Lawrence R. De Geest

Land's End

Barn owls roosted in the cypress trees lining the headland that ran from Sutro Baths to Golden Gate. The fog had melted and the sky was pastel as the sun sank in the Pacific. He wheeled her down the dry dirt path in front of the parking lot to a bench facing the ocean and locked the wheels and before he sat down he brushed glass from her hair.

Little bit of sunroof, he said. Tomorrow we’ll wash it.

Am I still beautiful? she laughed.

Like when we met.

You should have met me sooner.

He smiled. Never would have worked.

I know.

I didn’t know how to cook yet.

Remember when I moved back home after my divorce? And you stopped by because you “just happened to be in town” –

– and I made dinner for everyone. I made –

Tomates farcies. My favorite.

Practiced that recipe for months. Didn’t count on your mother putting sugar in the salt shaker.

Sabotage.

She knew I was trying to impress.

You did. She loved you.

It was a good joke.

The warm dusklight on his face hid the illness. He looked like how he used to. She reached under his IV and squeezed his hand.

A freight barge lurched along the coast and sounded. A scoop of pelicans flew low over the surf to graze. Down the path there came and went a pack of teenagers talking and laughing and playing music on a portable bluetooth speaker.

Dance? he asked her. Nurses tell me I move quite well. They laughed.

Then the sun was gone. It left a scarlet patch on the ocean you could hide with your hand. The water below them was black. Their pickup would arrive soon.

It’s so unreal, she said.

It is.

I don’t remember anything. Just waking up in the hospital bed. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe and suddenly the nurses rushed in and they were shouting as they put the tubes in.

Do you remember the whiteboard they gave you to talk?

I remember asking about my golf bags. If my car is kaput. Where my glasses were. Asking you to read me Goodnight Moon. Saying “love you.” That the water was champagne. I remember that.

And that you were scared, he said.

I was terrified.

The light was dying. He coughed and let out a long breath. The air was full of words but they said none of them. They were stiff and it was hard to move.

Then finally he turned sideways, and she unlocked her chair and turned one of her wheels, and when they were facing he touched his forehead to hers.

I’m so scared, he said. So scared.

Waves crashed against the rocks as they breathed together.