubts and worries disperse like weightless seeds. She closed her eyes, looked upward and said silent, thankful words.
“Thank you,” she said, holding Lester's hands, her eyes glistening. “All I want is for you to get better.”
“I will,” he lifted his legs with a groan and turned himself so he was lying on his back. He gave a deep sigh, feeling an ease come over his sore back, his joints thanking him in unison for the relief. Edith tucked him in as best she could, but the cold did not leave his body.
Lester lay in bed, surrounded by his sister and nephew, and the rain falling against the shut window. He asked them to talk, wanting to hear the stories of their voices. He looked at the washed out paint on the ceiling and listened intently as Edith and Walter conversed, joining in when he felt the strength to do so. They talked for hours, and when it was late, Walter left for bed, his young mind’s confusion remaining uncured, and Edith stayed at Lester's bedside. She told him stories of their childhood, remembering fond memories and times of laughter. He said few words, only interjecting with a faint laugh, a slow nod or a silent word or two of gratefulness.
“Edith,” he said after a lull, “I think I should sleep now. I feel so tired.”
“Of course, Lester,” she said, “I'll let you sleep. I don’t have work tomorrow, so please call me whenever you wake. I'm sure you will feel better when you do.”
She turned the lamp off, gently rubbed her hand on his hair and left the room without another sound. She didn’t notice his coldness, for there was no shaking of his body, only a chill residing deep inside him.
Lester looked out the window; it was night, the clouds invisible in the darkness of the open window. There was barely any light outside or in the room. He made his peace with the cold that had made a home inside him, his body too tired to fight it. He straightened his head, wincing as he did so, and shut his eyes. There was a mild ache, but soon, there was relief. Not only in his eyes, but in his bones, in his skin, and in his mind which was free of mounting worry, but most dominantly there was relief in his heart, a relief he thought no dying man could feel. He remembered his deal with Death, and though it ignited a natural fear, it also brought him a long desired peace. It was a fair bargain, he thought; things would be reasonable for the first time in his sister’s life, and his failures had been mended; he knew he must put on a brave face when the next day, he would walk ahead of the Reaper toward Death.
***
That stormy afternoon, the grey sky hung outside and thunder rummaged through the open window. Lester lay still on the bed, his eyes closed. His sister sat by his side in her postwoman’s uniform, staring at the floor, worry and fear wrought on her face. After a long time of useless thinking, she peered at his body, and realized his chest was no longer moving.
“Oh Lester,” she cried, burying her face in her hands, “what will we do, what will we do.”
***
Enjoyed this short story? Then help by sharing it with someone who would like it as well. For more by the author, please visit Tavern of Tales.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends