Annie Always

By Daniel W. Shegrud

Alive but not living. Surrounded but unseen. Damaged in body and heart. She watched the world drift by from her fifth floor windows. Her only solace? The imaginary life she lived in her letters. She was broken, isolated, and alone. He wasn't.

They were pen pals - until one day...

ANNIE ALWAYS is a love story in the truest sense. Not a romance - a love story. An unexpected mingling of two lives, one with great promise, one with no hope, and both desperately needing the other. ANNIE ALWAYS is an endearing glimpse into the relationship between two amazing people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel W. Shegrud
• Release date: Sep 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005531515

Daniel W. Shegrud

I'm from Renton, Washington, originally and except for two years in Rexburg Idaho and four months in Kingston, New York, lived there from 1960 (the year I was born) until 2008, when Mary and I moved to Spokane.Here are a few more ridiculously compelling details about me, in case you're interested: I have five sons, one daughter, 8-10 grand kids (it changes periodically) and a miniature poodle named Copper; I am a born-again believer in Jesus Christ; I love cookies; I have read more than two thousands books - novels, texts, tomes, manuscripts, what have you - in the last three decades; I love cooking; I love eating; I love eating other people's cooking; I spent more than two decades driving truck but now work as a Certified Nurse's Aid - it's often messier than driving, but more satisfying at the end of the day.

Book preview

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Book 3: Star Fail

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Khru Cut

Dedicated to:

Jesus, who I hope is honored by

the values displayed in this story;

My amazing wife, who supports

me in the writing of my novels,

even though it takes me away

from her for extended periods;

The incredible MLB, a young lady

I knew who lived the same

physical challenges as Annie and

who inspired me to write this book;

Anyone and everyone who has

ever truly loved, truly lost,

and wouldn’t change a thing.

Table of Contents

Prologue October 27, 2016 1

Chapter 1 May 15, 2004 3

Chapter 2 May 15, 2004 9

Chapter 3 May 15, 2004 13

Chapter 4 August 6, 2004 17

Chapter 5 October 10, 2004 21

Chapter 6 December 29, 2004 29

Chapter 7 June 26, 2005 37

Chapter 8 July 1, 2005 43

Chapter 9 July 3, 2005 49

Chapter 10 November 19, 2005 55

Chapter 11 November 19, 2005 61

Chapter 12 November 19, 2005 65

Chapter 13 November 20, 2005 71

Chapter 14 December 25, 2005 77

Chapter 15 January 3, 2006 85

Chapter 16 January 28, 2006 89

Chapter 17 January 28, 2006 95

Chapter 18 February 10, 2006 99

Chapter 19 February 12, 2006 107

Chapter 20 March 18, 2006 111

Chapter 21 March 25, 2006 117

Chapter 22 April 2, 2006 125

Chapter 23 April 2, 2006 131

Chapter 24 April 8, 2006 135

Chapter 25 April 9, 2006 143

Chapter 26 April 16, 2006 147

Chapter 27 April 16, 2006 155

Chapter 28 April 16, 2006 161

Chapter 29 May 13, 2006 167

Chapter 30 May 13, 2006 175

Chapter 31 May 13, 2006 185

Chapter 32 May 28, 2006 193

Chapter 33 June 18, 2006 201

Chapter 34 June 24, 2006 207

Chapter 35 June 24, 2006 215

Chapter 36 July 1, 2006 223

Chapter 37 August 19, 2006 231

Chapter 38 September 1, 2006 239

Chapter 39 October 22, 2006 245

Chapter 40 October 22, 2006 255

Chapter 41 October 28, 2006 261

Chapter 42 October 28, 2006 267

Epilogue October 27, 2016 275

Meet the Author 283

PROLOGUE

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Mail call!

My wife Cynthia, nine months pregnant and looking like it, entered the living room waving an envelope. I wasn’t all that interested. My workday had been exhausting and all I wanted to do was sit down. Thank God for overstuffed recliners! Sinking into mine with a groan, I closed my eyes and held out my hand for whatever it was she had. Probably a bill, or maybe a note from the children’s doctor, reminding us it was time for the twins’ check-up.

Now three and a half, Larry and Lily were the cutest little holy terrors you’d ever want to meet, and I was so glad that my wife had to deal with that end of things. If it were up to me, I’d throw a children’s vitamin at them now and then and call it good. That’s probably why Cynthia was their primary caregiver and I was the main breadwinner.

Noticing my hand was still empty, I cracked one eye and found Cynthia looking down at me over the top of the envelope, her brows knit together in mock disapproval.

What is it? I asked. Eviction notice?

You wish, lover boy, she snorted. Who do you know who lives in Boston?

My eyes snapped open in surprise. Boston? Really?

Let me see that, I said, no longer feeling sleepy. She handed it to me, I glanced at it, and for a moment the world rocked sideways. My name across the front was written in an all too familiar chicken-scratch – chicken-scratch I hadn’t seen in a long time. I had assumed I would never see it again.

Where are the kids? I asked, my eyes still focused on the envelope.

In their room, getting their jammies on, she said. They’ll be charging in here any moment. Why? What’s wrong?"

Could you hold them off for a few minutes?

O-ka-a-a-y, she said, stretching the two syllables into five. I’ll go read them a story. Are you going to tell me what that, she pointed at the envelope, is all about?

Yeah, I said, nodding. After the kids are asleep.

She left the room and I stared at the letter in my hands. No name was written in the upper left corner, only an address, but I knew who had sent it. The handwriting, unique in its messiness, was unforgettable.

Annie.

I hadn’t heard her name in years and hadn’t thought about her for almost as long. Staring at the unopened envelope, I smiled, remembering.

CHAPTER 1

Saturday, May 15, 2004

It was a nice ceremony. Bennie would have liked it. He would also have said they’re not supposed to be nice. He would have said they are supposed to be sad and weepy, or maudlin and depressing, or any other duet of downer words, but not nice. Nice could be used to describe a graduation ceremony, or an anniversary party, or a social soiree, or almost any positive life event, but not this. And yet, Bennie was the nicest guy I knew, so I suppose it was appropriate that his funeral reflected his life.

We met in middle school, and though we didn’t hit it off immediately, we eventually developed enough of a friendship to warrant chin lifts. You know what I’m talking about. You see a buddy coming down the hall and just before you pass him, you make eye contact and lift your chin about half an inch. It’s a male bonding thing, like grunting – only quieter.

Somewhere in the middle of eighth grade we ended up sitting next to each other during lunch break. It was our first real sit-and-chat time, and we clicked. Before we knew it, our clicking had made us late for class. After that, we ate at the same table every day. We soon became best friends and did just about everything together. Football, wrestling, drama club, church, Boy Scouts, girls, you name it. We even went on each other’s family vacations.

Our lockstep friendship made our parents a little nuts, but they really didn’t mind. Bennie was an only child, as was I, and we became closer than brothers, complimenting each other in ways that offset any trouble we might have caused. Wherever one of us was weak, the other was strong. Bennie was low key, laconic, always standing in the background. I was high energy all the way, tackling life head on. Bennie was a brainy ‘A’ student. I was happy to skate by on ‘B’s. Bennie was born with a kind heart. I… well, let’s just say I wasn’t; but like I said, we complimented each other, and we were better for it.

After graduating from high school, we both enrolled at Eastern Washington University in Cheney. Go Eagles! Though we lived just fifteen miles away in Spokane, we wanted the whole college experience, so we talked our folks into letting us live in a dorm on campus. As roommates, of course.

After graduating from EWU with bachelor’s degrees in business administration, we rented an apartment in Spokane Valley only a few blocks from my dad’s business and we both went to work for him.

My dad is Avery Horace Wallace. The third, no less. Why anyone would name a kid Avery Horace just once is beyond me, but to do it three times is criminal. He never let his name get in the way, though, and he dug into life with an impressive degree of energy and can-do spirit. When he was straight out of high school, he started a company in his dad’s basement making custom clothing hangers for specific garments and shortly thereafter had wrangled contracts with most every clothing manufacturer in the region.

Personally, I have no problem keeping my clothes on a normal hanger, but I’m happy to say that a lot of people around the world did. Their need kept my family nicely housed, well fed, and richly vacationed throughout the year. Those hangers even paid the full bill for my college education, and for Bennie’s too.

Bennie and I worked part-time at my dad’s hanger factory, on the loading dock and on the floor, for the last two years of high school and all four years of college. When we graduated with our BBAs and hired on full-time, we became my dad’s first official junior executives; me in sales and Bennie in accounting. We even had our own offices. For the next year and a half, we lived the dream - making cold-calls, serving clients, crunching numbers, going on the occasional business trip, and taking the Pacific Northwest garment hanger industry by storm.

And then the dream ended.

Two weeks ago, Bennie stayed late to complete inventory. That was his thing – he loved to count stuff. Me? Not so much. Selling was a lot more fun. Besides, I had a date with Jolene, a gorgeous brunette from the payroll department, so I headed straight home to get ready as soon as I finished my last call, leaving Bennie to walk home, as he usually did.

Twenty minutes later, Jolene and I were sitting in the bleachers at the local baseball field. The Spokane Indians, a minor league team, were playing the Everett Aqua Socks. It was a good game, I guess, but in all honesty, I paid little attention. My focus was squarely on my date. More than just a looker with great legs, she had a sparkle about her that made me giddy in all the right places. I must have impressed her, too, because she agreed to see me again.

After the game, and after sharing a banana split at the Dairy Queen on Pines, I dropped her off at her apartment and drove my giddy self home, daydreaming about her the whole way. My euphoria came to a crashing standstill as I turned the corner and encountered several emergency vehicles, lights ablaze, surrounding a power pole with what used to be a car wrapped around it, and what appeared to be a body under a tarp on the sidewalk behind it. Next to the tarp lay a leather satchel, the same one-of-a-kind satchel Bennie carried every day, and next to that – Bennie’s favorite ball cap.

That’s when my world bottomed out.

At some point, Bennie must have glanced up from his computer and noticed it was getting dark, so he shut everything down and headed home. A block later, some idiot teen tore down the road at a ridiculous speed, lost control, jumped a curb, flew over the sidewalk where Bennie was walking, and plowed into the pole, killing himself and my best friend.

Had Bennie been ten feet either direction, or had he left the factory ten seconds earlier or later, or had the idiot kid behind the wheel been going just a little faster or slower, Bennie would have been okay. But that wasn’t the case. They were each in exactly the wrong place going exactly the wrong speed, and they intersected.

Inches and seconds. That’s what life comes down to – inches and seconds. A few less or a few more of either makes all the difference. If-only, what-if, and why are just silly mental games, played by the grieving to ignore reality. The truth, as harsh as it may seem at times, is that reality is what it is, and all the ifs, whats, and whys in the world will never change that.

Still…

My reflections were cut short when I executed a full-body smash into the back of the driver’s seat. I was sitting behind my dad in his beloved Cadillac, or had been up until a few moments ago, and he, my mom, and I were heading home from Bennie’s interment service. A dog had run into the street, forcing my dad to slam on his brakes.

Lawrence! my mother yelled from the front seat. Are you all right?

On the day I was born, my dad insisted the world could do without an Avery Horace the fourth, so my mom named me Lawrence Harvey, in honor of her father and her grandfather. My dad thought Larry was a lousy name for a baby, so he just called me his little buddy and, at some point, it got shortened to Bud, and that’s what everybody calls me. Except my mom, obviously.

I’m fine, I said, climbing back onto my seat. I guess I forgot to fasten my seatbelt.

Well for gosh sakes, put it on now.

Yes, ma’am. I did as she instructed.

That was a hard one, wasn’t it, Bud? my dad asked.

I assumed he meant the funeral and not the headrest. I grunted in response.

Are you sure you don’t want to come home with us? he asked. Have a little lunch?

No thanks, I said. I’m not hungry. I’m going to take a nap.

It was his turn to grunt. He wasn’t much for naps. Neither was I, really, but I couldn’t imagine being awake for the next few hours. Grieving is hard work.

A few minutes later, my dad pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment complex.

Here you go.

Thanks, I said, and opened my car door.

My mom opened hers, too, and we climbed out together. Wrapping her arms around me, she rocked me a little, like when I was a child, and I lay my head on her shoulder, breathing in her love. When enough was enough, she broke the embrace, pushing me back so she could search my eyes.

Are you all right? she asked me for the second time.

I will be, I said. I just need to be alone for a while.

I understand, she said, patting my arm. Come for dinner?

My mom is like that. She feeds people. ‘Come for dinner’ was an invitation heard by hundreds over the years. Are you new in town? Come for dinner! New in church? Come for dinner! Been gone for a while? Grieving? Sad? Lonely? Come for dinner! I thought it was corny when I was a kid, but standing there on the sidewalk, the memory of Bennie draping over my heart, I understood it.

Yeah.

Okay. Love you.

Love you, too, Mom.

One more hug, more mine than hers, and she got back in the car. My dad put the Cadillac in gear and they pulled away.

Alone – and I mean really alone – for the first time in eight years, I stood on the sidewalk, building up the courage to go inside. At some point, my need for the men’s room overcame my dread of the empty apartment and I started moving, picking up the mail as I went.

Picking up the mail had not been a priority in the last week, for obvious reasons, and the pile was huge, with bills and condolence cards leading the number. At the bottom of the pile was a letter in a plain, white envelope. It was postmarked from Boston and addressed to Bennie in barely discernable chicken scratch. I recognized it immediately. It was from Annie Parker, Bennie’s pen pal of the last seven years.

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Seeing the letter took me back. It was an early summer evening. We were 16 and had been at our Boy Scout meeting at my church, which was about a mile from my house. We had completed our First Aid merit badges that night and were walking home in the twilight, feeling a bit cocky with our new skills. Directly in front of us a car ran a red light, smashing broadside into the driver’s door of another car in the middle of the intersection. Bennie grabbed my arm and yelled Go call 911, as we had been trained to do. This was before either of us had cell phones, so I ran for the corner payphone and Bennie ran to give first aid.

The man who blew through the red light was staggering around his car, and I could smell the booze on him from twenty feet away. He had a nasty head gash, but otherwise acted fine. The young lady in the other car, however, was in bad shape. Without hesitation, Bennie climbed into the passenger side, whipped off his shirt, and used it to apply pressure to whatever bleeding he could find, all the while encouraging the girl and begging her to hold on. When the EMT’s finally arrived, he had more blood on him than she had inside her, but she was still breathing. The medics stabilized her as best they could and loaded her into the ambulance.

Where are you taking her? Bennie asked.

Sacred Heart! one of the medics yelled over his shoulder.

With the name of the hospital ringing in his ears, Bennie found me on the edge of the crowd, yelled Come on!, and took off. I caught up and we ran to my house since it was closer. My mom was in the kitchen, and she freaked out when she saw us. Bennie was covered with blood and we were both yelling for her to take us to the hospital. After calming us down and determining that the blood was neither Bennie’s nor mine, she called my dad, who was working late, and told him what was going on. She then called Bennie’s mom and told her, too, reassuring her that Bennie was okay. After hanging up, she marched Bennie into the bathroom, got him cleaned up, kind of, and drove us to Bennie’s house where he showered and put on fresh clothes. Only then did she drive us to the hospital.

Since we weren’t family, the nurse at the desk wouldn’t talk to us about the girl’s condition, but when we told her that Bennie was the hero who saved the girls life, she broke down and told us the girl was in surgery. We still didn’t know her name, but she was alive. Thank God.

The three of us took over a corner of the waiting room, alternately talking, praying, napping, and consuming various chips and sodas from the vending machines. A doctor finally appeared and shook Bennie’s hand. He congratulated him for his heroism and said his quick action saved her life. He also told us she was in recovery and could not have visitors of any kind until the next day, and then only immediate family.

Since there was nothing more we could do, my mom herded us out of the hospital and took us to an all-night diner for burgers and ice cream. After Bennie and I had stuffed ourselves silly, which was our normal way of eating back then, she drove us home.

I figured it for a memorable one-day event. Bennie wasn’t so easily dissuaded. Like I said, he was the nicest guy I knew, and he was truly concerned for the girl. That very morning, at the ungodly hour of seven a.m., after only four hours of sleep, he yanked me out of bed with a phone call. He said his mom was driving us back to the hospital and they would be by to pick me up in ten minutes.

After the proper amount of whining, I hung up, staggered out of bed, threw on some clothes, and clomped outside to wait. Fifteen minutes later, Bennie and I had resumed our vigil in the Sacred Heart ICU waiting room.

We sat there for hours. Bennie was determined to learn of her condition. I was determined not to abandon my best friend. Around noon, an anxious couple entered the room.

After sitting quietly together for several minutes, the couple began to talk between themselves and we overheard them mention a terrible accident and a girl named Annie. Bennie approached them and introduced himself. With a passion he hadn’t expected, the lady sprang to her feet and threw her arms around him, squeezing him so hard he couldn’t breathe, and thanking him through her tears for saving Annie’s life. The man stood up and gently pried the lady away while offering return introductions. They were Paul and Linda Mason, from Boston, Massachusetts. Linda was Annie’s sister.

Paul said that Annie was in a coma, and they planned to take her back to Boston and care for her there. Bennie wrote his name and address on a slip of paper and handed it to them, requesting that if she ever woke up, they have her write him and let him know she was okay. They agreed and that was the end of it – for about six months.

One day, Bennie came home from school and his mother handed him a letter. It was postmarked from Boston and had his name scrawled on the front. It was a letter from Annie, written by hand in a barely discernable script, thanking him for saving her life. She reported she was doing fine and was expected to make a complete recovery. Bennie immediately called me and shared the happy news. I was thrilled for them both