Walking On

     The loud percolating coffee pot stirred Jim Posky from his sleep at 5:20am. As he had done for over forty years, Jim rolled over, kissed his wife, Kay, on the forehead then whispered in her ear, "The world is waiting for you.." With that, he stood, mechanically slid his feet into his pre-positioned slippers, pulled on his robe, and made his way to the kitchen to pour two cups of hot coffee. As the owner of a bustling auto parts store in downtown Muncie, Indiana, Jim's day had begun sharply at 5:20 for longer than he could remember. Although they were on the island, they were certainly not on island time. She had retired from teaching two years prior, but her decades-old routine of grading math papers over morning coffee was so deeply ingrained, that she could still hardly stand to find herself in bed when the clock hit 5:25. While slowly stretching, she pulled on her gown, ran her fingers through her graying hair, slid into her own pre-positioned slippers, then headed to the kitchen. Jim was slightly taller than average with short dark brown hair and a stout build. Jim was quiet and deliberate man with a dry and rarely seen sense of humor. He was very well versed in every aspect of the auto parts industry and when he finally decided to sell his store a few years ago, the offers were frequent, considerable, and from as far away as Nebraska. As an immigrant from Croatia, Jim's grandparents had been processed into the states through Ellis Island. After wandering West in search of work, his grandfather landed an unskilled labor job at an auto parts  factory in Muncie. Kay's family ended up in Muncie in the late 1850's, as they fled the Great Potato Famine in Ireland. Growing up the daughter of a pig farmer, Kay was no stranger to long sweaty days. She was petite, but far from a pusher over. Her facial features were sharp, but her heart was soft and kind. They were simple people. Their clothes, like their house and cars, were plain, practical, and humble. They had worked very hard for many years, raised two sons, one who was married and working as an engineer for General Motors in Detroit and the other was stationed overseas and making a good name for himself in the Army. Shelly, their youngest, was a free spirit and had challenged them and their way of thinking over the years. They sat facing each other with the steam rising from their cups. Unusually,  neither of them had unpacked any of their clothes for their stay on the island.

   Twenty-two years before, Jim and Kay sat down with their financial adviser and were pleasantly surprised by the performance of their investments. Uncharacteristically, they agreed to invest a sizeable chunk of their savings into a condominium on Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. Both the notion of spending and relaxing seemed foreign to them, but the return on their money was promising. From every angle, it looked like a win-win. Besides, their good friends, Lou and Margarite (Margo), had bought a unit at the same place two months prior and Lou had been relentlessly working on Jim to join them. They could stay in their condo one week a year and it would be rented out to weekly tenants the remainder of the year.

      Like their house, cars, and clothes, their condominium was humbly furnished. A 70's nautical theme was evident, but there was nothing fancy or showy about the furnishings, furniture, appliances, or floor coverings. Every year, since they bought it, Jim and Kay had joined Lou and Margo at Hilton Head Island during the last week of March, when all of the beautiful flowers on the Island were bursting with color. Kay and Margo would make busy around their condos or sit out by the pool catching up with each other, while Jim and Lou would play a few rounds of golf on one of the fine courses on the island. With the exception of Saturday night, when they would eat out, they all would get together and the ladies would cook up some fresh seafood from the local market. After the ladies finished cleaning up from supper, the four of them would walk and talk for miles down the beach, as the sun went down on the day. As creatures of habit, Jim and Kay had always packed on Friday afternoons, after Kay got home from school, then departed Muncie at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning bound for the Island. Jim always drove through Cincinnati, Lexington, Knoxville, Asheville, Spartanburg, Columbia, then I-26 to I-95 and over to the island. Unintentionally at first, then just another part of their routine, Jim and Kay stopped and ate lunch at the same roadside diner in Asheville every year. They typically arrived on Hilton Head around six in the evening, fully unpack their clothes and groceries and then headed over to Lou and Margo's to play a few friendly hands of canasta while enjoying some of Lou's famous Vodka tonics. Twenty-two years later, Jim and Kay sat stone-faced like two battle-weary Marines thinking about all they had been through recently, and somehow hoping to relax.


       The blows that life had dealt them since their last trip to the Island had been excruciatingly brutal. For the first time, since they bought the condo, they actually talked about not even going. After years of enduring abdominal pain, Jim was referred to a few specialists in May and was later diagnosed with what the doctor called, "an aggressive cancer" in his gall bladder. Treatment options were limited. Then in July, years of increasing dementia caught up with Kay's mother. Kay and her brothers finally had to move her mother into a nursing home just outside Indianapolis. Things seemed to return to "normal" for a few months. But in the midst of a difficult Thanksgiving family gathering, Shelly abruptly left the table, the house, and Muncie. She followed through on her threat that one day she would move to California and never call or come home again. They eventually received a post card from her letting them know that she was "home now" with people that accepted her for who she was. Kay's guilt for never truly connecting with and for losing touch with her only daughter was heavy, like a Rhinoceros that sat on her chest all day every day, as if worrying about Jim wasn't enough. But nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared Jim and Kay for the phone call they received on New Year's Day. It was a big day all over the Midwest. Kay was making snacks and Jim was out back grilling and cleaning up around the house. In a short while, Lou and Margo would be over to watch the big game, as Notre Dame was taking on Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl. The phone rang and Kay caught it on the fifth ring and stretched the cord back over to the counter, where she continued making dip for the chips. "No!! No!!.. Oh My!!... NO!!!, she screamed. Her hand fell limp by her side as she dropped the phone handset to the floor. Jim heard her and came as quickly as he could, "Honey, where are you.. what's wrong!?" He found her in the kitchen staring blankly at the fridge with the phone dangling in a pile of spilled potato chips. "It's Lou and Margo.."  her lip quivering. "They had an accident coming home from a party last night..." She put her face in Jim's chest and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. "Jim... they hit a tree near Medford. Jim....., they're gone."


     Without a word they sat and sipped coffee in their robes on the deck. The gentle tones from the wind chime, which Lou and Margo had given them, were pleasant, but haunting in the warm salty breeze. Jim changed seats and sat next to Kay, as they both looked into the darkness towards the sound of the surf. Although it had been a few months since they buried Lou and Margo, it was still very fresh on their minds and heavy on their hearts. Without saying as much, they knew that Hilton Head could never be the same. "For the love of Pete, Posky, play your card." was one of Lou's favorite playful groanings when they played canasta. "Posky..., the grass is growing over my toes over here. Hit the ball already." he frequently whined during Jim's very slow and deliberate approach to golf. Life for Jim and Kay had gone according to their script for many years, but something happened and life had simply thrown out the script. There was an unsettled mood in the air that morning.

    The day before, without any discussion, Jim had taken a different route from Muncie and they wound up eating at a restaurant in Chattanooga before passing through Atlanta, Macon, and Savannah and over to the island. A year ago Kay would have asked him why he was taking a different route, but she never said a word. Her face was blank during the ride, but behind it, her mind was a scribble-scrabble blur of thoughts about Jim's health, Shelly's safety, and how in the world they would relax at the beach when they got to the coast. Jim took her cup of coffee and went inside where he pulled on some gym shorts, a flowery Hawaiin shirt he had picked up the week before, a zip up sweat jacket, and his sandals. He poured their coffee into styrofoam cups, topped them off, then handed Kay hers and kindly asked, "Do you feel like catching sunrise?" She stood silently and went to her room where she pulled on some Khaki pants, a long sleeve t-shirt, and a windbreaker then returned. In the morning twilight, they silently made their way toward the beach. Like they had never done before, Jim and Kay sat in the sand without chairs or a towel. Their hands felt the sand, their ears were washed by the sound of the waves, their nostrils were filled with fresh salty air. The ocean breeze was chilly. They didn't hold hands and really hadn't held hands in years nor verbalized their love for one another in decades. There was no need. Words weren't necessary to express what their actions proved day in and day out. Neither of them kept score to see who helped the other the most. Where he stopped she began and where she stopped he began and they both wanted nothing more than the other to be happy and fulfilled. The sun slowly peeked over the Atlantic and within a few minutes, the full beauty of sunrise warmed them inside and out.

     They enjoyed the peaceful reprieve from their thoughts. The storms of life had tossed them about so roughly for the past year that they simply sat side-by-side and savored the moment. Eventually, Jim stood and offered Kay his hand to help her up. It was only then that she noticed his goofy shirt. It was the first real smile she had felt in weeks. "Jim, where in the world did you find that silly shirt?" "I got it at Belk's last week", he said with a smile. "For heaven's sakes, why?" Kay replied coyly. She hadn't seen Jim shed a tear since he buried his father over thirty years ago, but one ran down his cheek, as he pulled a folded up post card from his shirt pocket. "Kay, we are going to California. We are going to find Shelly, and we are going to look into her beautiful eyes and tell her that know that no matter where she goes or what she does, that we will always love her." Kay's smile became brighter than the sunrise, "I would like that. I would like that a lot, honey. when?" she asked. "Right now." He said with a firm chin and resolve in his eyes. "If it's all the same to you, our bags are still packed. Let's leave right now." They turned to walk back to the condo. He put his arm around her and began telling her what he'd been up to. "You remember Tom Marabeli that retired from the Indiana State Patrol? Well, he's retired and lives out in Southern California.." They walked and talked on...