Eternal Love Read Free Page B

and an appetizer. 
    "Is this
expensive?" she asked, pointing to a price.  Twenty dollars for a single
appetizer?
    The waiter eyed
her quizzically.  "The prices haven't changed since you last visited,
ma'am."
    She checked her
watch every once in awhile, acting as if it made any difference what time it
was, and nibbled on her gyoza .  She watched the fish, swimming back and
forth.  If they had new ones, she didn't recognize them.
    The day of the
wake came and she dreaded it.  She wore a simple black dress and arrived early,
claiming a chair in the corner.  People arrived and some apologized for her
loss, but others glared, angry.  She knew what they thought, even if they
didn't voice it.  If she hadn't accepted Robert's gifts, portions of his life,
he might still be alive.  It didn't matter to them that none of that mattered;
he could have offered nothing and a man still would have crashed into him. 
That's what a medical aid told her at the hospital after they pronounced Robert
dead.
    What if he was
wrong, though?  She tried not to think about it, didn't want to think about
it.  Robert's mother's glare stuck in her mind and she needed to take sedatives
that her doctor prescribed in order to fall asleep.
    The funeral was
the next day.  Cemeteries scared her, but she went anyways.  No one said
anything to her at the church or the cemetery, which suited her well enough. 
She didn't know what to say if someone came to her, to console her or accuse
her or anything else.  The funeral ended, Robert was put into the ground, and
she waited.  Everyone left, but she thought she should stay.
    She walked
through the cemetery; her own way of remembrance.  She remembered lots of
things.  Gaige had died, too, so long ago.  In his search for a high, he
overextended himself and gave away all of the remainder of his life to another
druggy.  They intended a give, then take, but only one large give transferred
through.  Doctors who studied such incidents later coined the phrase chronopenia to describe it.
    Dalton died a
few years after.  During the early years of life transference a glitch in the
process existed.  Someone recognized it eventually, but by then it was too late
for many; and for Dalton.  When he meant to give her a week, sometimes he ended
up giving multiple times that.  His father never blamed her, but whenever she
saw him afterwards she felt guilty.
    There had been
another man, also.  She loved him, though not the same as Robert.  They married
a few months after meeting.  A few months after that he learned he had cancer. 
Instead of prolonging his life in hopes for a cure, he brought her on one
final, extravagant vacation before committing assisted suicide by transferring
the rest of whatever life he would have had to her.  His name was Bridge.
    Wandering the
cemetery with no concept of direction or intention at first, she thought of
something and gained purpose.  She wanted to see it.  How long had it been
now?  A lifetime ago, at least.  The spot was nowhere near Robert's grave, but
she found it easily.
    A tree from over
the cemetery fence shaded a row of gravestones.  She scanned them until she
found the one she wanted.  She didn't know why she wanted to be here, but she
did.  Reading the inscription to herself, she mouthed the name of the grave's
owner: Nathan Rayner.
    Her son had
lived a happy life.  He never seemed bothered that she looked the same when he
was eighty six as she had when he was ten.  It hurt when he died, but he was
frail by then and ready for it.  He told her so himself, he'd said he thought
death wouldn't be too bad.  A relief, maybe. 
    To comfort her,
to make her smile, he asked a nurse to bring in one of the nursing home's
portable senescence machines.  Under the nurse's supervision, he feebly clipped
one end to himself, and the other to her, then transferred her one minute—it
was the first time he'd ever used one of the machines.
    "Now you'll
always have a