Marriage - Chris Callaghan

Tom and his wife had been married fifty years, and then she died. Their friends brought him casseroles, sympathy, and willing ears for two years. Then they started bringing relatives, widows, and divorcees as potential replacement material.

Tom was having none of it.

The only thing he wanted to talk about was his dead wife. Her name had been Joyce, but he called her Joy. His Joy.

He told the same stories of their perfect life together over and over and at first the friends clucked and nodded in sympathy. The widows patted his arm and the divorcees shifted subtly closer to him on the couch.

“Oh you poor man,” they said. “She must have been lovely,” they said. And Tom would say, “Yes, she was.” Smile sadly, and stare off into the past.

Then came Jewel. She was a spunky 68 year old woman who bought the bungalow next to Tom’s. She wore shorts, t shirts, and baseball caps, and moved in with only one small truck full of furniture and a few boxes. Tom watched the unpacking from his living room crammed with fifty years of furniture and felt sorry for her.

Jewel heckled the movers in a loud voice and when they were done she handed them each a cold soda and a big tip.

In the ensuing weeks Tom watched Jewel tackle the neglected yard, ripping out overgrown ivy, and pruning the rose bushes with no mercy. Half the time she forgot to put on her gloves. Joy would never have forgotten, she had taken such pride in her white hands and immaculate fingernails.

When Tom finally introduced himself, Jewel stuck out her hand to shake and said, “Hi neighbor, like a beer?” So Tom started to tell her all about how he and Joy didn’t drink.
“Joy. That your wife? She inside?”

Tom leapt into the opportunity to tell his tale of Joy again, but Jewel interrupted him.

“Oh, she’s passed on then. Sorry to hear it. So’s my Phil. Well, nice to know Phil’s got good company up there,” she glanced up at the sky and grinned.

“Got to get back to the yard now, that philodendram needs serious cutting back. Got company coming on Saturday and we’ll need the space.”

“Why?” Tom asked. The yard seemed big enough to him for a few tables and chairs.

“Have to have the room to set up the Croquette set. Nothing like the sound of one croquette ball smacking another one out of play. You’re welcome to come on over and join in, always room for one more.” She laughed so clear and loose.

Tom didn’t go; he sat in his den going over old pictures of him and Joy. Jewels friends asked her about the new neighbors, were they nice, did she invite them?

Jewel looked up from her croquette ball and said, “Got a nice one over there, but it’s gonna take him some time to come on over.”

“Here?” some one asked her.

“Nope,” she said. “To the present.” Then she smacked the shit out of that ball.