Ray had no clue as to what they had might have done to deserve this. Sayings he'd heard since he was a kid, like 'What goes around, comes around' and 'You reap what you sow,'  had made sense but he couldn't figure out where this left them. He  was angry for Beatrice getting cancer and didn't know who to blame. Bea had finished with the chemo and radiation, left with numb legs, a bald head and good odds, the doc said. Still, there was no place for him to be with her anymore. Nothing normal like the way they used to talk or watch TV or eat supper together. Plus, she didn't really want him around, trying to joke, not from what he could tell. It hurt him to see her so helpless so he stayed away, in the garage alot, tinkering.

 

His thoughts returned to what it was like. For twenty-two years they'd had a cheeseburger place on Stony Island. Not just any hamburger joint, but the best char-broiled cheddarburgers anyone could ever eat. Stoney's , it was called, so people would remember their location. Even when the neighborhood turned in the early sixties, they still kept coming. Once theTrib  featured them in the Food Guide and they'd had the article framed on the wall. The place hopped and they took in money hand over fist. Low-operating costs, y'know, although Ray prided himself that they purchased the best beef you could get anywhere. Also, real aged cheddar cheese and first class sesame buns. They got special rates on the meat through a cousin from the Heights connected at the stockyards. Nothing illegal, but special rates from special people you could count on. Bea and he had worked like horses in those days but they were happy and at night they slept like logs from the sheer work.

 

Things changed. The neighborhood went bad and business was over. After a couple of hold-ups, me and Bea picked up and left. Time to retire. We bought this nice place in Cal City, nearby her niece, Shirley, brick house with a chain link fence, garage, lawn, monogrammed awnings, the works. And just when it's right to enjoy a little time to ourselves, Bea starts feelin' funny. Said her stomach wasn't workin' right, that the plumbing was going. We took a couple a months to get to a doc. You know the rest. He'd shrug heavily. That's how he told it.

 

Ray watched the ceiling fan in the bedroom. He wanted to call Joe McNeery, his neighbor and friend, Shirley's husband in fact, but Joe probably didn't want to hear from him. "If Ray's a man, he'll keep his troubles to himself," he heard someone say in his mind. It sure wasn't Joe. Joe wasn't like that. It was him. For a moment, he felt stunned and then he quickly moved forward. You're afraid to talk to Bea. You're scared she'll die and leave you helpless.

 

Ray walked over to the sofa where Bea lay, fumbling through the channels. He gently rubbed her head covered now with soft gray fuzz and said, "How about you and me goin' to Florida this winter? The sun'd do us good." Bea looked up at him, as if his presence had never ceased, put down the remote and made room for him next to her on the couch so they could play Jeopardy.