The Todd Lambert Special Read online

shoulders slumped. She was trying to hide it, especially on Sam’s birthday, and maybe from most she had. Tommie stood, then got behind her chair. “Gonna take Grandma here for a little stroll.”

  Sam nodded, fully aware of the toll the chair exacted. “Well, don’t be too long, or Rae’ll make a fuss.”

  Tommie smiled. “Won’t be more than two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” He wheeled Jenny from that corner, then past kids calling for both of them. Tommie maneuvered through the open front door, then they took the ramp all the way to the grass, which was covered in children’s toys. Tommie smiled, inhaling the heady scent of roses while considering others that had once graced this house with their presence. Tommie swallowed hard, not wishing to think of Jenny amid those who no longer stood on this farm, within that house, next to him. Tommie walked to where he faced Jenny, then on aged, creaky knees he knelt in front of her. Tears pooled along her cheeks, reaching her jaw, where Tommie caught them with his wrinkled hand.

  They didn’t speak, but he knew her thoughts. After so many years, he knew her nearly as well as Sam did. Then Tommie felt a piercing ache in his chest. Only this woman’s death might bring him to get drunk. Rae’s passing wouldn’t, which didn’t make him feel guilty. But Jenny, and all she had suffered before reaching this farm, when she died… Tommie inhaled, then let it out slowly. “How’s it going honey?”

  Her smile was weak, then she snorted, much in the manner Rae did. “You know Tommie, I’m just not sure anymore.”

  The chill started at his spine, traveling all through him. He wasn’t at death’s door, but Tommie would be seventy-seven before Christmas, and here was Jenny, a decade younger, talking about… “Honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Stand up before you fall over,” she smiled. “Then take me over to the roses.”

  Tommie grinned, then chuckled, glad to get back, albeit slowly, on his feet. He stepped behind her, then pushed with some force, reaching grooves that had been worn in the grass. The path led right to the fence, where a winding ribbon of roses in a variety of shades had grown for over thirty years. The aroma was powerful, also healing.

  “Help me up,” Jenny said. “I wanna stand for a minute, about all I can manage.”

  Tommie came to her side, hoisting her shaky frame. Her legs were weak, her hips aching, which he could tell from how she trembled, and from her tears. She took shuffling steps to the biggest plant, drenched in creamy yellow blooms. Then she leaned toward the largest flower. She took a long sniff and smiled. “I told him not to plant any after I’m gone. God, can you imagine how long that would take, and what this place would smell like afterwards?”

  Her voice was light, also honest. And like Sam, Jenny didn’t use her spouse’s name in relaying this unpleasant information. Tommie nodded, then cleared his throat. “Whatever you want honey.”

  She gazed at him, then stroked his cheek. “I told him I didn’t want him to suffer. I can take a lot, but Tommie, he, he’s…”

  That they had discussed this topic made Tommie crave a beer, three or four of them actually, plus another six-pack to boot. Then he smiled. In the old days, that would have just dulled the edge. Now that much alcohol would put him six feet under.

  That’s what she meant; Tommie knew that as sure as standing. And bless Rae’s heart, but this woman here was the best of her gender. Tommie loved Rae, but Jenny meant more.

  When she died, he might just get plastered, he and Sam both, along with a collection of their sons and grandsons, and a few of the women as well. Or maybe they’d get as stoned as this woman sometimes did, alongside Tommie’s wife, just to function. At times Jenny and Rae were higher than kites simply to manage one more day.

  “Honey, that’s a good ways away, I mean…”

  “It’s not as many days as you think.”

  He stared at her, then wiped away the last of her tears. “Yeah?”

  She motioned to the chair, and he helped her to get seated. She sighed. “I told him I didn’t wanna live constantly in bed, out of my head. When it gets to that point, it won’t be me anymore.”

  Tommie’s stomach rolled. He gazed at Jenny, her face still dotted with freckles, just like when he’d met her nearly four decades ago. But time stood still for no one.

  “Hey you two,” Sam called from the front porch. “Rae says it’s about time for cake.”

  Tommie nodded, then forced a smile. Sam’s mood was hard to gauge, but distance played a part, also the grandchildren tugging on Sam’s hands. Sam’s voice was jovial, but as Jenny sniffled, Tommie heard a different message in Sam’s tone.

  “Tell her we’re on our way,” Tommie called.

  Sam nodded, then headed back inside as kids hollered for their uncle and grandmother to hurry.

  Over the next few days, Tommie pondered Jenny’s request, wondering how Sam felt about it. Tommie also wondered if they had actually spoken those sentiments, words that near the roses Jenny hadn’t had time to say. She’d had just enough time to introduce the idea, which hit Tommie like a sledgehammer whenever he went to the Cassels that autumn. That autumn Tommie felt Jenny’s unstated appeal with each aromatic breath taken.

  Walking through his own pastures, Tommie considered Jenny’s passing; it would signal the end of an era, yet, no one lived forever. Still, just thinking about it made Tommie’s flesh crawl. If Jenny was gone…

  He didn’t imagine her falling into a severe decline immediately, but the stark truth remained; she didn’t want to live in a fuzzy twilight, incapacitated in bed. He knew why; it would remind her of that helpless, futile existence that had only been broken when she left home at seventeen. Her father had threatened to divorce her mother, and take Jenny with him. The idea of such carnal brutality had made Jenny flee with little more than the clothes on her back. No matter how much she loved her husband, their children, and grandkids, or even him, her brother separated at birth, Jenny Cassel couldn’t live as a shell of herself again.

  Blinking away tears, Tommie removed his glasses, then took an old handkerchief from his back pocket. He wiped his eyes, then blew his nose, gazing toward his farmhouse. Rae had been baking since lunch, and Tommie smiled, wondering how many loaves of chocolate pound cake now lined the counters, maybe some lemon pound cake too, what he enjoyed, as well as their grandkids and the rest. Tommie sighed, then felt a spark in the center of his chest. There had to be something Eric could do, Eric or… Tommie shook his head, scattered moo’s ringing throughout the field. Rae could bake all the damned pound cake she wanted, but at the end of the day, all it did was alleviate symptoms. What Jenny needed was more than relief measures.

  When Tommie stepped through the back kitchen door, most of the chocolate pound cake was wrapped up, the cookie bars too. A slice of lemon cake was waiting on a plate, the sweet citrus scent leading Tommie to his chair at the kitchen table. Rae didn’t ask about the cows, but she gently tapped her foot. Tommie took a bite, then smiled at her. “Well, you left it here. I’ll eat my dinner too you know.”

  She sat across from him, then cracked her knuckles. “You need to leave this to the expert.”

  “Leave what?”

  “You know what. Why do you think I was baking all day, to feed your face?”

  He took a sip of decaf coffee that had also been waiting for him, then he stared at her. Gray irises were similar in color to Sam’s, but weren’t as wary. Then Rae rolled her eyes. “I was talking to Jenny’s girls today, said they’d been investigating all sorts of MS remedies, and I told them the same thing I’m telling you. Let me sort this out.”

  “What, you gonna bake some super-stoner pound cake that’s gonna make MS disappear?”

  Rae snorted, then pinched off the corner from Tommie’s slice. “Like I said, you just leave this to me.”

  Tommie sat back, then gazed at her. Rae could bake pot into a variety of goodies, but it wasn’t how she employed the weed. Eric had learned plenty from Todd, but cannabis couldn’t heal multiple sclerosis.

  Rae snorted, a
s if she’d been reading Tommie’s mind. “You men, think you’re so goddamned superior. You don’t know anything about making pound cake. Shit, you’re not good for much more than…”

  “Making babies,” Tommie teased.

  Rae’s eyebrows shot up. “Who’s pregnant?”

  “Well, nobody yet. But…” He reiterated the desires of the two youngest Cassel kids, which Rae had forgotten. That made her smile. Then she stared at Tommie’s lemon pound cake. She pinched off another corner, popping it in her mouth, humming as she ate. Then she slowly stood, grabbing her walker, moving to the stove where her recipe box waited.

  Tommie chuckled as she thumbed through to the back, where those special concoctions were noted. Copies were stashed at their daughters’ houses, with Jenny’s girls too, as if chocolate pound cake was a national secret. Tommie knew the ingredients; instant chocolate pudding and chocolate cake mixes, plenty of eggs, hot water, and cannabutter. Chocolate was best for baking, for it concealed the small hint of green that permeated the butter. Rae always made fruitcake at Christmas, which was packed with nuts and dried fruits, but still it looked green. Sometimes she made it on St. Patrick’s Day, just for laughs. Only those with a strong constitution enjoyed a piece, but Tommie had never sampled any of his wife’s illicit efforts.

  Then Tommie stared at what remained of his pound