The Book

36-14-22-6-7 and 31.

Roy read the numbers over and over again. They been etched in a frail, shaky penmanship; soft lead smudged on the pages of the crisp, black notebook. He held the book in his right hand, while his left hand tightly clasped the Pennsylvania Cash4Life ticket, which displayed the same 6 numbers, but in the digitized Petyka font on the stub. In his direct eyeline, the QLED display in his living room showed the numbers yet a third time—coming live from the local ABC-affiliate news station. The prize was $1000 a day for life. Roy never won anything. But this… this was a life-changing event. The only thing stranger than the actual win was the circumstances that led to the win.

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Roy was 67 years old and lived a happy, but difficult life. He wouldn’t have called it difficult. He might have said that he “worked hard,” omitting the fact that for the 40+ years of his working career, he usually worked a minimum of 2, sometimes as much as 4 jobs at a time. Others may have cited the fact that his wife lived for 20 years with multiple sclerosis, the last 4 of which she was completely immobile, with Roy having to feed and bath her. He would have said that he got to have 42 years with the love of his life and had the opportunity to show her his love every day. Some might have thought that having a child with Down’s Syndrome was another factor contributing to his “difficult life,” yet Roy would have said that his son had given Roy more life lessons in love than any other child could have ever had.

So, in short, Roy was a hard-working, happy man with a family he adored.

Sadly… heart-breakingly… that changed one month prior when his wife, Kay, finally succumbed to the disease that had monopolized some of their best years. He knew that when she had reached the bedridden stage of the disease that he was on borrowed time. But he never really, truly believed the day would come.

The night it happened, he had been sitting with her, holding her weathered hand, looking at the cracks and crevices on the face that he found as beautiful as the day he married her. She had not spoken in months; had not opened her eyes for more than a few moments in days. Needless to say, what happened next made him jump out of his seat; nearly out of his skin.

Kay sat bolt upright, a glowing smile planted on her face. She caressed Roy’s face, as his salty tears cascaded over her hand. “My dear, sweet, man. For so many years, you have loved me in ways that no one ever could have. I am so sorry to have caused you so much grief and pain.”

Roy gulped, choking on his words, failing to even disbelieve what he was witnessing. “It was never grief and pain; not a moment. Not while I was able to be here with you. That is all I wanted; all I needed.” She shook her head; nearly imperceptibly. “No,” she said, “Most people would not have remained so loving and vigilant, and patient. You are truly the love of my life.”

His tears continued to flow, more freely now.

“I have something for you,” she said, quizzically, and reached down from under the blankets on the bed where she lay. She pulled out a crisp, black notebook and handed it to him. His brow furrowed and he struggled to understand where she had gotten the notebook, how it had come to be with her in the bed after years of immobilization. She stopped his reverie by proffering the book to him.

“I don’t have much time, but I wanted to give you this gift. For 20 years, you cared for me with my disease, and I want you to have $1000 for every year you spent with me.” He shook his head, clearly not understanding. She gripped his hand stronger, some of the light fading from her face and her smile beginning to droop a bit. “When you are ready, it is yours. Promise me, though, you will do something beautiful with the money.” As he was about to ask her what she meant and “how” and “why” and “when,” the love of his life closed her eyes for a final time.

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The next week came and went in a complete hazy blur. Funeral arrangements were made. Family poured in to offer their support. He did his best to explain and support his son, Stephen, but even at 32 years, with his disability, he didn’t understand the full meaning of why his mother had died. The community house where he lived had been a tremendous support to Stephen, but Roy felt guilty for not being able to comfort his son the way Kay would have been able to.

He noticed all the awful lonely things you do after your spouse has passed. Meals for one; television programs without someone to share commentary; the vacancy in the bed. Even when Kay was not able to move and function as she once did, he always felt her presence… her energy… her spirit.

It was during one of those moments of reverie nearly 3 weeks after the funeral that Roy remembered the strange “gift” Kay had given him in her final moments. He had placed it in the kitchen drawer where ticket stubs, a few dollars of extra cash and about 30 half-used pens lay.

When he opened the book, there was only writing on a single page. It said, “These are your numbers. Use them when you are ready. It is $1000 for every year you saw me through my illness. The numbers were given to me by someone very special.”

It was a riddle that shook him to the core. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said that the words were written in the grip of dementia. But Kay’s mind was as sharp as a tack, even to the end. What did they mean? What was he supposed to with these numbers? And how in all that was holy did she come by them.

In their lives together, they had often joked about how their world would change if they won the lottery. The big house they could live in, the support they could provide Stephen, the trips they could finally take. He chuckled for the first time in weeks, thinking of Kay giving him one last bit of daydreaming about living the affluent life. So he took the numbers in the book, drove down to the local convenience store, and stood in front of the lottery machine for what seemed like an hour. Eventually, he punched in the numbers into the keypad and out popped the pink and white slip from the bottom of the machine. He was locked in! He and Kay would have their one last silly fantasy of winning the lottery.

That night, he went home and cooked his solitary pork chop, matching it with boxed Rice-A-Roni and some storebrand apple sauce. Eating in front of the television, he watched in disbelief as number after number, they all appeared on the screen.

36-14-22-6-7 and 31.

He had just won the Cash4Life lottery. He double-checked the numbers and confirmed that he would be $1000 richer every day for the rest of his life.

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The next day, Roy spoke with the lottery officials who took his banking information and set up the process to deposit $1000 a day into his account. Roy was completely bewildered and the swath of emotions that overtook him was nearly overwhelming. But instead of seeing it as “luck” or “winnings,” he saw it as a gift from his beloved wife. He had no idea how she knew. He didn’t care. He just saw it as a way to keep her in his life for the rest of his.

He began making plans for the money—he set up accounts for Stephen; he created college funds for his nieces and nephews; he made plans for donating a significant portion of it. And then he took to the Internet to find their dream house. After a few days of searching, though, he eventually stopped. Their dream house was meant to be for Roy and Kay; not for a widowed senior. So he settled back into his usual life, in his usual home, and let the money that came in benefit those he had directed it to. Maybe next month, he would figure out something self-indulgent he could do. But what was most important to him was to share the wonderful, beautiful gift his wife had given him.

On the 20th day after winning the lottery, Roy died.

Inexplicably.

There was no pre-existing condition other than slightly elevated blood pressure.

Some would say that he died because he lost the love of his life.

And to this day, no one ever knew how or why Kay came to be in possession of the mysterious numbers or why she knew that he would get 20 days of $1000 to symbolize the 20 years he had stood faithfully by her during her illness. But in the end, the money did go to many beautiful causes, and Roy was reunited with his wife. He died as he had lived; happy and dedicated to those he loved.

At his funeral, someone—no one knew who—placed a small black notebook in the coffin with Roy.