Free Gilda's Locket by T. L. Ingham Page B

she
slowly turned the pages, illuminated only by the low wattage of the
small table lamp beside her. It surprised her to realize she had
not looked in any of these old albums in years. Certainly not since
Eldon had died, and likely not for years before. He had been so ill
the last few years that all her time was taken up in taking care of
him and trying to maintain a somewhat normal home atmosphere amid
the hospital bed that took up half the living room, and the IV
stands and monitors that kept a constant droning beep going day and
night. No, there definitely hadn’t been any time for reminiscing,
even if she’d had a mind to.
    The first album, simply out of fate rather
than design, was the most recent, showing Eldon and Gilda in their
latter years. The pictures had been taken maybe fifteen years
before and consisted mostly of pictures of their tiny little
vegetable garden they had attempted to plant that year. While it
couldn’t have been considered a complete failure, it wasn’t what
you could call a roaring success either. Whoever had suggested old
ladies were good at gardening had never met Gilda. At any rate, the
garden that year had yielded countless zucchini, (she felt no sense
of accomplishment there, growing zucchini was the act of a
simpleton, she would have felt more success if it had failed, after
all, who had ever been unable to grow squash as prolific as it
was?) Aside from that, that had managed to squeeze out two of the
most pitiful peppers she had ever laid eyes on, and one rather good
tomato. It would have been simpler, and cheaper, to go to the
market. But, as Eldon constantly reminded her, they didn’t know
until they tried. It was the last time they tried.
    The next pictures in the album were from
Christmas of that year. Just the two of them as usual. They hadn’t
seen Scott in years. He was far too busy to travel home for
holidays; though he always made mention of dropping by for a visit
sometime during his travels, it never seemed to come to pass. Even
when his father had been dying, he had far too much on his schedule
to take time out for anything more than the funeral. Gilda hadn’t
seen him since then. Had only talked to him a dozen times maybe.
Her heart panged at the thought. Then she quickly shook her head
and put her mind to the task at hand. It was getting late, and she
was going to have to be getting off to bed.
    Finally, after turning a few more pages
forward, then a few back, then a few forward again, she decided on
a picture. It wasn’t perfect maybe, but considering the lateness of
the hour it would have to do. Sliding the picture out of the album,
she admired it once again before heading to the kitchen for the
scissors. It was the picture of Eldon she had taken over Christmas.
She’d made him sit in the armchair right beside the little round
end table. The table lamp had been replaced with a miniature
Christmas tree. The tree, an artificial one they’d had for years;
not unlike them, was showing its age. The once six-foot tree had
been reduced to about two and a half feet of its original stature,
Eldon having trimmed it down to what he called a more ‘manageable
size’. He had said people their age didn’t need all the excitement
of dragging a six-footer out of the garage each year, wrestling it
into the house, rearranging furniture, and then going to all the
trouble of stringing the lights and tinsel. Not when he could trim
it to two and a half feet, decorate it once, then slip a garbage
bag over it, set it in the garage as a whole, then pull it out
easily the next year. She could see the practicality in it. She had
only wished they’d had someone nearby who would be willing to help
them go to all the trouble she had for so many years. Fully
decorating the house, turning out a winter wonderland to be proud
of. It had cost them little to nothing since she was far better at
crafts than she ever would be gardening, and between her trusty
sewing machine, and a bottle of decent