The smell of institutional bleach mixed with stale soup always settled in the back of my throat the moment I stepped onto the fourth floor of St. Jude Hospital. On the bedside table in Room Four Hundred Seven, a plastic pitcher of ice water sweat onto a stack of unpaid tax notices with red ink.<\/p>\n
Ben sat up in the high bed, adjusting the collar of his\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n faded blue hospital gown. He had insisted on wearing his favorite black bow tie today, even though it sat crookedly against his collarbone, a sharp contrast to the pale skin of his throat.<\/p>\n The cold draft under the hospital room door made me shiver, but Ben did not seem to notice. He was looking out the small window that faced the gravel parking lot,continue reading\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n his fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the stiff white sheet.<\/p>\n \u201cThe doctor said three months, Sarah,\u201d Ben said, his voice dropping into that slow, reassuring drawl of his. \u201cMaybe less if the treatment doesn\u2019t take. We don\u2019t have time to wait around for a big church wedding, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n I reached out and straightened the bow tie, my fingers brushing the\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n cheap polyester fabric. He always wore it slightly askew when he was nervous, or when he was trying to soften a blow, isn\u2019t that so.<\/p>\n \u201cWe can do it tomorrow,\u201d I said, my voice barely louder than the hum of the wall heater. \u201cRight here in the chapel downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n He reached out and squeezed my hand, his palm dry and warm, lacking the damp heat of the fever\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n Dr. Klein had warned me about.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s my girl,\u201d he said, adjusting the black bow tie again, pulling the left side down until it was crooked once more. \u201cI just want to make sure you\u2019re legally my wife before the end comes.\u201d<\/p>\n Ben picked up his empty plastic coffee cup and crushed it in his hand, the sharp crack of the plastic echoing in the small room.continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n He tossed it into the small wastebasket by the bed.<\/p>\n My right hand moved to the plain silver band on my finger, twisting it around and around until the skin went pale. It was a cheap ring I had worn since my twenties, a piece of costume jewelry that left a faint green mark on my skin if the weather got humid.<\/p>\n \u201cChaplain Thomas said he\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n could do it at two,\u201d I whispered, looking down at our joined hands.<\/p>\n Ben leaned back against the thin pillows, a small, weary smile on his face. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright, almost restless as they darted toward the television hanging from the ceiling.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the only way to protect your family legacy, kid,\u201d he said, his voice dropping even\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n lower. \u201cIf the worst happens, I want everything we built to stay with you. You shouldn\u2019t have to worry about the bank or the outstanding accounts when I\u2019m gone.\u201d<\/p>\n The top page of the stack on the table was from the county treasurer, demanding immediate payment on his property. Three thousand four hundred dollars, with another penalty due by the middle\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n of the month.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t care about the bank, Ben,\u201d I said, my thumb still tracing the edge of my silver band. \u201cI care about you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know, kid,\u201d he said, his fingers resuming their slow drumming against the hospital sheet. \u201cBut we have to be practical. Tomorrow afternoon, then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve been neighbors since we were seven,\u201d I said, looking at the faded wallpaper\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n of the room. \u201cWe should have done this a long time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re doing it now, kid,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s what matters.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded, the silence of the room settling over us like a heavy blanket, broken only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.<\/p>\n The next afternoon, the elevator down to the basement was cold and smelled of floor wax. I pushed Ben\u2019s wheelchair\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n through the heavy double doors, the rubber tires squeaking on the smooth gray tiles.<\/p>\n The light through the stained-glass window of the basement chapel cast long, purple bruises of color across the wooden altar. It was a small, windowless room that smelled of damp concrete and the cedar oil they used to polish the pews.<\/p>\n Chaplain Thomas\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n stood behind the altar, his black cassock smelling faintly of old paper and candle wax. He was a small man with thin white hair that drifted over his ears like cobwebs, and he kept his hands folded over a small leather-bound book.<\/p>\n Ben sat in his wheelchair beside me, his legs covered by a heavy gray blanket, though he had insisted on wearing his polished\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n black dress shoes for the occasion. His skin looked gray under the basement lights, but his grip on my hand was surprisingly firm.<\/p>\n \u201cWe are gathered here in the sight of God,\u201d Chaplain Thomas began, his voice echoing slightly against the low concrete ceiling.<\/p>\n The service was short, stripped of the music and flowers we had once talked about when we were\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n teenagers living next door to each other on Maple Street. There was no one else in the pews, just the empty rows of dark oak and the flickering red candle of the sanctuary lamp.<\/p>\n \u201cSign here, Sarah,\u201d the chaplain said, sliding the white marriage certificate toward me on the edge of the altar.<\/p>\n My fingers were so unsteady the gold-plated\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n pen scraped against the paper, leaving a jagged blue line before I could finish my last name. The ink looked too bright, almost like a fresh spill on the thick parchment.<\/p>\n Ben took the pen from my hand, his stroke bold and clear as he signed his own name right below mine. He did not hesitate, his signature sharp and precise, without the tremor you would\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n expect from a man with ninety days left.<\/p>\n \u201cWith this ring, I thee wed,\u201d Ben drawled, sliding a cheap silver band onto my finger, the metal so thin and sharp it left a tiny green mark on my skin within minutes.<\/p>\n The chaplain placed his hands over ours, offering a brief blessing that seemed to hover in the damp basement air before fading away.<\/p>\n \u201cMay the Lord\u00a0continue reading \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n <\/p>\n <\/center><\/div>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The smell of institutional bleach mixed with stale soup always settled in the back of my throat the moment I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":2434,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2433","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2433","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2433"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2433\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2435,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2433\/revisions\/2435"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/2434"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2433"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2433"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/recipelab.delicedcook.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2433"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}