Short Story: Between the Gardens

by Claire Matturro

Harold slumped in a red vinyl chair at the kitchen table, his cool cup of coffee shaking in his hands.

“Careful, Hon,” his wife Rose said as she took the cup from him. She stuck a finger in it to be sure it was cold, then poured it out over the pot of vining pothos by the back door.

“Let me fix you a fresh one.” She’d been watching Harold nursing the cup while their ancient Made-in-the-USA percolator filled the kitchen with its reassuring gurgles and rich smell. Rose poured Harold a fresh, steaming cup and set it in front of him on the Formica and chrome dinette table that’d been a wedding present decades ago. “Let it cool just a bit.”

He pushed back his chair and struggled to stand. Rose reached out to steady him. He’d already fallen once this week. But this time he got up without tottering, made his way into the narrow living room, and plopped down in his favorite easy chair. And went to staring off in space.

Rose realized he had already forgotten about his coffee, but she brought the cup over and set it on the end table by his chair.

Funny, when they’d first gotten married, his being10 years older than her didn’t seem to make much difference, but those years had sure caught up with him. Rose waited until he was settled and stepped back to their bedroom and grabbed her purse. She needed to make a quick grocery store run. As much as she hated it when she had to leave him alone, they were running out of bread, milk, and oatmeal. And those were about the only things Harold ate anymore. Oh, and doughnuts, Lord almighty the man loved his doughnuts.

She didn’t bother to comb her hair or put on a clean blouse. In her prime, she wouldn’t have left the house without mascara, lipstick, a snappy outfit, and well-groomed hair, but those things didn’t seem important anymore. What mattered now was that she stay healthy and mentally alert so that she could take care of Harold. She dug out the keys where she kept them hidden from Harold in her underwear drawer. Lord, help them all if he ever got those keys again.

Back in the living room, she paused, studying him. To her, he was still handsome, even with those vague, far-away eyes that always seemed to be ringed in red now. “Hon,” she said, “I got to run to the store. Can I get you something?”

He looked up at her as if following the sound of her voice. But he didn’t answer.

“How ‘bout those doughnuts you like so much? The ones with the cinnamon and sugar on them?”

He nodded.

“Now, this is real important, Harold. You listening?

He picked up his cup of coffee and sipped.

“Harold,” she said in her Sunday-school-teacher voice. “Don’t you be trying to cook anything, and you stay inside. I’ll be right back.”

“Rose,” he said. He put the coffee cup down on the floor.

She picked the cup up so he wouldn’t trip over it and replaced it on the end table. “You hear me now. Don’t you be going outside none.”

He nodded again. Then, watching her face closely, he spoke. “I’ll be right here. Between the gardens.”

For the first time that day, Rose smiled. Bless his heart, he still remembered. Between the gardens, something their pastor liked to say. Living long after Eden but before the paradise to come, they were all living in the times between the gardens.

She leaned over and kissed him, smack on the mouth like the old days, catching the taste of coffee on his lips.

Rose hurried out the door, making sure she locked it, and slipped behind the wheel of their 21-year-old sedan. “It’s a Honda,” she’d say whenever anyone suggested she replace it with something newer. “It’ll run when I can’t no more.”

She drove faster than she ought to have. Once in the parking lot, she pulled out her mask and fit it around her face, pinching the nose piece so it wouldn’t fog her glasses. She didn’t like wearing a mask, but if the president and the CDC and that Dr. Fauci fella said she needed to wear it, she would. Her strongest desire in life now was to live long enough to care for Harold, and a mask was a small thing to bear with him in mind.

In the store, she went straight for what they needed, tossing the items into her grocery cart. She was in the express checkout line within only a few minutes. “Please Lord God, don’t let him get it into his head to wander off again.” She reassured herself that besides Jesus, the neighbors all knew to watch for him after the last time he walked off and got lost on the same block he’d lived on for thirty years.

Someone screamed and Rose jerked, turning toward the sound. A man with a big rifle—Rose didn’t know guns but this one had a long barrel and looked heavy—was stomping into the store up to the checkout lines. He brought the big gun down off his shoulder and pointed it at Rose.

“Sheep,” he yelled. “Wearing masks, your stupid sheeple, giving away your freedoms.”

Those were the last words Rose heard.

Back at their house, Harold felt a tight pressure on his chest. The air around him seemed to go dark like nightfall was coming on. He struggled out of his chair, knocking over his coffee. “Rose?”

He wanted Rose. She wasn’t in the house, so he staggered to the door and unlocked it and stumbled out into the yard. The sun hit him between the eyes like a sharp stick and he fell down, a hard pain flashing through his head. He cried out, “Rose.”

“Hush, Harold, I’m right here.”

Harold rested his head in Rose’s soft lap, and his breathing eased up as she stroked his forehead and cheeks. Even the sun went dark, easing the pain in his head. He sighed, happy. Her fingers were so soft on his face, her voice so calm. He knew he was going to be just fine.

“We’re going on to the next garden, Hon,” Rose said, and bent down and kissed him on the lips.

Two days later, the local newspaper ran a story about how Rose and Harold, who had been married for over forty-five years, had died within minutes of each other. She’d been gunned down by an angry man in a grocery store and Harold had died in his front yard of natural causes. One of the neighbors reported that Harold smiled and said Rose’s name right before he passed. Another neighbor claimed she’d seen Rose cradling Harold in her arms, but nobody believed her.