The next run is here....read it and weep...tell all your friends....lol
I hope this doesn't give away the ending....lol...the ending is a long way from here. Read, enjoy, comment....what do you like and what can be better.
Thanks everyone.
Not wanting to bother Bob anymore, she decided to walk back to the hotel from the house. It was a walk that would take her across the whole of the campus and three blocks up Main Street. The trek would take her about 20 minutes. Nesbitt isn’t all that big. It would give her a chance to relax, she thought. She began her walk, sliding the key that Bob had given her into her pocket. Absentmindedly she made her way across the street to the sidewalk in front of the Administration Building. She looked at all the buildings that she knew so well in her childhood and now was barely noticing them. She walked along the street, passing students as they walked holding hands and chatting, wishing that she has someone that would hold her hand. At this point in her life, that was not an option, she was simply too busy.
The campus green was full of students tossing frisbee’s, walking dogs, playing football under the trees, sitting quietly reading. This was where everything was when the weather was good. She walked past the convocation center, where a few short hours ago, the whole school turned out to say their farewells to her father. It seemed empty now, quiet and stark. She was glad that Nesbitt had given him such a memorial service. He deserved it after 22 years teaching her best and brightest students. Harry’s classes were not for math wimps. There was an unwritten rule here. Non-math majors didn’t take Dr. Barton’s classes. The math majors had a hard time with the concepts taught in there. Harry could teach them anything, but the groundwork had to be solid in higher math before anyone had a chance to keep up with Harry.
All the way across campus Jillian walked and remembered. The times that Harry had brought her to the green and to the various buildings across campus as she was growing up were suddenly fresh in her mind, one after the other as she strolled. There wasn’t anyplace that he had to be that was so important that she had to be left behind. She went to meetings with him sometimes, even to his classes when she was home from her own school for some reason that didn’t include illness. When she had to stay behind, she stayed right over there, in that old brick house with the iron fence around it. Mrs. Garrity’s house. She was the sweetest lady. Jillian swore that she always had cookies in the oven, because every time Jillian walked in, there were warm cookies and cold milk waiting for her. It never failed, and there was always another pan of cookies in the oven, too. Mrs. Garrity passed away about 5 years ago and the house has been rented out to students since then. Her son thought that she would have wanted it that way. She loved the students so. He kept the house looking nice on the outside and the students kept it surprisingly nice on the inside.
As she came to the end of the green, she stepped across the street and walked under the canvas awnings that shaded the shop windows from the afternoon sun and kept them dry in the rain. It was easier for window shoppers to stay dry, relatively cool and keep the windows relatively clean and shaded to make it effortless for the people to see inside. Nothing worse than standing on the sidewalk with your face pressed against the glass, hands shielding your eyes, trying to see inside, Jillian thought. Well, maybe there are some things worse. She smiled to herself.
She was making her way down the sidewalk, only about a block and a half from the Inn and she saw Bob walking with another man. She slowed her pace so as not to interrupt them. She really liked Bob, but he had better things to do besides take care of her.
Her hike ended with a short climb up the steps to the lobby of the Inn. She nodded her way through the lobby and grabbed the open elevator to the second floor. It was faster and no one would stop her this way. She was kind of in a hurry to get dressed.
For the second time today, she was in the shower getting ready to greet and greive. She didn’t feel as if she had had a chance to do much grieving. There were always so many people around, talking to her, telling her stories, making sure she was where she needed to be on time. She didn’t think it would ever end. It had been a long day, and soon it would be over and she could sit down and rest. Maybe she would cry then, after she was home from the visitation and she could sit alone and just cry. Sounded like a good plan to her, she rather looked forward to it.
Just then, the phone rang. At this point, she was finished in the shower and was just feeling the hot water pound on her back. She jumped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and hurried to answer the phone. It was Bob. It was an hour before visitation and he was calling to let her know that he would pick her up in 45 minutes. She told him she would meet him in the lobby. She had plenty of time, and took her time getting dry and dressed.
She stepped into a black dress that made her look amazing. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. It was a straight dress with no buttons, no nothing, just full of Jillian. She turned to look in the mirror, ran her hands down her sides, turned a little to the left, and said to herself, “Why is it that you don’t have a significant other? You look pretty good, Dr. Barton.” She realized at that point for the first time, that the fact that she was, DOCTOR Barton probably had a lot to do with the status of her personal life. People do not understand women that are intelligent. Women and men are intimidated by female intelligence. It is silly. Sooner or later, she would find a like-minded academic that would be fun, too, but she was not about to hold her breath for that one.She threw a little lace shawl around her shoulders to cover her almost bare shoulders and made her way to the lobby to wait for Bob.
Bob was waiting in the lobby, making conversation with a man that she had seen earlier in the day, at the Memorial Service, but she had no idea who he was. When Bob saw her he excused himself from the conversation with, “Neal, we will talk more about this tomorrow afternoon. Let us get the funeral done and then we can talk about what comes next.” They shook hands and he made his way to meet Jillian as she reached the lobby floor.
As she stepped off the bottom step and onto the fringe of the old oriental rug that covered most of the floor in the lobby, Bob stood motionless and looked at her, his hands waving up and down, his mouth hanging open, a smile in his eyes.
“What is it, Bob? What is wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he said, still moving his hand up and down in her direction.
“What?” Her face beginning to show a touch of embarrassment at his reaction.
“You-you look incredible, amazing-beautiful. I just wish I were 30 years younger, right about now,” he stammered. “Are you ready to go?
“I suppose I am as ready as I will ever be. This is so hard. It is one thing to listen to everyone gush about him and tell stories about him, like they did this morning, but to be there with him, I think that will be hard.”
“I will be there for you, Jill. He would have wanted me to be.”
“I know Bob, and I appreciate your support. Let’s get moving, I am sure there are already people there waiting for us.”
She was right, when they pulled around the corner to make their way to Meiler-Masters Funeral Parlor, the street on both side was lined with cars, the sidewalks held a steady stream of visitors making their way to the front doors. Bob pulled his car into the driveway and eased to the back of the big, century-old clapboard building to the parking space reserved for family members of the deceased.
As they made their way into the back door, Jillian grabbed Bob’s hand and gave it an affectionate, appreciative squeeze. She was beginning to lean on him already. He didn’t mind. Frank Meiler was just inside the back door waiting to greet them as they climbed the six steps from the parking lot to the rear entrance.
“Jillian, Mr. Milton, good to see you again. There is a very large turnout this evening.”
Jillian and Bob both shook his hand and returned his greeting with smiles. He turned, seeing that Jillian was already being escorted by Bob and led them to the viewing room. The room was full, almost to the ceiling, with flowers from friends, colleagues, universities and colleges around the world. The sweet, mingled aroma of all those flowers brought back memories of her grandfather’s funeral. It is an aroma that seems to always be the same, no matter where or when enter a funeral home, the place smells just like this. Roses, irises, lilies, carnations, and many others, each contribute their own unique part of the whole that is the bouquet of death.
As they entered the room, Meiler and Bob walked with Jillian to the front of the room, where she could view the remains of her father in advance of the doors being opened and visitors permitted enter. For the first time, Jillian broke down and cried. She pulled Bob to her and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as she released her emotion.
“He is really gone,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe it, he’s really gone.”
She cried for several minutes as she stood before the casket, simply looking at the shell that was her father, holding Bob’s hand and squeezing it for all it was worth. Her hand was beginning to ache, and so was his. She let go of his hand and he rested his arm across her shoulders, pulling her to him in yet another sign of support.
Frank Meiler’s years of experience had kept him at a distance from this scene until now. He approached the pair slowly and gently slid his hand under Jillian’s left elbow and guided her to an area several feet to the left of the head casket.
“Perhaps with the size of the turnout it would be best if you sat over here, where it will be easier to greet visitors as they make their way from the casket to the back of the room. We have placed the guest book in the front lobby to accommodate a few more people in here without causing a delay once they enter this room.”
She sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs that had been provided for them and looked around the room at the incredible number of floral arrangements.
“There are restrooms and a small kitchenette with soft drinks and coffee, through that door,” Meiler continued pointing to the right side of the back of the room and pointing to the left side, “and a small private room through there if you need a few minutes to collect yourself at any time. Again, Jillian, we here at Meiler-Masters are very sorry for your loss, and if there is anything that we can do for you that you will not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you Mr. Meiler, thank you very much,” Jillan said sincerely as she wiped her eye with the corner of a handkerchief.
Bob turned to her and gave her a knowing smile, “I wish I could change things for you, Jillian. Harry loved you. He will always be with you.”
“I know he will,” Jillian said, a weak smile crossing her lips.
Thanks everyone.
Not wanting to bother Bob anymore, she decided to walk back to the hotel from the house. It was a walk that would take her across the whole of the campus and three blocks up Main Street. The trek would take her about 20 minutes. Nesbitt isn’t all that big. It would give her a chance to relax, she thought. She began her walk, sliding the key that Bob had given her into her pocket. Absentmindedly she made her way across the street to the sidewalk in front of the Administration Building. She looked at all the buildings that she knew so well in her childhood and now was barely noticing them. She walked along the street, passing students as they walked holding hands and chatting, wishing that she has someone that would hold her hand. At this point in her life, that was not an option, she was simply too busy.
The campus green was full of students tossing frisbee’s, walking dogs, playing football under the trees, sitting quietly reading. This was where everything was when the weather was good. She walked past the convocation center, where a few short hours ago, the whole school turned out to say their farewells to her father. It seemed empty now, quiet and stark. She was glad that Nesbitt had given him such a memorial service. He deserved it after 22 years teaching her best and brightest students. Harry’s classes were not for math wimps. There was an unwritten rule here. Non-math majors didn’t take Dr. Barton’s classes. The math majors had a hard time with the concepts taught in there. Harry could teach them anything, but the groundwork had to be solid in higher math before anyone had a chance to keep up with Harry.
All the way across campus Jillian walked and remembered. The times that Harry had brought her to the green and to the various buildings across campus as she was growing up were suddenly fresh in her mind, one after the other as she strolled. There wasn’t anyplace that he had to be that was so important that she had to be left behind. She went to meetings with him sometimes, even to his classes when she was home from her own school for some reason that didn’t include illness. When she had to stay behind, she stayed right over there, in that old brick house with the iron fence around it. Mrs. Garrity’s house. She was the sweetest lady. Jillian swore that she always had cookies in the oven, because every time Jillian walked in, there were warm cookies and cold milk waiting for her. It never failed, and there was always another pan of cookies in the oven, too. Mrs. Garrity passed away about 5 years ago and the house has been rented out to students since then. Her son thought that she would have wanted it that way. She loved the students so. He kept the house looking nice on the outside and the students kept it surprisingly nice on the inside.
As she came to the end of the green, she stepped across the street and walked under the canvas awnings that shaded the shop windows from the afternoon sun and kept them dry in the rain. It was easier for window shoppers to stay dry, relatively cool and keep the windows relatively clean and shaded to make it effortless for the people to see inside. Nothing worse than standing on the sidewalk with your face pressed against the glass, hands shielding your eyes, trying to see inside, Jillian thought. Well, maybe there are some things worse. She smiled to herself.
She was making her way down the sidewalk, only about a block and a half from the Inn and she saw Bob walking with another man. She slowed her pace so as not to interrupt them. She really liked Bob, but he had better things to do besides take care of her.
Her hike ended with a short climb up the steps to the lobby of the Inn. She nodded her way through the lobby and grabbed the open elevator to the second floor. It was faster and no one would stop her this way. She was kind of in a hurry to get dressed.
For the second time today, she was in the shower getting ready to greet and greive. She didn’t feel as if she had had a chance to do much grieving. There were always so many people around, talking to her, telling her stories, making sure she was where she needed to be on time. She didn’t think it would ever end. It had been a long day, and soon it would be over and she could sit down and rest. Maybe she would cry then, after she was home from the visitation and she could sit alone and just cry. Sounded like a good plan to her, she rather looked forward to it.
Just then, the phone rang. At this point, she was finished in the shower and was just feeling the hot water pound on her back. She jumped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and hurried to answer the phone. It was Bob. It was an hour before visitation and he was calling to let her know that he would pick her up in 45 minutes. She told him she would meet him in the lobby. She had plenty of time, and took her time getting dry and dressed.
She stepped into a black dress that made her look amazing. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. It was a straight dress with no buttons, no nothing, just full of Jillian. She turned to look in the mirror, ran her hands down her sides, turned a little to the left, and said to herself, “Why is it that you don’t have a significant other? You look pretty good, Dr. Barton.” She realized at that point for the first time, that the fact that she was, DOCTOR Barton probably had a lot to do with the status of her personal life. People do not understand women that are intelligent. Women and men are intimidated by female intelligence. It is silly. Sooner or later, she would find a like-minded academic that would be fun, too, but she was not about to hold her breath for that one.She threw a little lace shawl around her shoulders to cover her almost bare shoulders and made her way to the lobby to wait for Bob.
Bob was waiting in the lobby, making conversation with a man that she had seen earlier in the day, at the Memorial Service, but she had no idea who he was. When Bob saw her he excused himself from the conversation with, “Neal, we will talk more about this tomorrow afternoon. Let us get the funeral done and then we can talk about what comes next.” They shook hands and he made his way to meet Jillian as she reached the lobby floor.
As she stepped off the bottom step and onto the fringe of the old oriental rug that covered most of the floor in the lobby, Bob stood motionless and looked at her, his hands waving up and down, his mouth hanging open, a smile in his eyes.
“What is it, Bob? What is wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he said, still moving his hand up and down in her direction.
“What?” Her face beginning to show a touch of embarrassment at his reaction.
“You-you look incredible, amazing-beautiful. I just wish I were 30 years younger, right about now,” he stammered. “Are you ready to go?
“I suppose I am as ready as I will ever be. This is so hard. It is one thing to listen to everyone gush about him and tell stories about him, like they did this morning, but to be there with him, I think that will be hard.”
“I will be there for you, Jill. He would have wanted me to be.”
“I know Bob, and I appreciate your support. Let’s get moving, I am sure there are already people there waiting for us.”
She was right, when they pulled around the corner to make their way to Meiler-Masters Funeral Parlor, the street on both side was lined with cars, the sidewalks held a steady stream of visitors making their way to the front doors. Bob pulled his car into the driveway and eased to the back of the big, century-old clapboard building to the parking space reserved for family members of the deceased.
As they made their way into the back door, Jillian grabbed Bob’s hand and gave it an affectionate, appreciative squeeze. She was beginning to lean on him already. He didn’t mind. Frank Meiler was just inside the back door waiting to greet them as they climbed the six steps from the parking lot to the rear entrance.
“Jillian, Mr. Milton, good to see you again. There is a very large turnout this evening.”
Jillian and Bob both shook his hand and returned his greeting with smiles. He turned, seeing that Jillian was already being escorted by Bob and led them to the viewing room. The room was full, almost to the ceiling, with flowers from friends, colleagues, universities and colleges around the world. The sweet, mingled aroma of all those flowers brought back memories of her grandfather’s funeral. It is an aroma that seems to always be the same, no matter where or when enter a funeral home, the place smells just like this. Roses, irises, lilies, carnations, and many others, each contribute their own unique part of the whole that is the bouquet of death.
As they entered the room, Meiler and Bob walked with Jillian to the front of the room, where she could view the remains of her father in advance of the doors being opened and visitors permitted enter. For the first time, Jillian broke down and cried. She pulled Bob to her and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as she released her emotion.
“He is really gone,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe it, he’s really gone.”
She cried for several minutes as she stood before the casket, simply looking at the shell that was her father, holding Bob’s hand and squeezing it for all it was worth. Her hand was beginning to ache, and so was his. She let go of his hand and he rested his arm across her shoulders, pulling her to him in yet another sign of support.
Frank Meiler’s years of experience had kept him at a distance from this scene until now. He approached the pair slowly and gently slid his hand under Jillian’s left elbow and guided her to an area several feet to the left of the head casket.
“Perhaps with the size of the turnout it would be best if you sat over here, where it will be easier to greet visitors as they make their way from the casket to the back of the room. We have placed the guest book in the front lobby to accommodate a few more people in here without causing a delay once they enter this room.”
She sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs that had been provided for them and looked around the room at the incredible number of floral arrangements.
“There are restrooms and a small kitchenette with soft drinks and coffee, through that door,” Meiler continued pointing to the right side of the back of the room and pointing to the left side, “and a small private room through there if you need a few minutes to collect yourself at any time. Again, Jillian, we here at Meiler-Masters are very sorry for your loss, and if there is anything that we can do for you that you will not hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you Mr. Meiler, thank you very much,” Jillan said sincerely as she wiped her eye with the corner of a handkerchief.
Bob turned to her and gave her a knowing smile, “I wish I could change things for you, Jillian. Harry loved you. He will always be with you.”
“I know he will,” Jillian said, a weak smile crossing her lips.