Last week Sharon Michaels received a call from their family doctor. He told her to hurry back to the hospital. Midnight, snow falling; she’d forgotten her glasses, wondered who would clean off the driveway since she was still mending from hip replacement surgery, and worried if she had enough gas in the tank.
Something triggered an impulse to run to Barry’s room when outside, Doctor Max Bloom stopped her and said, “Barry’s had a heart attack and there was nothing we could do to save him.” She shook her head; “You’re saying Barry’s gone,
he’s dead? and she raced past the doctor, pushed open the door where her husband lay still, his hazel eyes closed, gone forever from her life His checkered robe hung in the open closet, slippers tucked below, forlorn and shabby without Barry. Sharon used the stepstool to climb up on the bed; she needed to be closer, to caress his face and already he felt cool to her lips