By: Gerry Young

[To DREW in Yorkshire, England, my LOVE for his continued inspiration, encouragement, ceaseless instructions over my hardheadedness, and his determination to help me make this the best that I think it can be, even though I may not have followed all his suggestions to the letter.]

*****

*****

At the discovery of the prepaid train ticket in the packet he'd pulled from the inside pocket of his jacket, Gerry's jaw dropped, a smile crept across his lips, and tears of joy once again began creeping down his cheeks. His good nurse, Mike, wearing the required short-sleeved white shirt, white pants and white shoes, socks and belt, stepped toward him, put a comforting arm around his shoulder, and asked, "What's that, Gerry? What's wrong?"

Gerry knew that if he tried to answer aloud, he would only be able to sob; he shook his head, trying silently to express that nothing was wrong, and that, for the moment, everything was right! Through the tears, he was beaming, and he was silently laughing with surprise and wonderment. He handed the packet to Mike.

Opening it, Mike saw what had given his patient so much joy. "Somebody up there must really like you, Ger;" he pointed toward the heavens, even though they were still inside Gerry's room in St. Christopher's Hospital, Rockland, Maine.

As it was generally known among the hospital staff, that six days earlier, Gerry had been discovered on a gurney outside the Emergency Ward, naked but under a hospital sheet, unconscious, a victim of physically traumatic and bloody sexual abuse, Mike also knew that someone or some-thing had provided for all of Gerry's medical needs and physical comfort since that fateful night.

"And I'm pretty sure I know who it is," Gerry managed to say as he began to accept the good fortune coming his way. Looking up, he mouthed the words, Thank you.

"I'm ready to go, now," he again told Nurse Mike, one of the few licensed male nurses in 1949. Gerry's external surgical stitches had been removed, and the internal catgut would dissolve and be evacuated naturally. No longer did he need to continue to occupy his hospital bed. All of his release papers had been signed by one or another of the hospital staff.

But he was a stranger in a strange land. Except for Michael, he knew no one else in the lobster capital of the country. That's where I'll go, he thought -- to see Michael.

"Here, Gerry … you'd better keep this with you until you don't have any more pain," Mike suggested, handing Gerry a cushion which had been handmade by hospital volunteers. "It'll make sitting a little more comfortable … since your surgery." He then retrieved a wheelchair from the hallway.

"When do you leave for Frisco?" Mike asked, as Gerry placed the cushion on the seat and very carefully settled into the wheelchair.

Gerry let his eyes run over the train ticket, searching for a departure date. "I don't see a date or time on it. I guess it's open-ended; I'll have to check with the stationmaster."

As Mike pushed the wheelchair down the hall and toward the main entrance, he asked, "Do you have a place to stay … if …" he stammered; "… if you don't leave today?"

During his recuperation, Gerry had grown quite fond of Mike, and with their occasionally playful tête-à-tête during the past couple of days, it came as no surprise to Gerry that Mike might be hinting at the idea that he was going to offer him a place to stay.

"No," Gerry replied, just above a whisper, shaking his head while staring at his hands resting in his lap, fingers interlocked with the tips of his thumbs nervously flicking each other.

Nurses in their starched caps, white uniform dresses, and white hose and shoes; and other staff personnel, all wearing white, were saying their 'goodbyes' and wishing Gerry 'good luck' as the wheelchair continued down the hallway.

Nearly everyone had heard of his mysterious happenstance. Glances of wordless pity, compassionate pats on his shoulder, and a 'thumbs-up' from one young doctor greeted him as they neared the main entry.

Not even trying to keep his voice down, one disheveled orderly (or was he a nurse's aid?) pointed toward Gerry and Mike, and was overheard telling a fat, bald, tattoo-covered … man, "Lookit them two dandies! Th'one in the chair prolly got what wuz cummin' to'im!"

Quick as a flash, Mike brought the wheelchair to a halt, stepped toward the two men and yelled, "Listen, scum-bag…"

But Gerry cut him off by reaching out and grabbing his arm. "Let it go! Just … just let it go."

"But he was sa…" Mike jerked his head back toward Gerry.

"Never mind! Never mind! Just get me outta here … please!" He looked toward the glass doors.

With an angry glare toward his obscene co-worker, Mike conceded and continued pushing Gerry's chair until they were outside on the colonnaded veranda.

Everything was white -- the columns, the building itself, and even the wicker chairs, tables and lounges. A picture of peace and serenity, it was -- the hospital, immaculate, with its beautifully manicured grounds, dotted here and there with flower beds filled with all sorts of gaily colored summer annuals; and off to one side -- an enormous formal rose garden. At its center, a larger-than-life white marble replica of the famous statue of St. Francis of Assisi with out-stretched hand, feeding the birds.

The hospital was located on a gently sloping hillside overlooking the harbor some few blocks away. Off in the distance could be seen the tiny white sails of leisure craft against the dark blue of the water, and a few fluffy white clouds in the cerulean sky. With the mixture of the scent of the salt air and the aromas of the flowers, it was intoxicating to Gerry.

A fleeting moment, and he almost persuaded himself to stay in Rockland and apply to St. Christopher's for the job he had had in New Orleans -- that of Surgical Technician. Then, from out of nowhere, he once again heard Michael's crystal-clear voice saying, "GO, darling boy! Your Destiny awaits you…" but with a twist -- "… it's all uphill from here." In his mind's eye, he could see Michael's loving smile … and an unexpected wink!

Immediately, he knew that all was right in his world.

Locking the wheels of the chair, Mike helped Gerry to stand, and handed him the cushion. "I'm sorry about what happened in there, Ger. I'm gonna report him to Personnel when I go back inside."

"Don't worry about it."

"Listen … as I was saying before … if you don't leave today," he put an arm around Gerry's shoulders and drew their upper torsos together, both facing the gardens; "I have a room you can share until you decide whatcha wanna do. It's at the…" Gerry turned his head and looked into his eyes as he cut him off.

"Thanks, Mike, but right now, all I wanna do is get to the train depot and check with the stationmaster. Once I find out when I can leave, I may take you up on your offer."

"That would be great, buddy." Mike squeezed Gerry's shoulder and then removed his embrace.

"By the way … just how far IS the depot from here?"

"About a mile, in that direction," Mike answered, pointing to their right. "But you're probably still too weak to walk that far … just getting out of bed, and all that; ya know? Maybe you could hitch a ride."

It was 1949, only a few years after the war, and people everywhere were still 'neighborly,' courteous, kind, and willing to lend a helping hand, even to total strangers. Hitchhiking was a common practice during and long after the war, and no one felt that it was dangerous in any way. It was a kinder, gentler world then. Well … for the most part, anyway! Recent occurrences being the exception!

"Yeah, maybe that would be better than trying to walk that far."

They looked into each other's eyes. Gerry had an urge to hug Mike; but not in public, he thought. He seemed to get the impression that Mike wanted the same thing, but … even if he feels that way, I've got to go with Michael's … he struggled to find the right word; … ADVICE. Yeah! I'm supposed to go to Frisco.

They said their goodbyes, than shook hands with a somewhat prolonged firm squeeze.

"Thanks for everything, Mike. Maybe I'll be in touch later today."

"Please do, Gerry." They broke their handshake, and with a nod toward the end of the driveway, Mike continued, "Maybe you can hitch a ride down there."

"We'll be in touch, my friend," Gerry said, tucking the flowery-patterned cushion under his arm as he headed down the easy slope of the hill.

Soon, a '42 moss-green Mercury coupe came along. Gerry was holding out his right thumb, and the driver slowed and stopped next to him. "Need a ride, young man?" the white-haired, grandmotherly-type matron at the wheel asked. Her appearance reminded Gerry of his own grandmother, down in Virginia. He was shocked, taken aback. "Are you alright, son?" she asked with deep concern; "You look like you've just seen a ghost!"

"Yes, Ma'am … errr … no, Ma'am … I mean … Ma'am … you look like you could be my grandmother's twin sister. I haven't seen her in about three months, and, well … seeing you … it's kind of a shock! I really miss her." More than likely, she could see the loving emotion in his face.

"Oh, dear boy, that's so kind of you to say that. Do you need a lift somewhere? You were holding out your thumb, weren't you?"

"Oh, yes, Ma'am; that would be awful nice of you. I'm trying to get to the train depot, if it wouldn't take you out of your way."

"Why, I'm going right past there. It won't take me out of my way at all. Come on; get in, and I'll have you there in a jiffy."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Gerry said, opening the door, dropping his cushion on the seat, and gingerly sitting down. He closed the door.

"Ahhh, I see you're coming from St. Christopher's," she said politely, without voicing any further 'un-lady-like' comment. What she may have been thinking or questioning, would never cross her refined lips. Such respectable behavior was still the common practice among genteel persons of that decade.

"Yes, Ma'am. Allow me to introduce myself -- I'm Gerry Young."

"And I'm Mrs. Kirkpatrick. It's nice to meet such a polite young man as you, honey."

Gerry jerked his head around and looked at her, tears starting to form in his eyes. "That's exactly what Gran'mama always calls me, Ma'am."

They exchanged social niceties for a bit, and soon, she was driving up to the entrance of the train station.

"Well, here you are, hon…" she stopped herself mid-word, and changed it to "… Gerry."

"That's all right, Mrs. Kirkpatrick; I rather like having you call me that."

In parting company, they reached out to each other to shake hands, and in a split second, being the gentleman-at-heart that he was, Gerry gently lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. As he did, he could smell the powder she must have used earlier in the morning, and her skin, though no longer youthful and smooth, felt as soft as his grandmother's cheeks.

Perhaps he held the kiss a moment too long, but she didn't seem to mind, and when he moved the back of her hand to rest a moment on his own cheek, her maternal woman's intuition must have kicked in, for she said, "Gerry … honey … you've got to call her as soon as you can. She misses you just as much as you miss her."

"Yes, Ma'am," he managed with choked voice, as he turned his head so that she couldn't see his tears. He opened the door, carefully left the car, reached behind himself to gather the cushion, and closed the door. He sniffled the mucus from his nose and wiped a tear from his eye; then he leaned into the open window and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Kirkpatrick; thank you so very much for the ride. You're really a life-saver -- I don't think I could've walked this far. And I've really enjoyed our little chat."

"And I enjoyed it as well." Then, waggling her dainty finger at him, she added, "Now, you take care of yourself, dear, and have a safe trip to … uhhh …San Francisco, did I hear you say?"

"Yes, Ma'am; San Francisco. Like the old saying … 'Go west, young man; go west.' That's w'ere I'ma headin' fer, Ma'am!" he answered, sort of slipping into a good ol' cowboy-kind of accent." They both chuckled and smiled at each other.

"Oh, honey," she said; "you've got such a sweet smile. Don't ever lose it."

"I'll try not to."

"Bye, bye, dear; and God speed to you."

"And God bless you, Mrs. Kirkpatrick; may God bless you, always."

They waved to each other as she drove out of the parking area, turned right, and headed up the hill.

Straightaway, Gerry went into the depot and to the stationmaster's office. He learned that the mysterious ticket was good for any train schedule during the next three months, that it would berth him in a 'sleeper' car of one of the modern Streamliners, and that all meals and portage gratuities were included in the ticket.

"Very odd," remarked the stationmaster; "I know we can write up tickets like this, but in all my years, I've never even seen one. Gerry only smiled.

Then he learned that the next Streamliner would leave the station at 5:45 p.m. and that it was now 11:30 a.m. I've got six hours and fifteen minutes before we leave, he thought, … time enough to go up to Michael's and get my suitcase.

Gerry thought it strange that Michael hadn't come to see him while he was in the hospital, but then reasoned that perhaps his gentle giant of a friend had been called out of town to 'help' someone else.

For the few hours he'd known Michael, Gerry's thoughts of him had grown to be endearing, affectionate even, as those of a son for the loving father he never had, but for whom he had yearned throughout all his young life. And as Michael had foretold, Gerry had no memory at all of his brutal experience aboard The Jolly Roger, nor, for that matter, any of the details revealed to him when Michael's 'spirit?' helped him move away from the pain. All he knew about the explosion of the boat in Pirate's Cove was the little bit of information that Nurse Mike had shared with him, and also from what had been written in the local newspaper.

But in his own way, he did love his big friend. And that love caressed his soul and gave him renewed strength to carry on and, with joy in his heart, to face whatever might lay ahead.

He confirmed his booking on the afternoon train and was told that with stops, layovers, and transfers to two other Streamliners, the trip to San Francisco would take a little over five days, and that he'd be arriving in 'The City' around midnight.

In a way, Gerry was happy to be leaving Rockland. But if I hadn't come up here, I never would've met Michael, he realized with a warmth pervading his entire body.

Being that it was close to lunchtime, and before leaving the depot, Gerry decided to have a bite of lunch in Jake's Café and perhaps chat with Marilynn for a while. He remembered the little scene staged by Marilynn and her husband, Jake, while Michael and he had an early morning cup of coffee. He chuckled to himself, and then thought, … when was it? Just a week ago!

As he approached the café, he noticed that something seemed strange -- there was no sign with the words 'Jake's Café' above the doorway, and the two little mossy green café- or bar-style swinging doors were not there, either; in fact, there were no doors at all; only the open doorway.

He stepped inside, suddenly stopped, looked around (not recognizing anything), and stepped back outside into the large sitting area. His eyes scanned the enclosed terminal building, looking for the 'Jake's Café' sign over a pair of swinging doors; but neither were anywhere in sight.

Once more, he entered through the doorway, and with an eerie uncomfortableness, walked through the few un-matched tables to a small breakfast counter. Nothing seemed familiar, but he was sure that this location was the same as before. He plopped his cushion on a rickety barstool and eased himself onto the seat.

Jake's was so neat. And the counter, here, was at least twice this size, he wondered.

"Need a menu, sweetie?" asked the rather plump, blond waitress with a huge 'beehive' hairdo and a stained apron.

"No, thanks," Gerry answered; "just a B-L-T on toasted wheat bread, and a glass of milk, please."

"All we have is white bread, and the toaster-oven don't work," she remarked, while picking something from between her front teeth, using her fingernail.

"Okay. B-L-T on plain white, with a glass of milk, please."

"Comin' right up." She turned to go and place the order.

"Oh, Miss?" Gerry called.

"Yes!" She said, a little perturbed, turning back.

He was taken aback by her change of attitude, but continued with … "What happened to Jake's Café?"

"Jake's Café?"

He nodded.

"Never heard of it." She began to turn again, but he said …

"Never heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"But I was in here just a week ago, and it was Jake's…"

With hands on her broad hips, she interrupted. "This coffee shop's been here since the middle of the First World War, and it's never been 'Jake's Café'. Ya must've been drunk, last week … or in love." She showed a snaggletoothed grin, and then puckered her lips and blew a kiss toward him. "Now, sweetie … anything else? It's lunch time and I've got other customers to take care of."

"Does a lady by the name of 'Marilynn' work here?"

"Never heard of her, neither!" Her look at him was as if he might have recently come from the mental ward.

He shook his head, bewildered at his own confusion. She turned back to her duties.

What's happening? he silently asked himself. I know I've been here before, but … it's not the same place … and she's never heard of Jake's! Something's strange!

Those questions were never answered to his satisfaction.

His lunch came and he ate what he could of it -- the bacon had barely been warmed, it seemed; he hated bacon that wasn't crispy, through and through; and the milk was as warm as if it had just come from the cow's teats. He paid his bill but left no gratuity, and left.

For the second time in seven days, Gerry walked through the depot and across the railway property, and soon, he was once again on the public sidewalk, headed up the hill to the Widow's Walk Boarding House. Several times he had to stop and rest -- the muscles in his legs had weakened from lack of exercise during his stay in the hospital; it was very tiring.

But about an hour after leaving the train station, he rounded the curve to the left and saw the three-storied, Victorian-style, sea-foam-green house trimmed in yellow, with the 'widow's walk' at the very top. Oh, God … please let Michael be at home … please. I've got to see him before I leave.

Approaching the house, he climbed the few steps up to the front porch / veranda, and after resting a moment and catching his breath, he knocked on the door.

"Just a moment, please," he heard a lady's voice call.

Soon, the door opened, and a petite, white-haired lady said, "Yes?"

They looked at each other, Gerry's mouth dropped open, and the lady exclaimed in shock, "Gerry!"

"Mrs. Kirkpatrick!"

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I didn't know you lived here," he said at the same time.

"Can I help you with something?"

"I stopped by, hoping to see my friend, Michael. And I wanted to pick up…" He abruptly stopped what he was saying, seeing an expression of bewilderment on her face.

A moment of stunned silence, and then Mrs. Kirkpatrick continued, " Oh! … You must mean, Mike, one of my tenants."

"One of your tenants?" Gerry asked, then suddenly recalled Michael's voice in his head, … our land-lady, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. "Then … you're the landlady?" he asked.

"Yes, my dear. This is The Widow's Walk Boarding House, and I, its owner. Oh, my goodness, please forgive my ill-manners. Please … come in, come in." She opened the screen door for him.

As he entered, she said, "You look exhausted. Would you care for a cup of tea -- it's no bother, really."

"No, thank you, Ma'am; but a glass of water would be nice," he added as an afterthought.

"Certainly, my dear. Here … you take a seat in the parlor, and I'll be right back."

As she left the hallway, Gerry went into the parlor to the left, wandered around, looking at all the beautiful, old-world furnishings and framed pictures, when suddenly, there before him, hanging on the wall above an ornate, low-backed secretary, he gazed upon a portrait of a young couple -- the lovely, petite lady standing to the side and slightly behind a winged-chair upon which a rugged, blond man was seated. Even in the sitting position, Gerry could tell that he was a giant of a man.

My gentle giant, Gerry thought, recognizing something about the man. He leaned closer toward the painting and studied the man's face, then the woman's, and back to the man's. Yes! Michael … and Mrs. 'K', he realized, just as she returned with a small Chinese tray on which were two cut crystal glasses of water.

"Here we are," she said, entering the parlor. "Ah, I see you found the painting of my husband and me. We were both much, much younger then. That painting was commissioned forty-seven years ago."

Forty-seven years ago, Gerry reckoned, and the painting was probably done when they were in their early twenties. That would make them somewhere around … sixty-seven!

He smiled. "Is his name, Michael?" he asked, pointing to the man in the painting." At this point, Gerry was grinning.

"Well, yes," she answered with hesitation between the words; "his name was Michael, but then," a slight smile and a far-away look graced her countenance, "I suppose his name is still, Michael." She nodded her head and then looked directly into Gerry's eyes. "He passed away four years ago."

Gerry went ashen. His jaw dropped. His eyes became as big as saucers. A frown crossed his brow.

"Are you ill, my dear? What's wrong, Gerry? Here … have a seat in this chair," she motioned toward the winged chair as she placed the tray and glasses on top of the secretary. He sat, and she placed a glass of water into his hands. "Drink this quickly; you look as if you're about to pass out."

He took a sip of the water. "What do you mean, 'he passed away four years ago'? I only met…"

Something stopped him from finishing his spoken thought. Then he said, "That's … that's who I was coming to see. And I wanted…"

Mrs. Kirkpatrick cut him off. "Oh, I thought it was Mike, the Nurse at St. Christopher's, who you were coming to see. He doesn't get off duty till 3:00, and should be here by a quarter to four. Did you meet him while you were there?"

'Yes, Ma'am, I met him. Do you mean that he lives here?"

"Why, yes, Gerry, dear. But … but … you weren't coming here to see him? I don't understand."

"No, Ma'am. I was coming to see … your husband, I guess … Michael."

Mrs. 'K' retrieved her glass of water from the secretary and then sat on the settee across from Gerry. "Where did you meet him? Didn't you know that he had passed? How long did you know him?" Her questions were flying one after the other, not allowing Gerry time to answer. Then she took a sip of water and looked into Gerry's eyes.

"I met him just a week ago on the train when I was first coming…"

"Oh, my dear! Oh, my word!" Her hand covered her mouth as if she were restraining a cry, or tears, or something. She took another sip from the glass. "You saw him?"

Gerry set his glass on the lamp-table next to the winged-chair in which he was sitting, got up, crossed to in front of Mrs. 'K', and knelt to his knees. He took her glass from her hand, and placed it on the little table next to the settee. He couldn't hold back what he so desperately wanted to tell her.

He tenderly took her hands into his own, and, looking into her eyes, said, "Mrs. 'K' … oh, I'm sorry. May I call you , 'Mrs. 'K'?"

She nodded. "Of course, my dear."

"Thank you. Mrs. 'K', not only did I see Michael a week ago, but after arriving in Rockland, we had a little breakfast at Jake's Café … or the coffee shop … or … whatever! … that's a whole 'nother story … strange! … but I don't want to get into that right now."

She looked at him with a questioning frown. "Jake's Café, did you say?"

He nodded.

A guarded curve crossed her face as one arm crossed her bosom, and the fingers of her other hand covered her lips. She looked upward, and with a radiant smile, said lovingly, "That's where we met, all those years ago.

"Ma'am?"

"Jake's Café was on what is now a vacant lot next to the train station." Then she asked, "Was there a waitress there …"

"Yes!" Gerry answered before she could finish her question; "Marilynn. Why?"

"Marilynn was my sister." She started to cry, but being the 'proper' lady that she was, Mrs. 'K' held back her tears and continued, "Yes, Marilynn was my sister, and Jake, her husband. There was an explosion in the kitchen …" she paused again, then regaining control of her emotions, said, "and the café went up in flames … and they both were killed."

Then Mrs. 'K' completely broke down and cried her heart out. Gerry got up off his knees and sat beside her on the settee, and put his arm around her shoulders, consoling her.

Several minutes later, she straightened up, took a deep breath, looked at Gerry once again, and said, "I'm so sorry, Gerry, dear; please forgive me."

"Oh, Mrs. 'K', I'm the one who's sorry for causing your pain."

"No, no; that's all right, honey. I'm okay, now. Please continue what you were telling me about your being with Michael.

"But anyway," he continued, "we had a little breakfast in the train station, then …" He paused, thinking … something happened there, but he couldn't remember, and then after a moment, went on, "then, we walked up here … went down this hall …" he pointed to the entry hall, and down toward the back of the house, and indicated where Michael's room was, "… and into his room."

"Into his room?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am, and while he was taking a bath … at his request, of course … I threw his dirty, stinky, old clothes into the refuse bin … uhhh … trash can! That's what he called it -- 'refuse bin', and I …"

"Oh, my word!" she said, as she started laughing, and rubbing her hands together, back and forth, sort of in a moving, prayerful position. "He always called it a 'refuse bin' -- part of his English heritage, I suppose. I wondered where those filthy old clothes came from."

Gerry joined in the laughter, but soon, Mrs. 'K' became serious again.

"If only I had known that they were his, I would have washed them and kept them … but they're gone now. Just like him." She looked toward her folded hands, now resting in her lap, and then back at Gerry. "So, what happened after that?"

"Well, as best as I can remember …" Here, his memory was beginning to become fuzzy, and the more he said, the fuzzier it became. And then he said, "I had to go … somewhere … but right now I can't remember where. We said 'goodbye' to each other … yes! … in the back yard … or in the driveway at the side of the house …" he pointed in that direction, "… and that's … that's all I remember," he said, scratching his furrowed brow; "it's not clear at all after that."

"That's all right, honey. Now … I want to tell you something."

"Excuse me, Mrs. 'K', I just remembered something else, and it's one of the reasons I'm here now."

"Yes, dear?" she asked with interest.

"My suitcase. I didn't even remember it until this morning after leaving the hospital; and thinking about taking the train to San Francisco, I knew I had to come up here and get it."

"Your suitcase is here?" came her startled question.

"Yes, Ma'am. I remembered that I left it on Michael's bed."

She was shocked! She gasped! "That's impossible; no one's been in that room since after his funeral four years ago … no one but me, that is. I keep it just the way he left it. It's not locked, but all my tenants know not to go in there."

Gerry didn't want to hurt her feelings by insisting that she let him get his suitcase, and so, he asked as politely as he knew how, "Mrs. 'K', may I see his room? Would you go in there with me?"

"Well … I've never let anyone else in there … but … for some reason, I want to believe you, Gerry." After a moment, she said, "All right. Come on. Let's go back there. Something's pushing me to let you in Michael's room … maybe it's Michael, himself; who knows?" She smiled.

She took Gerry's hand. They rose, walked out of the parlor, turned left, and went down the long hallway. Standing at the door to Michael's room, they dropped hands. She took a deep breath, he put an arm around her petite shoulders once again, and she turned the knob, and opened the door.

The afternoon sun shown through the white lacy curtains, and a ray of sunlight struck a small suitcase on Michael's bed.

Gerry started to say something, but on noticing Mrs. Kirkpatrick's reaction, decided not to. She was crying, her hands completely covering her face, her body shaking from her silent sobbing.

He led her to the straight-back wooden chair, next to the bathroom door. She sat. Then he went into the little room, ran the water in the sink until it was cold, dampened a wash cloth, and returned to her with it. She thanked him, and patted her face with the cloth.

As he knelt beside her again, she looked at him and said, "So, you did see him and talked with him, and everything you told me is true."

"Yes, Ma'am … everything. And this is the chair where Michael sat when he took off his dirty shoes and stinky socks."

"I can see him doing just that," she said, chuckling. Then she said, "I started to tell you something when we were in the parlor, and now I will."

Gerry nodded.

"I've seen him, too, Gerry. But only once in the four years since he died, and then only for a few minutes. It was so wonderful to see him again; so wonderful. But you -- you were with him for several hours. Oh, how I envy you that."

"You'll see him again, Mrs. 'K'.

"I'm home," came a sing-song voice from the front of the house as they heard the front door close.

"We're back here, honey," Mrs. Kirkpatrick called out. "You're right on time," she called again, looking at the antique clock on Michael's dresser. She stood up from the chair, Gerry took the damp wash cloth from her, and disappeared into the bathroom to hang it up.

A moment later, Nurse Mike was at the rarely opened door to Michael's room. "Oh, hi, Gran'ma. Whatcha doing back here? And who's the 'we' you were talking about?" He entered the forbidden room and hugged her.

At that moment, Gerry exited the bathroom. " 'Gran'ma'? Did I hear that right?"

"Gerry!" Mike exclaimed, surprised at seeing his friend and patient; "what are you doing here?"

Gerry's head was bouncing back and forth, looking from one to the other. "I just came up to get something, but what's this?" he asked, his right index finger waggling from the little lady to the young man in white. "Gran'ma?" he asked again, looking at her but pointing to him.

"Yes, Gerry. This is my grandson, Mike, whom I'm very, very proud of. And Gerry," she said, "he's named after his grandfather, and my dearly departed husband, Michael."

"I can't believe it."

With open arms, Mike stepped toward Gerry and gave him a bear-hug.

"Uhhh … uhhh … uhhh," Gerry muttered, flushing bright red with embarrassment. He looked toward Mrs. Kirkpatrick.

"It's all right, Gerry," she assured him; "Mike's never hesitated to show his affection for his man-friends."

Mike broke away from him but kept an arm around Gerry's shoulders, and said, "Awww, Gran'ma."

"Don't 'Gran'ma me'," she said, dropping her head and looking sternly over the tops of her 'granny' glasses; "you know it's true." She looked back at Gerry and added, "He's very much like his gran'pa that way. Oh, I never really minded, just so long as he came home to me."

Gerry's eyes grew large with astonishment at hearing those words; his eyes darting between them.

"And another thing, honey," she said to Gerry, "he takes after my dear Michael in more ways than that. Did he tell you that his gran'pa encouraged him to go into nursing, even though it's almost unheard of for men?"

Gerry shook his head.

"And next month, Mike will be following in his gran'pa's footsteps again, when he enters the university to begin studying to become a surgeon.

Gerry looked stunned, and looked at Mike.

"That's right," she said, "following in his gran'pa's footsteps. I don't suppose you knew that Michael was a surgeon at St. Christopher's?"

Gerry slowly shook his head.

"Well … he was!" She beamed with pride as she stepped toward the two men with arms across their shoulders. She put one hand on Gerry's shoulder, and with the other, lovingly patted Mike's cheek. Then, looking into Gerry's eyes, she said, "Yes, my two men have always had hearts of gold. They both have always wanted to help others, more than anything else in life, and I am so proud of my Mike, here."

She stood on her tiptoes and pulled Mike's head down so that she could kiss him on his cheek. "And I'm not going to forget about you, either, Gerry." She pulled his head down and placed a kiss on his cheek, too."

"Oh, Mrs. 'K', you don't know how much that means to me. Thank you." Releasing his arm from around Mike's shoulder, he leaned down, wrapped his arms around the little lady's waist and squeezed her as tightly as he dared. Finally, he released her and stood back, grinning.

"Oh, my goodness," Mrs. Kirkpatrick exclaimed, fanning her face with both hands; "you've gotten me all flustered, young man …" She wriggled her eyebrows. "… but I enjoyed it; it's been so long. Whew!" She chuckled to herself and wiggled her hips.

"Grand-mother!" Mike scolded.

"Mind your own business, boy" she teased and chided. "Now, then … I'm going to go start fixing supper for my other men. You boys spend some time together, and when you leave this room …" she looked around, then rested her sight on the bed for a tender moment, and, taking a deep breath and a dainty sigh, added, "it still smells like him in here."

"Oh, God, I hope not!" Gerry blurted out without thinking. He froze!

Both, Mrs. Kirkpatrick's and Mike's heads jerked in Gerry's direction. Gerry's eyes caught Mike's stare, then turned as Mrs. 'K' began laughing; she obviously had remembered the dirty stinky clothes in the refuse bin. Gerry then began laughing and they winked at each other.

"What the hell's going on here … oops! Excuse me, Gran'ma." He scrunched his shoulders and looked apologetic. More hilarious laughter followed from the other two.

"Never mind … this time!" she said with a girlish giggle. "Just remember to close the door when you leave. And don't forget your suitcase, Gerry. OH! Can you stay for supper? We'd love it if you could."

"And I'd love to stay, too, Mrs. 'K', but my train leaves at 5:45, and that's … uhhh …" he looked at the clock; "that's only an hour and a half from now, and I want to be down there a little bit early."

"I understand," she replied. "Just don't leave without saying 'goodbye', you hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am; I promise."

She turned and left to assume her land-lady duties.

"Well, I don't understand," Mike said, standing with feet apart and his fists on his hips, "but I wanna get outta these 'whites' and into something more comfortable. Get your … suitcase? … you didn't have it at the hospital; how'd it get here, anyway? … and let's go next door to my room while I change … and you start at the beginning and tell me everything that's going on … and …"

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa, Mike. One thing at a time," Gerry said, retrieving his suitcase from the bed. "I'll tell you as much as I can remember."

They left the room and closed the door. "What did your gran'ma mean by 'other' men?"

"We have three tenants who live here with us. Now spill. Tell me everything."

Gerry began his tale as he sat on the edge of Mike's bed. And Mike began stripping out of his hospital 'whites', stopping occasionally to grasp what Gerry was sharing.

Once he removed his white pants, Gerry couldn't help but admire the nice little bulge in Mike's white briefs.

"Ya like?" Mike asked, taking a 'muscle-man' pose.

"Very much," Gerry answered softly.

"Won'tcha reconsider, and postpone leaving until later?"

"I'd like to … I really would, but …"

"But … what?"

"I think that Michael … your gran'pa … has other things planned for me."

"Huh?" Mike looked puzzled.

As Gerry explained, Mike slipped into a tight pair of Levi's and a snug-fitting pullover, showing off his toned swimmer's body.

Time slipped by.

Eventually, Gerry said, "It's five o'clock; I've got to get going so I can get down to the depot."

"I'll getcha there in plenty o' time, Ger; don't worry about it."

Gerry smiled at him, but felt pangs of confusion gnawing at his insides, wanting to stay but feeling that he needed to go. Once again, he heard the familiar voice in his head, saying, Go west, young man; go west. Your Destiny awaits you. He smiled and knew what he had to do. "Yes," he said to Mike, "I've got to go."

Gerry picked up his suitcase and they headed toward the kitchen where Mrs. Kirkpatrick was busily preparing supper.

"I've gotta go, Mrs. 'K'; my train leaves in forty-five minutes."

"Gerry, honey … how would you like to have another 'gran'ma'?"

"Huh? Ma'am?"

"Everybody around here calls me Mrs. 'K', but I sure would like for you to call me Gran'ma." She held her flour-covered hands out to the side, opening herself to a hug, and Gerry did just that! Once more, he wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her on the cheek. Whether it was the softness of her cheek, or her powder or perfume, or a combination of things, tears began to well-up in his eyes.

As he stood back, he said, "Thanks, Gran'ma. Thanks so much for everything." He kissed her again.

She had prepared a bagged-supper for him to take on the train. They said their good-byes, and Gerry and Mike went to get in his car for the drive down the hill. Leaning against the back of the car, Gerry wanted to take in the view one last time. The quaint old houses around him. The deep blue harbor with its tiny sail-boats, off in the distance. The fleecy, fluffy white clouds slowly changing their shapes, against the azure sky.

"Mike!" Gerry suddenly called out. "Look there," he pointed toward some clouds. "Do you see it?"

"What?"

"Michael's face … your gran'pa's face … he's smiling!"

Mike looked puzzled and had a frown on his brow. He cupped his hands on either side of his face, and tilted his head to the right, then to the left. Gerry could sense that he was trying to see his gran'pa's face from different angles. "I can't see it, Ger; I just can't see it."

The clouds slowly continued to change their clustering. Soon, Gerry's fleeting vision had disappeared. "It's gone now; I'm sorry you didn't get to see it."

They got in the car.

<><><>

As they pulled out of the driveway, Mrs. Kirkpatrick left the kitchen and went into the parlor to retrieve the tray and glasses. On entering, she suddenly became aware of a shimmering golden light taking form on and around the winged-back chair. She wasn't scared; she'd seen it happen once before. She sat on the settee and waited, and soon, Michael had taken solid form, right in front of her very eyes.

"He needed that, you know; he needed the hugs, the kisses, your asking him to call you 'Gran'ma'; he needed your tenderness and your love, Sweetheart."

"Oh, Michael … I miss you so much," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She rose and rushed over to Michael; he rose; and they embraced each other and kissed.

She glanced at the winged-back chair where Gerry and Michael had been sitting, and noticed Gerry's floral cushion. She broke away from Michael and quickly picked it up and started to run toward the door.

"He won't need it anymore, Darlin'. My chair's a good spot for it."

She stopped, turned and looked at him, then replaced the cushion, and then they retired to 'his' vacated room.

<><><>

"All aboard."

Gerry and Mike were standing on the boarding platform, next to the Streamliner's car in which was Gerry's assigned room. They had been talking about what might have been, what was, and what might yet be.

On hearing the conductor's call, they faced each other, and after a silent moment they embraced each other as … more … than brothers. They had bonded. Some onlookers made a few cruel remarks; others, snide; and still others, giggles. But they didn't care. Through Michael, they had something deeper than anyone could imagine, and a sort of Love was budding. Their bodies parted, but their hands still gripped the other's shoulders.

Would it last? Only time would tell.

"Write to me … will you?" Mike asked.

"I will; I promise," came the sincere reply. "And after I get settled in, come visit."

"I'd like that.

"All aboard," came the final call.

They kissed each other, right out in front of God and everybody -- not a sexual kiss, but one as commanded by St. Paul in Second Corinthians, Chapter 13, Verse 12: 'Greet one another with a holy kiss.' [KJV of The Holy Bible]

Gerry boarded the Streamliner and began his trip to gay fun-lovin' ol' San Francisco. The two men waved to each other as the train pulled out, and continued waving until they could no longer see each other. He lowered his hand and just stood there, watching the train get smaller and smaller, as it slowly disappeared into the setting sun.

<><><>

An older, giant of a man, with tousled dirty-blond hair had come onto the boarding platform as the train was leaving. Standing next to Mike, he gently, lovingly placed his arm around Mike's shoulders.

Mike jerked his tear-stained face toward the older man, and looked up into his eyes, recognizing him immediately.

"Gran'pa!" he yelled.

"Someday … someday! … you will see him again."

(End of Chapter Four)

(End of Part Two)

*****