When Cynthia brought Tucker home the next
morning they were surprised to see the pickup and trailer in the driveway. When they opened the door the aroma of fresh
coffee greeted them. Cynthia had made
coffee at home, but this was different.
This was Tucker’s home and the coffee smelled really good. Mark greeted them both with a smile. Then he hugged Tucker and turned to
Cynthia. “You guys get a cup of coffee
and set on the porch. I have a surprise
in the trailer.” With that he opened the
door and went outside.
Cynthia fixed two cups of coffee and
started to the porch. Tucker
followed. They sat in the lawn chairs
and listened to thumping inside the trailer.
What was going on? The loading door was out of sight on the other
side of the trailer, so they could see nothing.
And then they heard the roar of an engine. Tucker leaned forward. The big green Norton motorcycle that was in
the picture on the mantle emerged from the back of the trailer. Mark gunned the motor, slipped the clutch and
shot off down the street. Tucker laughed
out loud. “Oh, my God! He got it running! Look at it!
It is beautiful! “ He stood up
and walked to the side walk. Mark drove
up to him. The two men looked at each
other and Mark revved the engine.
“Well, Tucker, what do you think? Does this bring back memories?”
“How did you manage this? Last time I seen that it was in a basket up
on the shelf.”
“Yep.
I stole it and this is what I have been doing for the last month. I could not get the Norton insignia, so I
hired a guy to paint it. Now we are
going to take a picture of you with this just like the one you gave Cyndi. This will be 30 years later. See if you have changed.”
Tucker reached down and ran his hand over
the gas tank. “I loved this bike. This was always my favorite. I am very glad you did this. This bike should live forever.”
“Well, Tucker, that is the best part. We are working on putting the motorcycle museum right next door
to the photography museum. Going to take a few years, but I think we can
swing it. This bike is going to be the first exhibit.” With that bit of news, Tucker could no longer
hold back the tears. He grasped Mark by
the shoulder and the two men shared a brief hug. Mark smiled at Cynthia over Tucker’s
shoulder.
With that Cynthia took her leave of the two
men. She knew they had a lot to talk
about and she had things to do at home.
She kissed Tucker lightly on top of the head and started for the door. There she stopped and turned.
“I almost forgot. We have to do something about Cleo. Hospice was supposed to find her a home, but
it does not seem to be happening. Got any
idea’s Mark?” Mark looked at her
studiously.
“I can’t take her. I would if I could. Liz would kill me if I brought home a
dog. Hey! Have you talked to the bike club? Those guys might come up with someone in the
club.” Mark smiled.
“Great idea!” Tucker chimed in. “I will call Dana tonight. I need to talk to him anyway. I want him to see the Norton.”
And Cynthia was a little more light hearted
as she drove home. Why had she not
thought of the motorcycle club? It made
perfect sense. The club was a band of
brothers. Brothers through thick and
thin. She said a silent prayer to her
God as she pulled into the car port.
And back on Howard Street Mark and Tucker
were busy making plans. First call Dana
about Cleo. “I dunno’, buddy. Let me ask around. Send out an email. Get back to you as soon as I know
something. Cleo is a damn good dog and
she needs a damn good home. Chin up,
Tucker, I am on it.”
As Mark busied himself in the kitchen
throwing together a barbeque that he was sure Tucker would not turn away from,
Tucker called Marge.
“Marge, it is time. I fell at Cynthia’s the last time I spent the
night and I just can not do that to her.
I have to go into the nursing home.
It is the only solution.” Marge
sighed. She had known this day was
coming, but she was not sure she was ready for it. Oh, she had checked out the ones Tucker
thought he might like. They had agreed
on a very cozy one that seemed to be staffed with caring people and was priced
in Tucker’s range, but still, a nursing home was a nursing home and it was
where he would go to die. It was so
final. She thought quickly.
“OK Tucker.
Let me make a few phone calls.
Did Mark get there?”
“Yes, he came this morning and he has the
Norton running, if you can believe. Call
me back when you are ready.” With that
they broke the connection. Tucker turned
toward the kitchen and Margie dropped her head in her hands and collapsed in a
sobbing heap on the settee. That is
where David found her later when he came in from town.
“Oh, Marge what is it!” He was not used to seeing her out of control
and it rather frightened him, so he just held her as she told him about the
conversation with Tucker.
“He is ready to die, David. He has already quit eating for the most
part. He wants to go into the nursing
home and then quit eating and drinking altogether. He has studied this and this is his way of
hurrying things along. He is committing suicide in a very calm and rational
manner. I can’t stop him. Why should I stop him? It is his life. He has been very clear from the beginning. I wonder how Cynthia is going to handle
this? I have to go to Florida and she is
going to be alone until I get back.” Her
voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders.
David, ever the stalwart one, stared
into space as he held his wife. He knew
it would fall to him when she flew to Florida.
Tucker was his friend and while he hoped Cynthia would be up to the task,
he knew he would be there. He was going
to miss Tucker, no doubt about that, but life would go on for all of them.
“You know, Marge, it amazes me how Tucker
is making this easy for us. I am not
sure I could do what he is doing. Course
he has been alone most of his life.
Never relied on anyone for anything, so why should now be any
different?” As he let her go and headed
for the door, he added an afterthought, “I am not hungry tonight. Want to just have the wine and forget the
supper? And what kind of wine goes with
no upper?”
Marge dried her eyes and followed him into
the kitchen to open the refrigerator and stare sadly at a salad. “Better make it white.”
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