One Last Adventure Together

Sitting in my husband’s armchair, I flip through another photo album. Stacks of them sit by my swollen feet. Our life together is summarized in the sum of these albums. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. I close the last album.

My back aches against the cushion that supports my arthritic spine. Strands of silver hairs hang over my face. Sniffling, I set the album by my feet with the others. When I stand, my stiff knees click. I wince in pain, though its severity is nothing compared to that which I feel in my heart. I shuffle to Joey’s office desk and pick up the bills.

One is from the funeral home. Three thousand dollars. A month overdue. I toss it onto the table along with the other overdue bills. I can’t give what I don’t have. I spent it all on Joey’s treatments.

I look at the cornfields through the home office window. All that I have is here on this farm. This house, this land, and memories of a lifetime. I have no children and my closest friends have all passed on. I suppose I could move back to my home country, but where would I stay? Surely, my siblings and their children and grandchildren are all too busy for me.

I sigh and stagger to Joey’s bookshelf, using his scuffed desk for stability. I run my finger along his collection of thrillers. I chuckle at a memory.

“Lily, I’m a farmer,” said Joey after a long day in the fields. “At the end of my day, I just wanna kick up my feet and read a good ol’ thriller. John Grisham, Stephen King, and Michael Connelly all had me in mind when they wrote their books. People with easy jobs can afford to read literary fiction. Not people like me. I break my back for America.” He howled in laughter.

Now I frown because I realize I’ll never hear Joey’s rambunctious laugh again. No longer will I need to cook, clean, pack, or grocery shop for two. Alone. That’s what I am. This loneliness is suffocating. Will I ever be okay?

I pull Joey’s favourite book off his shelf, John Grisham’s The Firm. His hands held this often and so I open it and hide my face in its pages. I imagine its Joey’s hands gently embracing my face. I realize this looks silly and snap the book shut. As I’m about to place the book back on the shelf, I find a small black notebook hidden in the back. I remove a Don Winslow and a Lee Child novel off the shelf and pull out the notebook I’ve never seen before.

Its cover feels smooth against my rough skin. A black ribbon peaks out from the bottom. I open the front cover and am greeted by the woody smell that is characteristic of Joey. His writing fills the first page:

Dear Lily,

If you’re reading this, it means I have passed on. I’m sorry I abandoned you, and I’m sorry I left you broken-hearted. My lifetime with you is my greatest joy. You have taught me to love, to live, to laugh in good times and bad. I vowed to take care of you for better or for worse. And yet somehow YOU took care of me for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, until death did us apart.

You have been faithful to me in marriage and in friendship. You sacrificed everything for me so that I could come here to realize my dream. You’ve given me adventure. You’ve set me free. Now that I’m gone, it’s time I set you free.

Live your adventures, live your dreams. Live without regret. Let your life burst at its seams. To get you started, I’ve given you one clue. Flip to the bookmark. There you’ll find a key to your new life.

I love you Lily. Don’t wither your life away. Live please. I want you to choose to live.

— Love, Joey

I blink through my tears. They stain the notebook’s ivory paper. Leaning against the bookshelf to steady myself, I flip to the bookmark and bring my hand to my chest. The remaining cluster of pages are glued together. Joey had hollowed out the center of those pages. Within it is a key taped to a photo.

I study the key. Unsure of what it opens, I examine the photo. It’s a picture of our decommissioned well with the water bucket sitting on top of the cover. With a red permanent marker, Joey drew a heart on the bucket. I furrow my brow at the clues.

In this notebook, there’s writing at the bottom of the cutout:

Hidden from sight, pull from above.

My broken heart resuscitates to life. When we were younger, Joey used to surprise me with scavenger hunts. I would find notes in my purse, clues in my shoes, hints in my pockets, and after a full day of romping around on our land in search of clues, I would find him waiting for me, a blanket sprawled out on the ground, a wicker basket in front of him, and a grin on his face as he said, “Took you long enough.”

I place the key and photo back into the notebook and shuffle to the armchair. Equipping myself with my cane in one hand and notebook in the other, I rush as fast as I can out the back door and into the cornfields.

I wrestle through the stalks of corn and eventually come to our hidden well, gasping and sweating. My eighty-year-old legs, lungs, and heart haven’t pumped this hard in ages. I push off the wooden well cover and squint into the well. It’s pitch black, but there’s a rope hanging off the ledge. I pull the rope upwards until the water bucket appears.

Within the bucket is another small black notebook. I grab it and chuck the bucket onto the floor. I wipe my brow with my forearm and lean up against the well as I pant and open the second notebook. There’s no cutout. A twenty-dollar bill bookmarks a clue:

We perched so free upon this tree. Our heart is the key.

I tilt my head and bite my lip. I know where I’m supposed to go but I don’t see what Joey’s planning.

I follow a path out of the cornfields and emerge into a clearing where a lonely Desert Willow stands. Not fifty meters away is twenty acres of lush forest. Somehow this one tree got separated from the rest.

On rare occasions, when the mosquitoes weren’t too bad, Joey and I would star gaze under this tree.

I find our names etched into the bark. I run my fingers along the contours of J&L 1938, which is surrounded by a heart. Joey was so full of clichés. I smile, close my eyes, and rest my forehead on our childish branding. When I open my eyes, a ribbon of a third black notebook catches my attention. Like a tail of a dog, it sticks out from under the tree. I bend downwards to retrieve it and blow off the dirt and dust. Expecting another twenty-dollar bill, my eyes widen as I retrieve a stack of hundreds in the notebook’s hollowed core. I count the money.

One, two, three . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

I recount the money again, this time holding all twenty bills like I’m holding cards during a Euchre game.

Benjamin Franklins are smiling at me. “Why do you look so surprised?” he seems to say. “This is Joey we’re talking about.”

I compile the two thousand dollars with the twenty and check the third notebook for my next clue. I open the book and search the base of the cutout.

Its blank.

I frown. Is this it? Was this Joey’s last clue?

Without any warning, tears well up behind my eyes again. I try to hold back the dam, but its walls have already been weakened by grief. An ocean of sorrow blasts through my defenses. I wail like a baby. Truly wail for the first time since Joey’s passing. It’s been a month and I’m beginning to comprehend my loss. In losing him, I’ve lost a part of myself. Love is non-refundable. It’s unexchangeable. Once you’ve given yourself away, you can’t get it back.

I gather myself and sniffle my snot away. With my shirt sleeve, I wipe away my tears and that’s when I see it. There, along the edges of the notebook. A clue:

Through winding paths, we then took our baths. Remember my love, how we used to laugh.

Heat creeps up along the back of my neck and into my cheeks. I fix my attention to the trailhead leading into our forest. Wilderhum. This is what Joey called it, because he would hum while walking through our little wilderness.

I follow the path that snakes into darker territories. With the sun setting and the lush trees blocking out most of the light, I squint through the gloom and come to my next destination. Little Pond.

A pair of wood ducks glide along the water towards our green canoe. Having not used it in over forty years, I’d forgotten about it. The last time we were on it, Joey’s back spasmed from sitting without lumbar support. And despite my recommendations, he attempted to stand. Not surprisingly, our canoe flipped. His back felt better being in the frigid waters. I, on the other hand, was freezing, and had to drag the canoe and Joey back to shore.

On the side of the canoe is a white arrow pointing downwards. I peek underneath the flipped canoe. Resting on the bow seat, is another notebook and a flashlight.

Sitting on the floor with my sore back against the canoe, I turn on the flashlight. I open the fourth notebook and gasp. A bundle of hundreds, fifties, and twenties are held together by an elastic. The stack contains 17,980 dollars. I add the two thousand and twenty dollars to it and bring my hand to my mouth.

Joey hid twenty thousand dollars.

I set the money aside and retrieve an envelope from the bottom of this hollowed notebook. It’s another letter from Joey.

My breathing becomes shallow, and my pulse quickens. Darkness surrounds me now as I’m alone in these woods. I open the letter with trembling hands.

Dear Lily,

I hope this adventure reminded you of the wonderful life you still have. Cherish it. Cease it. And make the most of out of it.

I know you’ve wanted to move back home for a long time now. There’s nothing stopping you. Use this money to settle our debts. Sell our house and farm. Our memories will last your lifetime. Be near your sisters and their families.

I know this is what you want, so I’ve already made arrangements for you. All you need to do is pick up the phone and tell your sisters you’re coming. The key from the first notebook is the key to your new home. Fill the pages of the second notebook with your new adventures.

I love you Lily. And I have one more surprise for you. Turn off the flashlight and look up at Little Pond tonight. My life has been magical with you. As magical as this sight.

— Love, Joey

I turn off the flashlight and look up at Little Pond. Tears flow freely from my eyes and I laugh as thousands of fireflies choreograph their luminescence to the creaking crickets and hooting owls. Joey was once here, surrounded by these same creatures. And as I sit in their company, I steel my resolve for new adventures.