Free Those We Love Most by Lee Woodruff

through more financing scenarios with this client than I can ever remember. It’s frustrating actually, the guy is just putting us through the paces. He’s not very experienced.” Roger tilted his head back slightly to sip his bourbon and soda.
    Julia looked at him adoringly. There were times he felt he could be talking about deodorant soap, and she would still hang on his words. That quality about her, her rapt devotion, used to make him feel omnipotent. Tonight, after a delayed flight and thunderstorms over southern Florida, he simply felt impatient.
    “Did you pack some things to stay at the hotel with me?”
    “I did. It will feel like a minivacation.” She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes rising pleasingly, and he relaxed. “We’re going to order hot fudge sundaes from room service and eat them in bed. I don’t care if we drip ice cream all over us!” She laughed wickedly. Tonight would feel good, Julia would feel good. He could unwind a little. Everything had been so tense and somber at home.
    He had told her on the phone that he didn’t want to talk about his grandson, didn’t want to relive any of the details or discuss it. They were all moving on, or trying to anyway.
    “We don’t need to dwell on anything bad. Ever,” Julia had purred. “Tonight is a celebration of us. So we need to get busy.” Her laugh tinkled.
    After Roger paid the bill, they headed down to the beach, Julia holding her sandals in one hand and wrapping her thin shawl around her shoulder. The cooler breeze near the shoreline was a relief in the wilting humidity. The tide was rising and, farther out toward the water, the spill of the floodlights from the hotel receded, and she leaned against him. He pulled her in for an embrace. Roger could still conjure up that old excitement, the newness of her, the lack of familiarity. And then a flash of conscience, a pang. Roger had always been an expert at compartmentalizing, and he’d never had much use for guilt, but an image of Margaret sitting at home alone loomed in his mind for a moment and then mercifully retreated.
    “Let’s go back to the room. It’s so windy,” Julia said. As if sensing his momentary mental absence, she tugged his arm toward the hotel. As they approached the stucco entryway, Roger observed an elderly man in a wheelchair with a younger woman, perhaps his wife or maybe a daughter, pushing him up the boardwalk from the beach. “Let’s never get old,” Julia proclaimed in a loud whisper. “I want to stay just the way we are … like this forever.”
    Roger was struck for the moment by the juxtaposition: the infirmity of the man and the dutiful caretaking of the more youthful woman. He could see her clearly now as she bent to speak to the gentleman at eye level and then offered assistance while he slowly raised himself up in the wheelchair to stand. “I’ll bet that’s his daughter,” Roger said, still studying the couple, inexplicably drawn to their interaction. “I hope it is anyway.”
    “All I know is that will not be me,” said Julia, matter-of-factly. “When Frank was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I became his full-time nursemaid. It was a labor of love, caring for him.” Julia paused, softening her voice. “But I lost myself then. For three years. And it’s taken me this long; it’s taken me finding you, to feel alive again. I don’t envy that woman, whoever she is.”
    Julia had mentioned her deceased husband before, but there was an uncharacteristic vehemence in her voice now that surprised him. She slid her arm down the length of his and grasped his hand firmly. They walked up the hotel beach ramp, now directly behind the couple as they peeled off to the lobby restaurant.
    Back in the room, after two generous scotches and some wine, Julia pulled off Roger’s loafers and made a show of undoing his tie. He felt himself relax into the night. The tensions of the travel had faded and he concentrated on the sheer pleasure of her,