Tag: short story (Page 1 of 7)

Jack spends a few days at Diane’s house recovering from prostate removal surgery. An unexpected visitor brings possible healing to a long-estranged family member.

This is #8 in the ongoing Jack and Diane series of stories, which originated in November of 2021. As I have said before, I have no plan, no story arc, for the series. Each story has arisen from the prior ones, the characters not willing to fade away.

You can read the first seven stories here.

Estranged No More

Bob Gillen

Diane Somers idled her old Volvo 142S in front of the hospital entrance. She slid out of her seat as a hospital volunteer pushed Jack Marin’s wheelchair out to the curb. 

Jack managed to stand on his own, hang onto the door, and slide into the Volvo. A few curse words ensued. Diane thanked the volunteer, got Jack’s seatbelt secured, and climbed in. 

“Ready?” she asked Jack.

“So ready. Wait, do I need to tip the volunteer?”

Diane grinned. “Not necessary.”

Jack squirmed to adjust himself in his seat. “My doc had said two or three days in here after the surgery. It took five days for them to release me.”

“It was a big surgery,” Diane said. “You were on the table for five hours.”

“Yeah. They had some job removing my monster prostate.”

“Your doctor said it was thirty five grams.”

“More like twenty pounds, I think.”

Diane laughed. “Let’s get you home.”

Jack enjoyed seeing the familiar sights as they drove to Diane’s house. He squinted into the bright sun and moved the sun visor down. A piece of paper fell into his lap. He reached for it. A photo. “This looks like you with your husband and Margaret.”

“Wait till we stop for a red light and I’ll take a look.”

At the next light she glanced at the photo. “Yeah. Me and Frank, and Margaret.Frank must have put it there.”

“I’ve only been to your place a few times,” Jack said. “I don’t think I saw any pictures of your family.”

Diane sighed. “I have one picture in my bedroom. Our wedding picture. I like to think about beginnings, not endings.”

“Nothing in between?” Jack asked.

“I put all the photos away when Margaret alienated herself from me.”

Diane pointed. “Put the photo back in the visor.”

As the traffic light changed, she said, “I set you up in the spare bedroom…and cleared the couch. You should be comfortable for a few days till you get your strength back.”

She backed into the driveway to position the passenger side near the front door. Jack pulled himself out of the seat and stood holding onto the door. Diane came around and supported him.

“Let’s try the couch for a while,” Jack said. “I could use a dose of TV.”

Diane got him settled on the couch, set a blanket over him, and tucked a pillow behind his head.

“How about a sandwich?” she asked. “A turkey club?”

“Sounds good. Washed down with a beer?”

She handed him the TV remote and headed to the kitchen.

Jack rested his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I could sure use a shower but I think I should wait till tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Diane called from the kitchen. “I’ve got room deodorizer.”

“Funny.”

Diane came in with a luscious sandwich and a sweet pickle slice on a plate, a cold longneck in her other hand. 

“This looks great,” he said. He reached for the bottle and took a long swig, a smile breaking across his face.

“Beats hospital meals, I hope.”

“It does, but you know, their food wasn’t that bad. A turkey dinner one night, meatloaf and mashed potatoes another night. Not bad at all.”

Jack devoured the sandwich. “How about another beer?”

“Let’s take it easy,” she said. “You’re still on meds. Why don’t you take a nap?”

Jack nodded, leaned back, and promptly fell asleep.

The following morning, after a breakfast of bacon and eggs in bed, a home health physical therapist named Molly showed up to assess Jack’s condition and start him on some core-building exercises.

“I know you’d rather stay in bed, but we need to re-build your strength after the surgery. Are you in any pain?”

“My lower back hurts,” Jack said.

“We can work on that.” Molly put Jack through a series of PT exercises while he was lying down.

“Now let’s get you up to a standing position.”

Diane handed her a walker she had rented for Jack till he got stronger.

Jack tried to sit up and swing his legs off the bed.

“Oh…oh, sweet Jesus!” he cried. “I can’t do this.”

Molly stepped forward with the walker. “Hold on to this, roll your legs off the bed, pull yourself up.”

Jack grimaced, cursed. On the third try he got to a sitting position on the side of the bed.

“Can you stand?”

Gripping the walker, Jack hoisted himself to an upright position. “Standing is easier.”

Molly helped Jack walk through the living room and into the kitchen.

Standing against the counter, she had him move up on his toes, then back on his heels, ten times.

“I want you to do this twice a day,” she said. “And I’ll leave you with a page of exercises to do. I’ll be back in two days.”

“This isn’t too bad,” Jack said. “It’s the getting out of bed that hurts like hell.”

“That will get easier as you build your core.”

Later that afternoon, after a nap, Jack watched TV from the couch. Diane brought him a cold beer. She sat, leaned gently against him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pretty shitty, overall.”

He sipped the beer. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

Diane had stocked the guest bathroom with adult disposable underpants. Jack dragged himself to the bathroom. He struggled to get his pants off and change the paper underpants. “Taking these big-kid underpants on and off is a real pain,” he called out.

Diane cracked the door, handed him a package. “I also bought you men’s pads. You can change them without taking your pants off.”

“Brilliant,” he said.

“We girls been down this road before.”

Later, at dinner, Jack devoured chicken tacos, rice and beans. “You’re spoiling me. I won’t be able to do this when I get back to my own house.”

Jack lowered his head into his hands. He sighed deeply. “This isn’t how I pictured my life going.”

“It is what it is,” Diane said. She rubbed his shoulder.

“Lying in the hospital bed all I could think of was how fucked up my life is now. After my wife died, I mourned for a year, then found a routine. It wasn’t much, but it worked for me. Now…that’s all in the wind. I can’t travel any distance because of the incontinence. I can barely get out of bed. Instead of walking, I’m teeter tottering. I could never pass a DUI test.”

Diane smiled. “Relax. It’s only been a week. You’ll get there.”

She got up and cleared away the dinner dishes. “How about watching a movie?”

Jack smirked. “If I can stay awake…”

The following morning Jack pushed himself to get up from his bed and use the walker to move to the kitchen table. Diane stood at the stove in her robe, flipping buttermilk pancakes. 

Jack poured a mug of coffee and sat at the table. “You are clearly spoiling me.”

“It feels good to have someone else in the house. I’ll feel lonely when you go back to your own place.” She set a plate of pancakes in front of Jack. “Syrup’s there if you want it.”

The doorbell rang.

“Huh.” Diane said. “Who could that be?”

“Expecting any packages?”

Diane shook her head as she stepped to the door.

A woman stood in the door, backlit by the morning sun.

Diane peered at the figure. “Margaret?”

“Mom.”

Diane stood frozen for a moment. 

“Have you been driving dad’s Volvo?” Margaret pointed to the driveway.

“A mission of mercy.”

“Can I come in?”

Diane stepped aside. “Of course. Forgive my shock.”

Margaret entered the house. She wore jeans, a loose sweater, her hair in a long ponytail.

“Who is it?” Jack called from the kitchen.

Margaret whipped around at Diane. “That’s a man’s voice.”

“Come in and meet Jack.” Diane walked into the kitchen.

Margaret followed her. She stood staring at Jack. A man at her mom’s kitchen table. In his pajamas. Eating breakfast. 

“Jack, this is my daughter Margaret. Margaret, Jack.”

“We’ve met,” Jack said. “At the cemetery last month.”

Margaret said nothing. She glared at Diane.

“Do you want coffee?”

Margaret shook her head.

“How could you?”

“How could I what?” Diane said.

“You kept dad’s terminal sickness from me three years ago. Now you have a guy living in with you and you didn’t tell me.”

Margaret turned, ready to storm out. Jack stood, awkwardly, and reached out to her.

“Please stay,” he said.

Margaret said, her back to Jack, “Why? More lies. She’s replacing my dad already. I’ve had enough.”

Diane flared in anger. She threw a dishtowel down on the table. “Hold on. You chose to stay away from me for these three years. Now you show up out of the blue and begin making judgements on me and Jack.”

“I can see what this is,” Margaret said, turning back to face Diane.

“No,” Jack interrupted. “You’re not seeing what this is.” He grimaced in pain as he moved, and quickly sat down.

“Margaret, I don’t know what brought you here today.” Her anger softened. “But I am thrilled that you’re here. Can you sit and talk with us for a few minutes?”

Margaret glared at both of them, then slowly sat, hanging her purse over the back of the chair. Diane put a cup of coffee in front of her.

Margaret had estranged herself from Diane since her father’s death three years ago. The separation had sat heavily on Diane’s heart, carrying her husband’s loss alone until she met Jack.

Diane spoke. “Let’s clear the air about Jack. He is someone I am seeing. We met on a dating app maybe six months ago. We have both lost spouses. Both retired. Both looking, quite tentatively, to have someone in our lives. Jack is here because he’s recovering from surgery and needs support for a few days till he can go back to his own place.”

Jack leaned on the walker. “I had my prostate removed because of a carcinoma. I was on the table for five hours. Your mom is helping me. I can barely get out of bed. I am fumbling all over the place. And I am now incontinent from the surgery.”

“TMI,” Margaret said, holding a palm up in Jack’s direction.

“Just putting it all out there,” Jack shrugged.

Diane spoke, “We are moving slowly in our relationship. And as to intimacy, that’s none of your business.”

Margaret spoke softly to Jack, “When I saw you at the cemetery with my mom, I figured it was something serious. She wouldn’t bring just anyone to dad’s grave.” 

Diane had taken Jack to Frank’s grave on Margaret’s birthday a month ago. One of the three times each year she visited the grave. Watching from a distance, Margaret had tried to talk to Jack while he strolled around the cemetery. Jack had refused, saying he did not want to get in the middle of the two and their difficult relationship. It was later that Diane had told him, you’re in the middle, or you’re out. Your choice. Jack had chosen to continue his relationship with Diane.

“And speaking of your dad,” Diane said, “it was his decision, not mine, not to tell you how serious his illness was. He didn’t want you suffering through his last weeks. I brought you in only when he said he was ready to see you.”

Margaret began crying. She rubbed away tears. “I could have sat with him in those last weeks.”

Diane also began crying. “We wasted these three years. I could have told you this if you had listened…if you had not stayed away.”

She stood and hugged Margaret’s shoulders. Margaret put a hand on Diane’s arm. “I couldn’t deal…”

“You’re here now.” She pulled Margaret to a standing position and hugged her hard. Both sobbed deeply. 

Jack sipped his coffee. 

After the two women had eased their sobbing, Jack said, “It’s good to see you two together. But the pancakes are getting cold. Margaret, please sit and eat with us.”

Margaret sat, grabbed a couple of napkins to wipe her eyes and nose. Diane reached for another plate.

“But I’m curious,” Jack continued. “What brings you here, Margaret? Why today?”

Margaret smiled, met Diane’s eyes. She set her hands over her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

***