No Time for Goodbye

Harry's really, really late. Writer's Cramp winning entry

Harry is late. Really, really late. I’ve left messages. Still no Harry.

Pacing the floor anxiously won’t help, but I pace anyway. The drive from Scranton is less than three hours. Something must have happened, but I can’t think of any reason he wouldn’t at least let me know what was going on.

This isn’t like Harry. In the thirty-two years we’ve been married, we’ve always made a point of communicating with each other. So that we were always sure of each other, no matter what.

My feet sink into the shaggy area rug we purchased just recently for our sitting area, a twin to the cream-colored rug we got for the Scranton apartment we leased last year. Leased for “us,” but seriously, who goes to Scranton willingly? Not I.

Harry needed a place to stay when business took him to Pennsylvania, a need to be close to the factory we were building there. The state practically begged us, throwing so many tax incentives our way we couldn’t say no. I still recall how he laughed and told me I should look at my face when he said Scranton. I didn’t need a mirror. I had that “something stinks and I think it’s Scranton” face on.

“It’s a good business decision, Vi,” he reasoned with me over a cup of coffee at a nearby Starbucks. “We get the tax incentive. The company gets the apartment. We’ll decorate it. Make it homey, so you can come visit.”

“Fat chance,” I say, my expression somber before cracking a smile. “It won’t be home without a cat. And if you’re only here two weeks out of the month, you can’t in good conscience leave the cat here.”

Harry shrugs, calling my bluff. “We'll see about that.”

He knows I’m right. About the cat.

I shrug back, as if to say it’s your move, buster.

He’s my buster, though, the love of my life. We met thirty-five years ago at an animal rescue thing at a local shelter. Harry was an inventor, or at least that’s what he called himself. Back then, he was making things in his parent’s garage. I was fresh out of law school, pretty much making no money as I bounced from nonprofit to nonprofit.

Harry adopted his first cat that day; so did I. When we found out they were brother and sister, it only seemed right to keep in touch. The cat thing kept us connected. On the day Harry patented one of his inventions, he said he wanted to hire me as his attorney.

I said no, because a man who works out of a garage doesn’t need a civil rights attorney. He said okay, then how about we get married and then you can be my attorney for free? I kissed him.

It was a challenge getting our cats down the aisle on the big day. Leash training had been a bust, so we settled for giving them a mild dose of catnip and scooping them into a flower-covered wagon my five-year-old nephew Jaren pulled down the aisle. Mister Tibbs looked dignified, if a bit stoned, in his black bow tie. Mija couldn’t have been prettier in her white veil headband. It was a sight to behold, as was the jubilant groom standing near the front and his blushing bride trailing after, making encouraging sounds to the two in the wagon ahead of her. Jaren even managed to make them stay put so they didn’t run amok in the church. Reverend Phillips would have been cross.

Harry’s invention was a success. We, the owner and his attorney, as he likes to introduce us to new and unsuspecting customers, barely got any sleep those first ten years. As the company grew, so did our success. We bought a house, then some land in the country to start a cat refuge. We outgrew that house after our first two children were born. Bought a bigger house. More land for another animal sanctuary. Last year we set up an endowment to fund local rescue shelters and refuges here in upstate New York well into the next century.

Our family expanded with the addition of our beloved third child, Helena. Each of our children have roles within the company. Harry and I are fair parents. Maybe a little work-obsessed early on, but fully present since then. Involved. The first two are married now. Helena, our youngest, is heading to Paris tomorrow with her girlfriend. We’re hoping they’ll come back engaged.

Which makes it all the more maddening that Harry is late getting home. We’re having dinner at Helena’s apartment tonight. To say au revoir and wish the two a happy trip.

Tired of pacing, I sit on a nearby overstuffed chair. Indigo, our latest rescue, jumps lightly up into my lap, making biscuits before settling down. “Malone is on his way home with Daddy,” I whisper. Nothing can soothe me faster than a tight hug from Harry or petting a purring cat. “He’ll be home soon.”

Finally, finally, I hear the chime on my phone that the front door is open. Taking Indigo with me, I head down the stairs to greet my husband.

“Harry? Where were y—” The look on his face, though. “What happened?”

“Ma-Malone.” His voice cracks as he sets down the empty cat carrier that has faithfully toted our male cat the many miles to and from his two-weeks-a-month home in Scranton. “He got sick right before I was going to leave. It all happened so fast at the vets, Vi.”

Harry’s shoulders hunch. His eyes fill with tears. I walk the few remaining steps so that I can hug him. He holds on so tightly, his tears wetting my cheek as he whispers, “there was no time for goodbye.”



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969 words
Prompt: Write a story or poem that has the title “No Time for Goodbye.” Please select “Romance” as one of your genres.