The View

This story is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.

So far, thirty something Jameson meets senior citizen, Iris. He is estranged from his wife and she is in the end stages of Heart failure. They have become friends and Iris had changed her will. He has retained a lawyer. After going with Iris to her doctor's appointment, Jameson realizes she is much sicker than he thought.

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JAMESON

Iris is very calm in the office. She has a stoic facade that has me fooled until we step outside and I see her in the natural light of the day. She is shaken.

"You okay, Iris?" I ask.

She looks at me, nodding. I hug her tightly. I don't wait, because right now, Iris understands what the doctor has said. She understands what the DNR means, the fluid, the unpleasant journey she is about to embark on.

Her full weight leans into me. "Thank you for going with me. Thank you for asking questions. I don't think I could have gone inside with out you." She pushes back, becoming Iris again. "Thank you for caring about this old woman."

I smile. No words of comfort rise, but they wouldn't help anyway. That damned phrase, "it is what it is" comes to mind.

"I'm going to run into the coffee shop and then, well, I thought we could go for a drive. Are you up for that?"

Twenty minutes later, we pull up at the only beach access with an uninterrupted view of the ocean.

"I thought a change of scenery would do us both some good."

She takes a sip of her coffee and looks out at the waves. A calmness washes over her. "Would you mind if we went and sat on the deck for a few minutes?" She sets her coffee cup into the cup holder beside her.

"Let's go."

It takes a few minutes but we make it. I start to brush the sand off the bench but she stops me. "A little sand on the derriere never killed anyone." She sits back, tilting her face upward. Her eyes close and she just breathes. "Have you ever noticed how the ocean smells?"

"Never paid attention to it."

"Each season the ocean smells different. It's true. My husband used to tease me. He would say, "Iris, how can you smell water but you can't smell when the roast is burning?" She smiles broadly. An errant breeze lifts her silver hair.

I look out, the rhythmic sound of the waves making me forget the seriousness of the morning's start.

"Jameson, do you believe in the afterlife?"

"You mean heaven?" I think about it. There has to be something after this life. Good people should have some reward. Even if it's not pearly gates and streets paved with gold, there has to be some reward for good people. "I do. I very much believe it."

She and I sit there quietly for a few minutes more before she asks me to take her home.

"How is young Finny?" she asks.

"Good. I got to see him on Sunday. Claire came to get the rest of her stuff."

"How was that?"

Iris turns to study me. She wants the truth and she expects it. "Sad. It was the beginning of the end. But, there was no going back. We agreed to share Fin equally. She's a good mom. I'm thankful for that."

"He's a lucky little boy. I'm glad you two could set aside your differences to do what's right for him."

After I help her up to her door and make sure she's okay, I say, "I hate to do this, but I really need to go home and let Heston out. Do you need anything before I go?"

Iris steps closer. "Another hug would be nice."

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Heston barely makes it down the steps before he cocks his leg. Once he's finished, I walk him a couple of blocks then we head back home.

He curls up on the couch and I go to my computer. Three new jobs are waiting in my email. I'll spend the rest of the day in blue light heaven. But it will be an escape today. No soon to be ex-wife, no friend dying, no failed writer. Just codes and numbers, a sterile hiding place.

I stop working at seven, eat a can of ravioli while I scroll the television channels. Somewhere between channel sixty-three and channel two hundred and ten, I fall asleep. I wake up still holding the remote and the light of the morning sun is spilling in through the window.

I glance at my phone. It's nearly eleven a.m. I feel good but in a guilty way. It's been a few years since I've slept in. But the past week has been pretty tough.

I call Iris as Heston and I go for our morning walk.

"I'm just checking in on you. I'm going to be chained to my computer for the day, but if you need anything, I can run over."

"No. I should be good. Gertrude is coming for dinner. She's bringing a casserole and we are going to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy."

"Good. That sounds like fun. How about tomorrow we grab some coffee."

"Sounds perfect."

Heston and I return home and I dive right back into work. As I stop to fix a sandwich, I catch a glimpse of the boxes by the door. All that remains of Claire is there. I go grab the afghan off the couch and toss it over the stack. Out of sight, but still very much on my mind.