Survived By

Copyright© 2021: By Richard Gerald

This story is my submission for the "

End of the Affair

". I want to thank Randi for inviting me to contribute and for doing the work to host this event. I would also thank Lee Ann, who did a marvelous job of correcting my mistakes and showing me where I was going wrong.

There is very little sex in this story. I wrote several sex scenes, but as Lee Ann said, they stopped the story's flow better than a bucket of ice water. I took them out, and the story does read better. It is a short, simple story, but it took me a month away from my next Jimmy O'Reilly mystery to write it. As usual, no upbeat ending. (What can I say? I'm no Jane Austen.) I welcome all comments, but because of my personal commitments, I don't have time to read the public ones. I try to answer all emails. Thanks for taking the time to read my stories.

Teddy, the brown field spaniel, sat waiting by the door. All morning the sad man called Parker had been moving about the four-story row house with a purpose. They were going someplace. Parker had packed a bag the night before and spent his morning, after walking and feeding Teddy, closing and locking all the windows and doors. These actions denoted a trip, and Teddy had resigned himself to a long ride in the large, black car.

It had not always been this way. Teddy was happy with Ann. He had only a vague image of any existence before Ann. She had been there as he grew from a pup to a full-grown dog. They lived in the apartment in the big city to the south. When they went for a walk, they rode the elevator. There were no stairs to climb. The row house was all stairs, and the man went up and down constantly. Teddy explored each floor except the top one. They never went to the fourth floor. Each floor of the row house was as big as Ann's apartment, but they were cold, lonely spaces. Teddy missed Ann and her warm, sunny apartment.

Teddy had lived with Ann for six years, although she was gone most of that last year. They went everywhere together, inseparable companions. If they rode in a car, it was a yellow cab. Ann always in the back seat with Teddy. He sat at her feet, and she draped her arm around him. Parker had a big, black car called an SUV, and Teddy was pushed into the back seat alone. He found that disquieting, especially after he lost Ann.

The trouble came with the scent. Teddy awoke one morning on the corner of Ann's bed to the foreign smell. Teddy's nose was very sensitive. His breed is noted for its ability to smell what is hidden, what is cloaked beneath other scents. It was there, a faint odor, a foul smell. He couldn't tell her. He had no way to warn her of the danger, but he became more affectionate to compensate.

Time passed, and the scent grew on Ann. One day, she left Teddy in the care of Liz, in the apartment next door. Ann told Liz, "Teddy's not used to being alone. I'll be back tomorrow. It's just overnight for tests."

Liz had a cat named Simon, who couldn't leave Teddy alone. He insisted on rubbing himself on the amiable, brown dog. The spaniel had to stay in Ann's apartment alone due to Liz's cat. Liz was a nice person, but she wasn't Ann.

When Ann returned, she was glum. Teddy did his best to cheer her. However, this began the period when Ann would leave, always saying she would be back soon. When she would go, the foul odor would be strong, and less when she returned. But it never went away.

After the first time Ann left, Liz or another neighbor would come to feed and walk him, but he was mostly alone. Teddy looked forward to Ann's return, and for a while, things would get back to almost normal. Except Ann became weaker and weaker, and their walks became shorter. Soon, they barely went out of the apartment.

Ann left that last time, giving Teddy a big hug, but didn't promise to return. Teddy waited and waited. The apartment was dark and lifeless at night. Liz or someone would come once or twice a day at most. Teddy was alone.

Then the day came when Liz fed him and said, with tears in her eyes, "Your new owner will be here this afternoon."

That was the day the man, called Parker, came. He had about him a profound sadness that Teddy could see and smell. Liz let Parker in, and they collected Teddy's bowls and toys, and the coat he wore in the winter and the bed and blanket he slept on. Parker put the leash on Teddy's collar and tried to walk him from the apartment, but Teddy pulled back. He wanted Ann. Parker seemed to understand. The man knelt down and said, "She's not coming back, boy, and you know it. She died in the hospital in the room next to the one my wife was in. They're gone. I promised to take care of you."

The man stroked Teddy's head and gave a little tug, and Teddy got up and left the apartment. Teddy rode the elevator for the last time. He sat in the back of the big, black car all alone, and they traveled far. They came to his strange house where they now lived all alone. Teddy could smell the woman who was gone and feel the man's pain so much like his own. They were together, but they were still each alone.

________________________________________________

Parker Jones met his wife, Lenore, in Chicago, in the summer of his second year in law school. A college physics major, he had gone to law school with the expectation of becoming a patent attorney. However, the only summer internship he could get was with an arbitration firm. The arbitrators were in desperate need of someone with a knowledge of fiberglass electrical wiring to assist in a major construction case in Chicago.

In want of any legal-related job for his resume, Parker, who had run cable for AT&T summers during college, had accepted the out-of-state job. In Chicago, with nothing to do on the weekends, he took a tour at the Art Institute one Saturday morning.

Lenore (Len) Campbell was twenty-three and the holder of a Master's Degree in Fine Arts. She was a painter in oils and acrylics, but unable to obtain any gainful employment other than as a tour guide. Parker took the tour, but spent his time observing the pretty, petite blonde guide. He followed her around the decorative rooms of the museum. He never worked up the courage to speak to the woman he was crushing on. In total, he took the tour three times on successive Saturday mornings.

At the end of his third tour, Lenore walked up to him and said, "Hi, I'm Lenore, but people call me Len. I'm also rather impatient, so here is my phone number and address. I'm free every evening but Tuesday."

Lenore having made the first move, the relationship took off over the summer. The introverted Parker quickly became enthralled with the vivacious, outgoing Ms. Campbell. The chemistry was perfect, with opposites attracting in a blaze of passion. They were both virgins, and stayed that way until mid-August. Arriving at Lenore's apartment for a Friday movie date, Parker found her roommate away for the weekend. The movie was to be a Netflix DVD in Lenore's bedroom.

Lenore had gone on the pill for the occasion. They were hot for each other, but the first time didn't last long. Fortunately, they discovered that Parker had a quick recovery time and a much longer fuse after the first event.

However, Sunday morning came all too soon, and Lenore was pensive and a little distant.

"Regrets?" he asked.

"No, only that our weekend is coming to an end."

"There will be other weekends—and weekdays too—unless this is your way of dumping me."

"No! No!" she said, moving in for a kiss. "It's just that I can't go on working as a tour guide at minimum wage. I need a real job to pay my way until I make it as a painter. I used to think that success would come right away, but it hasn't."

"Well, you are very talented, and I'm sure you will find something. I wish I could help, but I'm just a summer intern. I'm being let go at the end of the month."

She laughed and said, "That's just it. I have found something. I start a teacher training program in New York at Brooklyn College next week. It will give me a degree in education and qualify me to teach art in the public schools. I planned our weekend with the thought it might be our last for a long time."

Now it was Parker's turn. He laughed and said, "That's funny! I go back to NYU the week after you go to Brooklyn."

They moved in together that fall and married the following year as soon as he graduated from law school. He was taken on as a junior associate at the arbitration firm. It was not his ideal job, but one he took to support them. Lenore had trouble finding work as a teacher. She was a part-time substitute teacher until after the birth of their first son, Daniel. She spent the next year caring for Daniel and painting.

As the low man in the firm, Parker was on the road a lot. He came back from a trip to Buffalo to discover his wife waiting in a new, sheer nightgown holding a bottle of champagne.

"What's the occasion?" he asked.

"I won," she said.

"Won?"

"The Nevis Arts prize for oil painting."

"Oh? Congratulations!"

The prize was a whole five hundred dollars but more importantly, it came with a gallery show for the winning artists.

The New York Times

gave the show a review and singled out the work of the emerging artist Len Campbell. There followed a series of gallery shows, with one good review after another. Len had name recognition, but it didn't translate into a lot of money.

Daniel had turned five, and he was due to start school, raising the question of public or private education—and by then, he had a little brother, Derick. As the parents were trying to decide whether and how they might afford private education, the State University of New York offered an assistant professorship to Len Campbell in Albany. Parker was by then a junior partner, but he didn't hesitate to pick up and move with his wife. It was the best thing for his family, although it didn't advance his career.

"I'll find some work," he told Lenore, and he did, as a freelance arbitrator on small construction disputes. The Jones bought a dilapidated row house in one of the old industrial towns on the east side of the Hudson and settled in. Len made the house's upper floor into her studio. They had respectable incomes for Upstate New York. Still, the artist, Len Campbell, dreamed of one day having an exhibition at the Chicago Art Institute.

Parker's dream was to live a happy, quiet life. As his second son went off to college, he thought he had achieved that goal. But fate was not kind. Lenore was not feeling herself. After much argument, she followed his advice to use her state health benefits and get a physical. This began the long cycle of tests that ended in a quiet conversation in the oncologist's office.

_________________________________________

Teddy grew used to his new existence. There was a park called a commons right outside the door. Lots of dogs played there, and the people were friendly, but it wasn't the same. He missed Ann, and as it grew cold in November, the other dogs and people became infrequent. It was much colder than in the city, and they had few visitors, only the young man and his wife. The young man wasn't bad. He was Parker's son Dan. He was tall, like Parker, and looked somewhat similar. But the woman, Dan's wife, didn't like dogs. Teddy could tell. The woman annoyed Parker. She criticized his house because it was old, and their neighborhood because it was poor.

"Time to go," Parker said, grabbing the leash with one hand and his bag with the other.

"The family will be waiting. And now that my Lenore is gone, we are at the mercy of our relatives on Thanksgiving."

However, as they were about to leave, the phone rang. Parker answered it.

"Hello," he said. "Oh yes. Sorry I meant to get back to you. The fact is I need more time.

Parker paused, listening to the person on the phone. Teddy lay down on the floor. These calls only made Parker seem sadder.

"Yes, I know it's a great honor, and certainly Lenore deserves it, but I can't part with her pictures just yet. I need more time."

Once again, Parker paused listening, and then he said, "I promise I'll make a decision soon."

Parker hung up the phone, and, turning to Teddy, he said, "Come on, boy, time to go."

With that and a slump of the man's shoulders, they exited the house and crossed the small back garden, now dark and flowerless, to the black car. Teddy went into the back for another long, cheerless ride. At its end, Teddy found himself in a place of perfect lawns and remarkably similar houses. They seemed to be out in the country, but there were fewer trees than in the city, and none of the streets ran straight but seemed to endlessly curve around upon themselves.

Dan greeted his father and Teddy at the door. He gave the older man a hug. Looking past the men, Teddy could see a frown pass across the woman's face, to be replaced by an artificial smile. They were shown to a room off the back of the house. There seemed to be almost no stairs here, for everything was on the same level. However, there was a cat named Samantha. A big, yellow tabby that hissed at Teddy and then sauntered away.

Parker settled them into the back room and then took Teddy for a long walk. When he wasn't out walking, Teddy was confined to the back room, but so, it appeared, was Parker; or at least, he preferred staying there with Teddy as opposed to spending time with his relatives. Parker, Teddy understood, shared the same profound sadness. They had both lost the one person who made life livable.

The following day there was a lot of activity, and guests began arriving in the late morning. Teddy was brought out to meet them. The pretty, brown dog with a friendly, affectionate temperament was instantly popular with the guests.

In the early afternoon, Parker took Teddy for a walk along the loopy, narrow streets of the subdivision. When they returned, Parker's son Dan was talking to a couple in the foyer while he collected their coats.

"Oh, Dad," Dan said, "let me introduce you to Professor Stevenson and his wife."

"Hello, Jean," Parker said to the redheaded woman.

She turned to her husband and said, "Frank, this is Parker Jones. His wife was in the hospital the same time as you."

Nice to meet you at last," Parker said, holding out his hand.

Frank Stevenson was a very tall, thin man with the too gray pallor of someone recovering from a long illness. It was also evident that he was almost two decades older than his wife, a woman in her late thirties. Stevenson took Parker's hand reluctantly with a resentment Teddy could sense. Perhaps it was Parker's good health, or the warm smile his wife gave to the man who was a good dozen years her husband's junior.

"Oh, is this Teddy?" Jean Stevenson gushed.

Jean squatted down to pet Teddy, and when he responded with a hug for her, she laughed in delight. "Oh, I heard so much about you from Ann. She was a magnificent woman, and I know you must miss her. But now you have a wonderful man for an owner."

Rising to her feet, she said, "I'm so glad you got Teddy. You've made Ann's last wish come true. I know he has a good home with you."

Jean paused and said, "I was so sorry to hear about Lenore."

"It was perhaps for the best. New York was our last hope. Lenore fought to the end, but there comes the point when the fight is worse than the illness. I know that she and Ann are together someplace watching over Teddy and me."

Dan, Parker's son, broke in then. Giving his father's arm a squeeze, he said, "That's it, Dad. Keep positive. And by the way, you and Professor Stevenson should have much to talk about. He was my contracts professor at Albany Law. I told him how you were an arbitrator for the construction industry."

Frank Stevenson gave Parker a nod of his head as he moved toward his wife, putting his arm possessively around her waist. Frank's motion brought him closer to Teddy, who caught the subtle scent and jumped away from the stranger to hide behind Parker.

"What's the matter, boy?" Parker asked, petting Teddy's head.

"All these new faces may be overwhelming him," Jean offered.

"Yeah, we're getting to be a lot of people for one dog," Dan noted as he waved the Stevensons toward the living room. As she walked away, Jean said to Parker, "We must catch up later."

Jean gave Parker a sad little smile over her shoulder as her husband's arm pressed her forward. For his part, Parker was deluged with a host of memories.

____________________________________________

The experimental cancer trial was in New York City at Sloan Kettering. It was a long way to go, but it was their best hope for remission of the cancer that was killing Lenore. They checked in at 5:00 a.m. on the morning of her initial evaluation. They wheeled Lenore away and gave Parker perfunctory directions to where he should go to wait.

Parker wandered around, looking for the waiting room, asking one and another set of volunteers where he should go to wait. They tried to be helpful, but seemed to have little idea. Finally, a nurse going off duty pointed him in the right direction, and he found the waiting room. It was a quiet place with a single TV turned to appropriately monotonous programming. Fortunately, he settled in with a book he had brought.

The waiting area was relatively empty in the early morning hours. It was just Parker, an elderly woman with a young man who might have been her grandson, and an attractive, redheaded woman who was flipping through the outdated waiting room magazines. Time passed. The room grew crowded and then empty again. Only the redhead remained a constant.

It had gone past one in the afternoon when his cell phone rang. A nurse was calling to say they were admitting his wife, and that he might visit her after five that afternoon.

"There's a decent lunch place just a few blocks away," said the redhead now standing beside him.

Her name was Jean Stevenson and her husband, Frank, was in the same cancer treatment trial as Parker's wife.

"He's been fighting the cancer for almost five years now," Jean said over a small green salad at the little luncheonette about two blocks from the hospital.

"It's been two years for us," Parker said, staring at his turkey wrap, not yet able to convince himself to take a bite. "But it seems longer, almost an eternity. Yet there is so little time," Parker mused.

Jean was thirty-seven, married for a dozen years to her former law professor, a man fifteen years her senior. She was childless, and the sole survivor of her own family. It was Frank's second bout of cancer—or third, depending on how you counted them. She volunteered the details of her life; she was a person desperately in need of someone to talk to who could understand.

It was Parker's great gift as an arbitrator that people instinctively felt they could trust him. Parker always showed his natural empathy. However, in this case, he and Jean Stevenson shared a common experience and a similar desperate need.

"You can't say what you feel, and you dare not let your fear show," Parker admitted.

"You must always remain positive," Jean replied.

They smiled at each other, two people trapped in their caregiver roles. That was their first time together. Two individuals there to support their spouses, getting together for mutual support. They were alone because in caring for another, they had become separated from the flow of the living world around them. It was natural that they would be drawn together to share their burdens.

The hospital maintained lists of restaurants and hotels that gave special rates to the families of patients. Jean and Parker fell naturally into sharing late diners after visiting hours had ended. They often stayed at the same hotel.