The Persistent Road

By Tim Bishop

There's always an escape. Sometimes you need to search long and hard for the right one.

After losing all he once cherished, Doug Zimmer follows his wife's parting bread crumbs and rides up the Pacific coast—on a bicycle. Armed with a revolver and only a vague plan to get through the months ahead, he aims to end his depression one way or the other.

As spiritual forces wrangle for his soul, he pedals eastward across America. He meets Lauren Baumgartner—a younger adventurer with a vibrant spirit—and a band of zealots who confront his aversion to religion. Accompanying Doug are not only sunny days and the beauty of nature but also the perils of the road, fellow travelers with their own stories, and the hollow silence of solitary campsites playing host to unseen creatures of the night.

A jarring episode on a climb through a treacherous pass brings Doug face-to-face with life and death. Will Doug's adventure deliver him from loneliness and lament . . . or hurtle him to an abrupt end?

Endorsed by award-winning novelists Patricia Bradley, Ace Collins, and Katie Powner.

TIM BISHOP has bicycled many of the roads that Doug Zimmer travels in The Persistent Road. And having coached people struggling with similar issues, the author is familiar with his protagonist's problems. Tim and his wife, Debbie, are coauthors of the award-winning Wheels of Wisdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Press
• Release date: Jun 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986012513

Book preview

Chapter 1

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I ’m sorry. Your cancer is spreading . . .

Morning gridlock on the LA Freeway gave Doug Zimmer too much time to think again.

. . . you may have weeks, or you may have months . . .

He turned on the radio. Let It Snow fit neither the sunny day nor his mood, so he jabbed the power button. Enough of Johnny Mathis.

Will life be worth living after Ruth is gone? Yet she was looking forward to heaven. Imagine that.

Doug rolled his old Ford Explorer into the corporate parking lot with only a minute to spare. He opened the door and slid down until his feet hit the pavement. Briefcase in tow, he stepped into the building.

Good morning, Michelle, he said to the receptionist.

How’s Ruth? she said, reviewing her computer screen through half-frame reading glasses.

Not good, but thanks for asking. Doug grabbed his mail, then flew by her garland-trimmed workstation before she could ask any more questions. Michelle meant well, but she didn’t get it.

Lorna came down the hallway in her gray suit. Doug, how’s Ruth doing?

He didn’t stop walking. Not good.

I’m sorry to hear that. Ryan and I have been praying for you.

Thanks, he said as he passed her. I’ll take any help I can get. What else could he say? If people only knew how Ruth and Doug’s world had been turned upside down, they might resort to more than just prayer.

He stepped into his unadorned office and set his briefcase on the table beside his desk. A bright light blinded him, so he tilted his head to avoid it. It came from a wall full of plaques. Not bad for an Iowa farm boy. However, the sunbeam spotlighted his most recent award, now six years old. Sales. What a roller-coaster ride.

As he plopped his weary body into the chair, his eyes met those of a younger version of Ruth in the frame on his desk. His chin quivered, so he looked away. He reached for his mouse when—

Afternoon, Zimmer. Rollins wants to see you.

Afternoon? Typical Banister. Wise guy.

Todd Banister, the winner of the latest sales award, had poked his head in the door. Along with it came that slicked-back hairdo of his. A split second after delivering the message, he disappeared—to fetch their boss’s morning cup of coffee, no doubt.

I’ll be right there, Doug replied to the empty doorway.

Though Doug had ample seniority over Banister, he’d learned not to turn his back for fear the man would pierce him with the proverbial knife. Like a bloodthirsty shark circling a man overboard, Banister snatched credit for the latest contract on a lucrative account Doug had serviced forever.

Doug pried himself out of the chair, then stooped and tilted his head up so he could scan his unopened email messages. He turned and walked down the hall to the corner office.

You wanted to see me?

Frank Rollins took a sip from a cup of steaming coffee and then set it on his spotless desk. He got up, reached his starchy white cuff toward the doorknob, and closed the door.

As Rollins returned to his chair, Doug looked up—as he did with most men—to read his face. The man’s expression suggested he was prepared for a game of poker.

Doug, have a seat.

Intimidation was nothing new to Doug, but the closed-door privacy gave him the jitters.

A star athlete in college with a mind as sharp as his pinstriped suit, Rollins could do no wrong in coworkers’ eyes. Doug was old enough to be his father, but even he respected how Frank’s leadership had grown sales substantially during the man’s three-year tenure.

Rollins held his solid red tie to his chest as he seated himself.

I haven’t heard anything from McIver, Doug said.

I have.

When silence permeated the room, Doug drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Rollins merely looked across the desk at him. They said you misled them.

What? Doug studied his boss’s double-barreled glare. I mean, about what?

They said you offered them a three-month bonus.

Doug opened his mouth to object, but Rollins continued, When the elder McIver looked at the contract and didn’t see the bonus, he went ballistic.

Doug grasped the arms of his chair. His boss had jumped to an unfair conclusion—again. Regardless, escalating the tenor of the conversation would only make matters worse, so he remained silent.

What were you thinking?

What do you mean, ‘What was I thinking?’

You know we can’t offer three-month bonuses. We stopped doing that two years ago.

Doug’s heart pounded. "I didn’t offer them a three-month bonus."

They said you did . . . and turned down the competition because of it.

That’s ridiculous. I—I did no such thing.

Rollins reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Brown vouched for him. They called late yesterday and then forwarded this email from you."

Rollins passed the paper to Doug, who clutched it with his sweaty hand. Sure enough, it had come from Doug’s own email address. And it included the bonus.

I . . . I know what this looks like, Frank, but I didn’t send this email.

"IT already checked into it. It was sent from your account and from your computer."

Well, I didn’t send it. Doug’s jowls shook with every word.

McIver has been one of our best customers. They told me that if I didn’t honor the bonus, they would walk. Rollins’s face grew red. He leaned forward with furrowed brows and pounded his fist on the desk. That’s a $100,000 mistake you just made, and I won’t tolerate it.

I’m telling you, it wasn’t my mistake.

Rollins’s glare shot daggers across the desk. I warned you last quarter on the Benson account, Zimmer. You cost the company on that one too.

What are you talking about? But suddenly Doug knew what was coming.

They were going to sign for four years, and you shortened it to two.

That’s because you told me to. Rollins had made an unwise decision, but Doug had failed to push back, fearful his boss might retaliate.

Neck veins popped on both sides of the desk as Doug hid his clenched fists in his lap. The two men exchanged fiery looks.

Clean out your office, Zimmer. You’re fired.

Doug stared at him. What?

With the bullet discharged, Rollins calmed down. HR will help you with the termination details.

What do you mean? You—You can’t just fire me.

A wry smile crept onto Rollins’s face but vanished quickly.

Don’t I have any rights after thirty years? You can’t do this.

Rollins got up, walked calmly to the door, and opened it. He held the doorknob with one hand and swung his free arm, pointing the way out.

Doug jerked himself out of the chair, sending it spinning, and stormed out.

He darted to the men’s room, entered a toilet stall, and slammed the door so hard the walls around him rattled. Ridiculous! How will I pay the bills? And with only five years to go. What a violation!

It took fifteen minutes in the bathroom to subdue his emotions. Avoiding eye contact, he scooted down the hall to his office and closed the door. He turned to his computer but was already locked out of it. He grabbed his phone to check email, but that account had been secured as well. Thirty years of loyal service and hard work have come to this?

He dumped some old files from a cardboard box onto the floor. Yanking open a drawer, he tossed aside some interoffice memos until he unearthed an old Rolodex, two neckties, and a sweater Ruth had given him. Underneath were golf magazines and a decade-old cycling magazine. From another drawer, he pulled an open bag of Milky Way candy bars. He wrapped the sweater around the picture of Ruth and placed the items in the box. He pulled his most recent sales award from the wall, then paused to look at it. He gnashed his teeth and tossed the plaque into the trash can.

By ten o’clock the security team was escorting him to the door. Several coworkers strode through a distant hallway looking over their shoulders to see what was happening, Banister among them. Michelle clickety-clacked away on her computer, more than likely feigning business as usual.

Shock and embarrassment were the only colleagues that cared enough to accompany Doug to his car on his final day at Josephson’s. He’d experienced something he would never have thought possible ninety minutes earlier.

Doug loaded his car and squealed out of the parking lot. For two hours, he rode the freeway with no destination in mind other than to avoid anyone who knew him, driven not by his Ford but by his anger and his overwhelming sense of loss and dignity. He stopped at a bar but couldn’t bring himself to enter it. Instead, he used the drive-thru at a fast-food joint to bury his pain in saturated fat and a large shake.

He would kill another four and a half hours before visiting Ruth in the hospital. She needed this news about as much as he needed more questions he couldn’t answer.

Chapter 2

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At his usual time and still clothed for work, Doug stuck his head inside room 316 at LA Memorial Hospital. Ruth, three years his senior, was staring out the window. On her lap lay an open book. The familiar scene allayed his angst.

What are you reading?

Ruth flinched. Oh, hi.

Doug sat.

Psalms again.

That’s nice.

Ruth closed her Bible and set it alongside a box of Kleenex and a plastic water bottle on the cart beside the bed. Did you check on health insurance?

Yeah. But you have enough on your plate without worrying about something I can take care of. If only it were that easy. Who knew what HR would tell him about termination benefits?

I don’t want to leave you with—

Never you mind. What’s all this fuss about leaving? What makes you think you’re going anywhere sooner than I am?

You heard the doctor. Dear, pretending it isn’t going to happen won’t make it go away.

Doug grimaced, then looked out the window. I know. But why are you in such a hurry?

I’m not in a hurry, dear. But it’s out of my control. I just want you to be okay.

I’ll be okay. You just work at getting better.

A sad smile came over Ruth’s face. I want you to move on once I’m gone. I want you to have a good life rather than trying to shovel out from under a pile of hospital bills . . . Do you remember when we first got married?

Doug smiled, leaned forward, and touched her hand.

Ruth studied his eyes. It took years after we upgraded our home, but we squeaked by. It was hard work.

Sure was. Doug lifted her hand to his cheek. But it was you and me, dear. That’s all that mattered.

The corners of Ruth’s mouth stretched outward, accentuating her round face. It’s time you enjoyed life.

He knew what she meant. His depression had been creeping back in since her diagnosis. He couldn’t hide anything from her. For someone who has such a strong belief in God, you sure are fatalistic. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.

I don’t want you spiraling down and hitting rock bottom again. Besides, retirement is right around the corner for you.

Doug looked out the window. If only she knew.

Douglas, there’s something in the bottom of my jewelry box that you may want to tend to after I’m gone. The key is on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.

What is it?

Oh, nothing really. Promise me you won’t bother with it until some time has passed after my funeral. Okay?

Doug nodded slowly. If you say so.

A food delivery worker entered and set a covered tray on the table beside Ruth. When the girl lifted the cover, out came steam and the smell of pot roast. Do you need help with this, Mrs. Zimmer? she said in a voice loud enough to penetrate the exterior wall.

No, I can handle it, dear. But thank you. Ruth’s eyes twinkled at the girl, who tilted her head before leaving the room.

If you aren’t deaf when you come in here, they’ll make sure you are by the time you get out. Doug looked at Ruth’s supper, then grinned. Brown rice. What’s that remind you of?

Ruth looked at her engagement ring, then at Doug, her face aglow. They’d relived the story countless times, but it never got old. You sly one, Douglas Zimmer. Hidden beneath a bag of rice. I thought you were too lazy to pull your own groceries out of the cart. And there you were, waiting for me to find the buried treasure.

Doug beamed. Remember the look on the cashier’s face when I got down on one knee?

Ruth leaned her head back on her pillow and laughed. And the people who flocked to the checkout and cheered.

Best decision I ever made.

Oh, stop it. Let me eat my supper.

Who’s stopping you? He squeezed her arm. I’m not going to fight you for that plate of food. That is food, isn’t it?

Ruth stabbed a slice of carrot with her fork, then paused. You’ve never been able to satisfy your hunger for adventure. I think you should plan something. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.

Doug chuckled. That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.

I say go for it, honey.

Doug sighed. Ruth eased the carrot into her mouth and went back for another.

The two continued chatting. After Ruth’s supper Doug stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Dear, there’s something I need to tell you.

Oh?

It’s about . . . my . . . Doug glanced out the window. She has enough to deal with already.

Ruth furrowed her brow. Douglas. What’s wrong? Is it your visit to the cardiologist?

Doug took the diversion and ran with it. Every time I see him, he bugs me about increasing my cholesterol medication. He must be getting a cut from the drug company.

No, Ruth scolded. He’s a good man. I hope you listen to him after I’m gone. Your father and brother both had heart issues.

A nurse walked in. Time for your bath, Mrs. Zimmer. How’s that sound?

Ruth looked at the nurse and glowed. Ooo . . . that sounds great. You are so good to me.

I need to go get some supper. Doug bent down and kissed Ruth on the lips, then on the forehead. I love you. He squeezed her hand and left the room.

On his way down the hall, the elevator opened. He was surprised to see his half-sister, Carmen, still in business attire, walk out carrying a bouquet of flowers, its red hues reflecting against her wrinkle-free face.

Those for me? I hope you brought a change of clothes. You’re just in time for a bath.

Funny. I had some time before small group, so I stopped by. How is she?

Pensive, but in good spirits.

Isn’t she always?

That she is. But physically she’s getting weaker. I hate it.

The two moved to the side of the hallway to allow a gurney through and for more privacy. Doug leaned against the railing. How was your day?

It was good. Never a dull moment around the water cooler, Carmen said, her cropped brunette hair flipping about. Two of my claims administrators announced their pregnancies, so I’ll be looking for temporary help again. Lucky them.

Your day will come, Carmen.

Yeah, well, first things first. I’m still waiting for Mr. Right to show up.

You’ve probably scared him off.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Guys don’t want a Sunday school lesson whenever they come within two feet of you. Why can’t you take Ruth’s lead on this? She stopped preaching to me years ago.

I’m trusting this area of my life to the Lord.

There. Doug pointed at her. That. See what I mean?

Oh, Doug, knock it off. Hey, what about you? How was your day?

Doug hesitated. His stomach churned. I’ve had better . . . and I’ve had . . . better. She would visit Ruth momentarily, so Carmen didn’t need to know yet what happened. I appreciate you checking in on Ruth so often. He touched his hand to her elbow. Nice flowers. Gotta go.

See you soon, Carmen said. I love you.

Doug gave Carmen a token hug, and the two parted.

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After Doug spent most of his weekend at the hospital, Monday morning arrived. He called Josephson’s HR department. How many weeks of termination pay will I receive?

Let me check . . . They’ve coded eleven days into the system. I’m not sure why they did that—it’s unusual—but it’ll help you bridge your health insurance coverage.

"Eleven days? That’s all thirty years gets me?"

I’m sorry. Most terminated employees get nothing.

Why not just two weeks?

I don’t know, but at least you get paid an extra day. It carries you through Monday, the second of January.

When does my health insurance run out?

December 31. But you can continue it by paying the premiums yourself.

How much are those?

The clerk put Doug on hold to look up the premium. His stomach was knotting up like it had when Rollins delivered the knockout punch last Friday.

Hi. It’s fourteen hundred dollars a month.

"What? Did you say fourteen hundred?"

Thirteen ninety-six to be exact. You can shop around if you’d like, but health insurance is very expensive these days.

You’re telling me. I know I didn’t use all my vacation and sick time. How much pay is coming to me there?

I’m sorry but those benefits go away as of January first, which is before your termination pay lapses.

Doug ground his teeth. He could do the math. Of all the low-down schemes.

And our records indicate you opted out of the retirement plan. Is that right?

Doug sighed.

Hello?

Yeah, that’s correct.

Would you like to continue the insurance?

"My wife is in the hospital right now with a terminal illness. What do you think?"

I’ll send you a consent form in the mail with instructions on how to submit payment. And I’m sorry about your wife. Is there anything else I could help you with today?

No, you’ve done quite enough, thank you.

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For the next few days, Doug masqueraded as an eight-to-five working stiff. Each evening at his customary time, he arrived at Ruth’s bedside in work attire. To pass the daytime out of her sight, he tackled home projects he’d put off for years. Bicycle rides and target practice acted as personal therapy. However, with each day, Ruth became feebler. By Thursday, he could no longer be apart from her.

His job status remained a mystery to anyone who knew him outside of work. The abrupt change foisted upon him meant never again seeing the place where he’d given so much for so long. Part of him was glad—except for the more pressing matters before him. Like a crowbar on a boarded-up chest, depression threatened to rip open his psyche and climb back in to darken his soul.

Chapter 3

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It was Saturday, Christmas Eve. Silently but purposefully, the nurse entered the dimly lit room. Another strong whiff of disinfectant came with her. The green and red colors of her elf’s cap did nothing to elevate Doug’s spirits. Beside him, Ruth lay frail and motionless in her bed. The doctors had discovered her ovarian cancer before Thanksgiving. Stage IV. Neither the diagnosis nor its timing seemed fitting.

Treatment options were limited with slim prospects for success. Without hesitating, Ruth had decided those options weren’t worth the fight. Why choose a life of additional suffering when the agony could end sooner? And then on to greener pastures, at least that’s what she thought. Doug could relate to the choice but not the motivation behind it. She seemed too at peace with her decision.

Watching each drip of morphine was as painful as spying each tick of the clock. Both would cease sooner than Doug would choose, be it days or weeks. Ruth’s fleeting days of life were slipping away from the clutches of a man ill-prepared to see them go.

With her task complete, the nurse exited the room as quickly as she’d entered it, easing the door shut without a sound. Doing so preserved the privacy Doug had requested.

Ruth slowly opened her eyelids. Her baby-blue eyes, now glazed over with fluid, looked at Doug with the same love they had for the past twenty years. Go for it, she uttered. It’s what . . . It’s whatcha . . . always . . . wanted ta do.

The gibberish trailed off as her eyes closed. Her head turned in search of relief. Each time she spoke, it seemed the sounds were harder to force out of her mouth. Pausing between the words urged them forth but also wrenched Doug’s heart as he hung on every one of them.

How much longer will I hear her sweet voice? A lump swelled in his throat.

Even the features of Ruth’s precious face echoed the love and kindness she’d offered those around her. Her cheekbones rode high on her face, not as rosy as they’d been a few weeks earlier, but surrounded by crow’s feet above and creases below from her perpetual smile. Her forehead was devoid of worry lines. Not even hairdresser neglect could subdue the beauty of her wavy auburn locks, wisps of gray reflecting the wisdom beneath them. How could the countenance of someone enduring such wretched suffering exude such joy? That riddle was unsolvable and overwhelming. Before the reservoir behind Doug’s eyes burst, he heard a tap on the door.

He gathered himself, then opened the door a crack to see who might interrupt this precious time alone with his bride. The sight of a white clerical collar was his first hint. Then he locked eyes with Rev. Long.

Come in. Doug opened the door wide enough to admit Ruth’s pastor, then closed it quietly behind him.

Doug, how are you doing? Rev. Long whispered with a smile, offering Doug a warm and hearty handshake.

Doug reciprocated the handshake but couldn’t muster a smile. Okay. Both men moved toward Ruth’s bed and stopped alongside it.

What are you hearing from the doctors?

They’re noncommittal. Doug stared at his wife’s face. But she’s still breathing. If ever there was a time for a miracle, this is it.

Rev. Long gazed at Ruth for a few moments. A sad smile came over the face of the man whom Doug had only ever seen upbeat. I don’t think she’ll be with us much longer.

Doug might have said what he was thinking about the pastor’s obvious conclusion but didn’t want to offend him. What do you mean?

She’s going to see Jesus face-to-face very soon. My guess is sometime within the next few hours.

Doug’s hands shook. A flood of emotion washed through his body, though he tried not to let on. How do you know that?

The pace and sound of her breathing. The color of her skin. I’ve seen many dying patients breathe their last breath. She doesn’t have long.

Doug observed Ruth’s face and breathing pattern but remained unconvinced of the pastor’s dire prediction. Rather than sowing despair, the good reverend ought to ask the Almighty to renew her health. After all, Ruth ran his church’s hospitality committee.

Doug, as much as it’s a time to consider our own vulnerability and begin grieving our loss, it’s also a time to be joyful for Ruth. While her physical demise has been relatively quick, she has suffered with this disease long enough. A few days ago, when you were at work, she told me again how much she was looking forward to heaven.

The pastor’s pause allowed Doug to digest what he’d said. He didn’t want to hear any of it. What made Rev. Long the gatekeeper to heaven? Doug would rather choose life for Ruth. What would he do without her?

Do you mind if I pray for her?

Doug backed away. Go right ahead.

The cleric urged him forward. It’s okay. Stand with me as we come into His presence.

Doug closed his eyes but immediately reopened them to avoid squeezing out tears and interrupting the prayer with a show of emotion. Instead, he gazed at his wife’s sweet face while anticipating her pastor’s request to the Almighty for healing.

Rev. Long situated himself on Ruth’s right near the head of her bed, delicately placing his left hand on her forehead. His right hand found Doug’s shoulder nearby, then dropped to his side.

Dear Heavenly Father, You have granted us the amazing privilege to know, to love, and to be loved by Your faithful servant, Ruth Zimmer. While our hearts yearn for more of her, we know You are calling her home to be with You forever, to dwell in the place You have prepared beforehand for her arrival in Glory. How be it that we should hold her back from the inheritance of her salvation and the rewards of her dedicated service to You and to us? We will remain forever grateful for this special person who reflected Your love to us so well. We bid her farewell in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I commend her spirit unto You now and forevermore, in the name of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, amen.

With uncanny timing, Ruth stopped breathing when the pastor said amen. A calm yet overwhelming presence filled the room. It was intertwined with Ruth’s warmth but as indescribable as her kind yet mysterious ways.

Doug’s body buckled as he grabbed the bed rail. His wedding band clinked against it while his legs fought to keep him upright. No . . . no . . . no. A deluge of tears flowed down his face.

The pastor’s hand touched Doug’s shoulder.

The sound of his grief brought the nurse into the room. She leaned down, checked for Ruth’s pulse, and looked up at the men. I’m sorry. She’s gone.

Chapter 4

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It hadn’t been much of a Christmas or New Year’s. While Doug had limited options with whom to spend the holidays, he declined all of them. No sense in ruining someone else’s fun with a heavy heart. Thank goodness the holidays were over.

Three weeks after Ruth’s passing, Doug sat alone at their kitchen table. When the phone rang, he decided to stop ignoring whoever had been calling. Mr. Zimmer, we’re calling to inform you that, including interest, you owe Furniture Finance Incorporated $3,542. We need payment immediately, or our legal team will seize your assets. I can take your credit card number when you’re ready.

Before Ruth got sick, they’d upgraded their living room furniture. What a mistake. Now two collectors were chasing him. The air conditioning unit failed last summer, costing them $5,000 they didn’t have.

Doug swallowed. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the money right now. I lost my job and my wife just died. I know those—

The doorbell rang. Doug placed the phone against a roll of fat in his midsection and shouted, Just a minute. Then he lifted the phone to his ear. Those may sound like excuses, but they’re true. I’m having a hard time right now.

Unmoved, the man intensified the discussion, so Doug dropped the phone to his side again. He’d come to realize that collection agents worked on commission and cared only about squeezing cash out of deadbeats like him. Usually that meant threats and intimidation. He’d grown tired of it. Prepared to end the conversation with whatever aplomb and tact he could muster, he placed the phone next to his ear.

. . . a full search of your assets. We don’t want to see you suffer the embarrassment of—

Doug disconnected the call. He got up to answer the door just as the phone started ringing again. He silenced the ringer.

When he opened the front door, he saw Carmen standing in tights and sneakers.

Sorry, I was on the phone. Come in.

I was on my way to the gym and thought I would swing by.

Well, I’m here. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. Got the day off?

I’ve got a few hours, then I need to go into the office.

The two sat at the kitchen table. Doug pointed to a stack of envelopes. Mail has changed from Christmas cards to sympathy cards . . . and from year-end donation requests to doctors’ bills.

Ouch. Any job leads yet?

Doug groaned, his head drifting to one side and then the other. I’m not sure where to begin. I feel like I’m still lying on the canvas, gathering myself before climbing to my feet for more punches. He fanned some envelopes with his thumb. This is the uglier side of death. The experts who couldn’t stop the inevitable now want their piece of the pie. That’s after the undertaker’s bills.

I’m sorry. Carmen noticed a legal document to Doug’s right. What’s that?

A death certificate. Just got it today. Want one?

Carmen picked it up. Ohhhh, Ruth. I can’t believe it. So sad. Her face drooped as she spoke. Actually . . . I do want one. I’ll add it to my memorabilia of Ruth. I miss her so much.

Take it. I’ve got extras.

Carmen folded Ruth’s death certificate and slid it into her fanny pack.

Everywhere I look, there she is. Doug pointed throughout the kitchen and toward the living room. I can’t get her out of my mind.

"It must be hard. You know, Ruth would want her things to go to people in need. You’ll never use them anyway. Certainly not her clothes and jewelry. You could sell