Julia served Gabriel his breakfast: one egg, one strip of bacon, toast, and half a glass of milk. She used to enjoy cooking for him when he’d devour twice as much food with ease. But since doctors diagnosed the tumor in his brain, he had no appetite. His malady was all-consuming, and it terrified her. Three months to live wasn’t a long time.

And now, though he wouldn’t admit it, he’d lost the will to last even that long.

At first, she became angry. Why would he starve himself to death? Couldn’t he see the pain he was causing her? What a selfish thing, to feel so much pity for himself. Of course, his welfare concerned her, but at times, his self-pity and frustration made him unpleasant to her. She understood he hadn’t chosen or couldn’t have chosen his physical condition. And she knew his physical condition affected his ability to think rationally, which in turn led to his depression … but still.

Last night he climbed into bed before her, scarcely visible beneath the blanket, face turned aside.

When she turned off the light and called out, “Wanna cuddle?” he didn’t reply. 

Was he afraid she’d force him to fulfill his masculine duties? The doctor said he wasn’t impotent. She prayed he hadn’t tired of her.

Before they received his diagnosis, they’d talked about having children. She craved nothing more than a baby of her own. Was her longing asking too much? She prayed to God, but He didn’t seem to be listening. His divine influence, in which her faith was solid, was nowhere evident.

When they first moved to Hawaii, they were lovebirds in paradise, eyeing an endless, bright future. They weren’t married, though the subject of marriage had come up in the first years of their union. Still, she loved him as if they’d wedded for life.

 The lush greenery and pristine beaches were two principal reasons they moved from Mexico to Hawaii. It reminded them of their previous home in Acapulco.

He was supposed to start his own construction company and together, she hoped, they’d raise a family here. But even the best-laid plans are sometimes never realized.

Though they were in love and made love, his seed had found its place in her only once. After the miscarriage, it was as if her womb had gone into hiding. Her physician assured her she wasn’t barren. But certain options like in-vitro, or artificial insemination, as her doctor had suggested, were, morally, out of the question due to their traditional Catholic upbringing. And to will herself into pregnancy again would be a mystery on the order of the Virgin Birth.

Still, on some days she palpably sensed a healthy child inside her, waiting to be formed. Stirring from sleep in the small hours, she heard it call, “Mama,

Mama.” Overcome with emotion, she hugged herself in bed, imagining her breasts enlarged, swelling with milk.

But the intimacy between her and Gabriel had vanished, and they’d stopped making love, more so since his condition had worsened. Could this be their punishment for living in sin?

Since the day of his stroke, he’d become a different person. Anyone who came to visit him could see he was dying. Pobrecito, she thought. The poor man was gaunt and pale. His thick construction worker’s neck had shrunk to half its size. At times, he’d upset her and talk about his impending death matter-of-factly, pointing out to her he was, in a sense, already dead.

She reminded him. “The doctor never said your death was imminent.” 

The challenge was to strengthen his desire to will. But how could she do that?

These days he quarreled with her over everything, from whether he should drink a Corona to whether she should read to him. And he was repeating himself when he ruminated on his life experiences, complaining he’d never reached his potential as a bigtime contractor because he’d chosen to make his living by settling for menial, handyman jobs.

She wasn’t sure how to pull him out of his depression. But she didn’t want to lose him, the love of her life. Was it selfish to want his child? To want him, and her love for him, to live on after his death?

“Want some OJ?” she asked, turning away to hide her misty eyes. He was too young for this, and so was she. Neither one was even forty years old.

“Maybe later,” he said. His fork made a clinking sound as he pushed his plate away. “I was thinking. I haven’t been to Waimea Falls in a long time.” He glanced at her, then back to his plate. “Wanna go there today?”

She felt a mild rush of adrenaline, wondering why he’d want to go to the falls. A few days ago, a young man committed suicide there. Experienced divers climbed the slippery waterfall and dove from various ledges into the rocky pool below all the time, much like the divers back in Acapulco. But an untrained person was not wise to take the same plunge. Unfortunately, the young man who lost his life wasn’t the first person to leap to his death, and wouldn’t be the last.

But lately, Gabriel hadn’t ventured out of the house much and she was happy to hear he wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, out of his self-imposed prison.

She turned to him with a brief smile. “Sure. A quick trip would be fun. When do you want to go?”

He winced, massaging his lower back. “I suppose right now is a good time unless you had plans already.”

What plans? They were both homebodies and had been for a long time due to his declining health and need for constant care.

He tired easily these days, growing weaker and weaker. His daily activities changed or stopped altogether. Chores he used to enjoy, such as trimming the rose bushes and raking leaves, he could no longer do. It was up to her now to walk down their driveway to get the morning paper. On weekends they used to go to the beach and swim or drink a beer as the sun set. But because of his lack of energy, visits to the coast were a thing of the past.

Still, if he thought he could handle a trip to the Falls, she was all for it. Of all the places on Oahu, Waimea was her favorite natural park because it celebrated ancient

Hawaiian lifestyles. She hadn’t been there in years. Maybe a nature trip would cheer up both of them.

“No, I’m good to go,” she said.

She packed a light snack and a few blankets to protect against the coolness in those higher elevations. Then she helped him into their handicap-accessible van. He still ambled on his own when he set his mind to it, but it took just ten paces to tire him out.

Sometimes he looked like a sailor on a ship, balancing across the deck, heaving sideways toward the rail, a table, or the back of a chair, struggling to keep himself upright.

The trip to Waimea Falls took twenty-five minutes northbound on Kamehameha

Highway. She was glad to see the parking lot wasn’t packed, leaving plenty of spaces for handicapped vehicles. She wasn’t skilled at parking in tight spots and fumed when she saw cars without handicap stickers taking up those designated spaces.

She unloaded the wheelchair from the back of the van and rolled it to the passenger side door. Gabriel had already opened the door and now waited for her, leaning on the door frame.

“Now Gabriel, you’re supposed to wait for me to open the door for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Maybe I can walk the path myself,” he suggested, egging her on.

“Are you crazy?” she asked. “It’s hard enough for me to walk the trail, especially the steep parts. We’ll use the chair. You can hold on to this small blanket to stay warm.”

He shrugged, accepting the blanket she handed him. He was already wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but he protested a little. “Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t want you to walk the full length of every trail in the park. I just wanna see the falls.”

She wheeled him down the pathway to the entrance gates, taking extra care as she planted her feet on the wet blacktop. Once inside the park, she guided the chair toward the falls.

At one point, he held up his hand and she stopped.

“What’s the matter?”

When he didn’t respond right away, she panicked. She hurried around to face him and leaned toward him. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

He smiled. “Well, I was admiring the view until you stood in front of me.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” she said. She moved back behind him and waited till he gave her another hand wave. As the trail climbed, the temperature dropped. A cool mist rose from below and gave her chills.

When they arrived at the Falls, she saw a young brunette leaning on the guardrail, bending over as if searching for something in the splashing water below. The girl’s frozen expression was as blank as a mannequin’s. Only her eyes moved. She looked like a typical American teen. Her snug designer jeans and frilly tank top suggested she came from a family of means.

Julia thought the girl’s petite, pale shoulders needed more sun. The girl rubbed the goosebumps on her arms to ward off the cold.

Julia parked the wheelchair, locked the wheels, and took a spot, placing Gabriel between her and the girl. She pretended not to notice him staring at the young brunette less than five feet away. Then he turned away from her face to follow her gaze downward into the pristine canyon and its clear water. Despite his infirm condition, his mind and eyesight were still intact. She had expected an early onset of glaucoma, but at his last eye exam, his visual acuity proved as sharp as hers.

“Something down there you’re lookin’ for?” Gabriel asked.

“What?” The young woman turned and faced them. “Oh. I threw a rose down there and now I don’t see it.”

For an awful moment in her mind’s eye, Julia saw Gabriel down there, the churning waters pushing him under, his breath coming out in tiny bubbles, trickling past his eyes. He panicked, flailing like a drowning child. Then he let himself sink. Her throat tightened as his fear became hers. Just when she thought he’d gone forever, someone grasped her arm. It was Gabriel, bringing her back to reality. He gave her a puzzled look, then turned to the girl.

“The turbulence and undertow pull things like flowers and plants underwater.

They tend to surface downstream a ways,” he said to the young woman.

“Yes, I know,” she responded in a quiet voice. She brought her chin to her chest, covered her eyes with her hands, and wept.

Gabriel turned to Julia and pulled off the small blanket she’d given him. “Here, give this to her.”

Julia obeyed. She did not question his motives. “Here, honey,” she said to the girl.

“Put this over you. The air is chilly.”

The young teen accepted the blanket and drew it close around her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Julia asked.

“Yes. Well no, but I will be.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and in between sobs, she managed to speak. “I’m sorry. I just lost a friend and I’m having a hard time dealing with it.”

Julia wanted to say something, but Gabriel spoke first. “Is this where you lost him? Is this where he died?”

The young woman inhaled deeply and glanced down into the swirling waters.

“Yes, from this very spot.” She shot a quick peek at Julia’s face as if to address her specifically. “I feel as if I don’t want to face the world, right now, like curling up in my bed and pulling the blankets over my head. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Julia gave her a warm smile as the young woman continued.

“I wasn’t here, but they told me he… I don’t know, he simply gave up on living,

I’m… I’m …”

When she broke into tears, Julia took the teen in her arms and clasped her tightly.

After a long pause, Gabriel muttered, “I’m sorry for your loss.” His gaze shifted away to the clerodendrums, the lotus plants on the water, the palms, and Hawaiian white hibiscus.

Julia broke her embrace with the teen and watched Gabriel take in the sights. She wanted to say something to him. That she, too, saw the surrounding beauty. But her throat closed up.

She stared past him into the misty haze around the Hong Kong Orchid trees where she watched a gardener, a small stocky man, stooped in the sweat of his labor.

Gabriel straightened his back. Then, as if he’d read her mind, he whispered,

“Don’t worry, Honey. I’m not giving up yet.”

A warm sensation washed over her, bringing a flitting surge of hope and promise.

Maybe, just maybe, a child was not out of the question.

Later in the evening, she stood in the doorway to Gabriel’s bedroom looking at him, almost lifeless. She waited for something, a smile, a silly joke maybe. 

She sat on the edge of his bed and pulled the covers to the side. His legs were becoming atrophied. She lifted his leg nearest her, up, then down, up, then down. Then she massaged his ankles and feet. Later, she would give him a bath.

Outside young voices rose and fell with hilarity, screams, and laughter from the neighbor’s children. She lay down beside him, as he took her hand in his. His grip was strong, but she was the anchor in this relationship and would not let him drift away.

About the Author:

Michael M. Pacheco was born in Mexico and raised in the United States. He received his BA at Gonzaga University and Juris Doctorate at Willamette University College of Law. However, his true love has always been fiction. After getting his first novel, published in 2011 (Guadalupe Saints, Paraguas Books), Michael focused his attention on short stories. He has been published in thirty-eight different literary journals and magazines in the U.S., Canada, South America, and the UK. In his spare time, Michael plays rhythm guitar and sings in a 60s-70s classic rock band. His group, The OMG Band, performs locally in the Phoenix area.

*Feature image by Sujoy Paul on Unsplash