September 5th 2012, 10:15 pm, Hickory Grove, Wisconsin
Naomi Matthews gently pressed the "end call" button on her Android powered cell phone and cradled the mini super-computer under her chin for several long moments. Jed had sounded both weary and anxious; a combination that she was becoming more and more accustomed to, of late. This had been Jed's third courtesy call, updating her on the stranger's condition, since he had arrived at the emergency room earlier that evening.
Naomi bit her lip to stifle the emotions that threatened to rise up within her.
These feelings were hardly new. During many of these long nights where she was condemned to play the role of "ministry widow," Naomi would think back upon a time when the days didn't seem to have enough hours in them for all that she and Jed had to say to each other. Then, she had been the center of Jed's universe and he gladly would have put the entire planet on hold just to share one more moment of heart to heart conversation with her.
Naomi chided herself for giving in to that now familiar mental rabbit trail and went into the restroom to finish getting ready for bed. Brushing out her long, chestnut tresses, she looked at the woman staring back at her in the mirror.
Another rabbit trail. Besides, Naomi finally surmised that it was an unfair question to pose to oneself when the image in the mirror stared back at you with the goofy glasses only worn in the secrecy of home when the eyes were screaming to have the contacts peeled away from them.
Naomi returned to her bed and removed the half eaten bag of popcorn.
Naomi's mind meandered ...
There wasn't a defining moment, but at least for the past few years, she had felt like just one more "obligation" that Jed's conscience required him to attend to. Take this evening, for example. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate being kept in the loop on nights like tonight; it's just that she always felt like an interruption to her husband when he did call or even worse, text, as if his checking in with her was more duty than delight. It was always this way, of late - the emotional detachment, the preoccupied voice, the oblivious nods and grunts when addressed. Naomi felt that she had been romanced by Captain James T. Kirk, seven years ago, only to end up married to Lieutenant Spock.
Lowering the phone to her side, she took a calming breath, adopted her best "pastor's wife" demeanor and pushed the thoughts of resentment and loneliness back into the inner closet of her mind. At least, she told herself, Jed had a reasonably good excuse for being distracted tonight. This last call had come from just outside that man called Sage's room. As Jed had predicted at the time of his first call that evening, "Sage" had no identification and therefore no discernible next of kin to notify of his condition. Naomi had tried to assure Jed that it was alright to leave the matter in the doctor's hands until morning, but from the resigned tone in his voice, she could immediately tell that he was conscious-bound and would dutifully take up the role of both father and son to this total stranger until the doctors gave the "all clear." This had meant another four hours in the ER, until Sage could be moved to the Intensive Care Unit and Jed was able to, politely, take his leave.
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Earlier in the evening, amidst corralling her two children, Naomi had put the ministry machinery in motion on Sage's behalf by activating the church's prayer chain via email and detailing what little information that was known at the time. During his second "check in," Jed had relayed to her the doctor's diagnosis; Sage's heart had apparently been failing him for quite some time. Congestive Heart Failure had all but submerged the heart in a sack of syrupy fluid, while multiple blockages within Sage's arteries had reduced it to a mere thirty–percent of its capacity. In layman's terms, Sage was dying and had been for months.
Naomi finally heard the house's garage door groan and creak like an ancient portcullis around eleven p.m., followed by the muffled thuds of Jed entering their modest home in Hickory Grove. As Jed followed his puzzling, yet invariable routine of hanging up his coat and arranging his shoes by the front door, Naomi steeled herself. She sighed and took a long look around the bedroom that had been her prayer sanctuary and emotional "happy place" for the past three years, preparing herself to either emotionally buoy what she was certain would be her husband's melancholy mood, or lay into him with the feelings she had pent up within her all day.
"Modest" she had called the house when they first considered buying it. "Cozy" is how she viewed it now. Naomi loved living in the older section of town, even though the size of their home paled in comparison to the opulence of the new housing developments being constructed at breakneck pace in Hickory Grove to accommodate the town's rapid influx of new employees.
Naomi awoke from her momentary musing as Jed walked into the bedroom, bleary–eyed and rumpled.
"Are the kids down?" Jed asked softly.
Naomi gave a look of attempted sympathy and nodded. She knew that he was not surprised, but no less disappointed, to discover that their two children – Amanda (age 5) and Jedidiah Joel Jr. or "Triple J" as he liked to be called (age 3) – had already been in bed for three hours. Naomi signed off of Facebook and shut down the computer for the night as Jed peeked into each of his children's rooms in order to take in their cherubic faces, glowing softly in the radiance of their night lights.
Naomi chastised herself inwardly for even thinking the thought and silently repented as Jed entered the bedroom.
"You're wearing your Garfield pajamas tonight," said Jed quietly, as he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Am I?"
"You don't think that I've figured out what the Garfield pajamas mean after seven years of marriage?" said Jed.
Biting back the sarcastic reply that immediately formed itself in her mind, Naomi pondered what strategy she should take with Jed this night. She could play the confrontational nag, the petulant victim, the frigid mistress; a thousand hurts, accusations, and pleadings rose to her mind as she silently cried out in prayer ...
With an effort of will, Naomi decided to forgo the confrontation she had been practicing for all evening and instead choose to play the dumb dame and go along with Jed's weak attempt at conversation.
"And what would be the existential meaning of a woman greeting her husband wearing Garfield pajamas?"
"It usually means that the aforementioned woman has had a headache all evening, and fully expects said headache to linger throughout the night," said Jed, a weak smile forming on his lips.
"Touché, darling, touché," replied Naomi, turning down the bed, but making no move to rectify the pajama politics.
Changing the subject as Jed continued to change into his flannel p.j. 's, () she asked, "Any new news about our mystery guest?"
Sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his temples, Jed switched back into business mode.
"Not much. His heart has been failing for a while. The doctors really don't expect him to last out the week."
"That's horrible," she answered softly. "Do we know anymore about him?"
"No. It's impossible to figure out who he is or where he came from," Jed said with a yawn. "His communication is so vague and scattered that we can't get anything useful out of him. Hopefully, we can find out more tomorrow."
Naomi waited patiently while Jed yawned for a second time and climbed into bed.
"OK, babe – then, let's leave tomorrow for tomorrow," she said with what she hoped was at least a sincere attempt at sympathy as she climbed into the other side of the bed and turned off the small lamp on the nightstand.
Not waiting for an answer, Naomi spoke into the darkness, "Hon, the planet has had you for over fourteen hours today. Can I request at least a few minutes of adult conversation?"
"I'm here for you, babe," yawned Jed. "What's left of me is all yours."
Jed was snoring softly before Naomi could think of how to begin.
