Sassafras, Part 68

Joan

“I remember that night now. Jenny had the flu or something. I was never the baby sitter type. Not until Billy was born at least. I don’t remember the popcorn, but I remember reading the story. I was in the speech and debate class at school, and there was a big contest coming up. I won a medal for reading that story. I was the only freshman that won anything. That was about a month before my dad died. He was so proud of me. He took me out to eat at this fancy restaurant that used to be downtown to celebrate, just the two of us. He gave me a necklace with a little silver heart. But then a month later he died. That was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“14. It was horrible. Everything just fell apart. You would think somebody who sold insurance would have had insurance himself, wouldn't you? We couldn't afford it though. He was unemployed for a long time after the factory he worked at shut down. I can’t even remember the name of the factory anymore. They made baseball caps. At least they did until the factory went out of business."

"A lot of factories shut down. Some of the men who lost their jobs couldn’t handle it, especially after the unemployment ran out. There were a lot of funerals. I was only ten or eleven, maybe twelve. I didn’t understand at first. Not until I heard some boys at lunch talking about the last funeral. I didn’t even realize you could kill yourself until then. After that I was terrified to go to school because I was afraid to leave my dad alone. I thought I’d come home from school and he’d be dead. When he got a job selling insurance in Bond I thought everything would be okay, but one day I came home and Mom was sitting in the kitchen crying. He had a heart attack at work. He just died, just like that. All of a sudden he was gone.”

Rick turned and pulled me to him. That was so long ago. It shouldn’t still hurt so much, but it did. It was hard to believe Dad died 20 years ago. He was just about Rick's age. That was when I realized there was another nightmare possibility I hadn't even thought about. Forget about whether Rick was serious about me or just looking for a good time. The phrase serious as a heart attack leapt into my mind. Rick was no spring chicken. Sure, he seemed healthy, but what did I know. There was no guarantee that he would even be alive a year from now, or even a month from now, much less that we would still be together.

"Rick," I started, pulling back so I could see his face. Maybe he wasn't as old as I thought. "How old are you?"

"I'm 40." That wasn't good. I leaned back against him and tried to think logically but I kept having visions of Rick in Jenny's casket. What if I moved back here only to end up at another funeral?

"Dad was only 42," I whispered. That didn't mean anything. Rick could live to be 100 for all I knew. Just because my dad died young didn't mean Rick would. Rick was strong. He had muscles on top of muscles. He wouldn't die. He couldn't die. What if he died? What would I do then? What if, what if, what if.

"Joan?" I realized he said something but I didn't have any idea what it was. He lifted my chin, but I couldn't look at him. I tried, but I couldn't. I didn't want to start crying, and I was afraid if I looked in his eyes I wouldn't be able to stop it. Rick had already seen me cry more than he should have. I wasn't going to cry. I just wasn’t going to and that was that. Rick brushed his thumb across my cheek and I realized he wiped away a tear I hadn't even noticed. "Joan, don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to me. I'm healthy as an ox, and twice as stubborn."

"But my dad…" I started.

"I'm not your dad. I'm not going to have a heart attack, Joan. I have a good heart. It's strong." He lifted my hand and pressed it against his chest. "Can’t you feel that, Joan? Can’t you feel it beating? Everything's going to be all right. Don't worry about me. My dad’s 68 and still works 50 hours a week and goes bowling on Wednesday. His dad was over 75 when he died."

I could feel his heart beating beneath my hand, steady and strong, but I couldn't stop worrying, no matter what Rick said. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose you.”

He pulled me closer and held me for a minute. “You aren’t going to lose me, Joan. I’m not going to die. I’m not going to leave, and I’m not going to die. You don’t need to worry about anything. You’re stuck with me. Unless you tell me to leave, I’m not going anywhere." He brushed my hair back and kissed my cheek. “You’re still worried, aren’t you? Nothing’s going to happen to me. You need to cheer up, Babe. Let’s have a smile.” He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Now where’s that smile?" He put his hand over mine and started sliding it down his chest. "Come on, Junebug,” he teased. “I'll let you hold my wiener."

“Rick!” I pulled my hand away, shocked that he would do that. Then I heard him laughing.

“Unless you don’t want to hold my wiener?” He was smiling, but I felt like my face was on fire. He was bad, but I had to admit it was funny. Finally I had to smile, too. After all, I did want to hold his wiener.

“No, I don’t want to hold your wiener. You keep that thing in your pants,” I instructed him, trying to look serious. He was impossible. Sometimes I swear he acts like he’s twelve years old.