A Better Place to Be

  A BETTER PLACE TO BE

  A novel by

  David Wind

  Based on the Harry Chapin song

  A Better Place To Be

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact David Wind

  © 2017 by David Wind

  A BETTER PLACE TO BE | Words and Music by HARRY CHAPIN.

  Copyright © 1972 (Renewed) STORY SONGS, LTD.

  All Rights Administered by WB MUSIC CORP.

  All Rights Reserved. Used By Permission of ALFRED MUSIC

  Cover Design: Scott Weinberg

  Editing: Pelican Proofing

  DEDICATION

  In memory of my son, taken too soon

  L. Zachary Wind,

  December 26, 1974—January 26, 2017

  Son, Brother, Musician, Audio/Recording Engineer

  <>AND<>

  In memory of

  Harry Chapin,

  Also taken too soon,

  December 7, 1942 – July 16, 1981

  One of the world’s great Singers, Songwriters, Troubadours,

  and especially Storytellers.

  <><><>

  A percentage of the royalties derived from this

  novel will be donated to the following charities:

  Why Hunger

  The Pancreatic Research Org.

  FORWARD

  The first time I heard ‘A Better Place To Be’ was in Alice Tully Hall, at Lincoln Center; it was also the first time I saw Harry Chapin live. The song’s lyrics mesmerized me, and for the years following, every time I heard the song, a story seemed to grow in my head. This is that story, several decades after I first heard Harry sing it.

  Thank you, Harry, for giving me the perfect ending.

  <><><><>

  CHAPTER ONE

  "I am the midnight watchman down at Miller's Tool and Die.

  And I watch the metal rusting, and I watch the time go by.

  A week ago at the diner I stopped to get a bite.

  And this here lovely lady she sat two seats from my right.

  And Lord, Lord, Lord she was alright.

  ~~~~~~

  Present day, Long Island, May 19th

  The ten-year-old Honda Accord turned off the road and into the parking lot of the Eastern Shore Diner. The driver rolled to a stop three spaces from the entrance to the diner and looked into the windows of the chrome and turquoise landmark on Long Island’s South Shore.

  The driver, on what was supposed to be the first of his two nights off as the night watchman at Miller’s Tool and Die, was looking forward to dinner. He was still hoping to get a little fishing in tomorrow, before starting his Tuesday through Saturday shifts. Working the midnight shift was, at times, hard, but then, he had no better place to be.

  Today’s day off hadn’t worked out as planned. The watchman, Peter, who had the early shift, had called in sick, and he’d come in to handle the man’s shift. He shrugged and reached to turn off the ignition, but paused when the News Radio 88 weatherman began the forecast.

  ‘The unusual May heat wave continues; tonight, we’ll see temperatures in the mid-seventies, but tomorrow, May twentieth, the sky will be cloudless again and you can expect temps in the mid to upper-nineties as the front continues to stall over...’

  The announcer’s voice faded with the realization of tomorrow’s date, May twentieth. He stared through the window, seeing not the diner, but himself, reflected in the windshield—not himself as he was today, but a glimmer of who he had been a dozen years earlier. Tomorrow was his twenty-second wedding anniversary...would have been, he corrected himself with the knowledge that the stranger staring back at him bore no resemblance to who he was now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  May, twelve years earlier

  Neither a big man, nor one considered handsome, John Edghes was an accountant, solid in mind, body, and spirit. His wife Claire, a nursery school teacher, was a warm and gentle woman barely an inch shorter than John. An average couple living in a quiet, middle-class, Long Island village on the South Shore of Long Island.

  This morning, as it happened every morning, they followed the routine that eventually every married couple falls into, according, of course, to each couple’s personality; this beautiful Long Island May day, with spring arrived in full glory, was no exception.

  At six-thirty, with the sun trailing barely above the eastern horizon, Claire poured John a cup of coffee. He smiled when she lifted the percolator, ignoring the slightly pinched corners of her eyes. Tired, he thought. He reached up and took her free hand, bringing it to his mouth for a brief touch of his lips.

  “Are you all right?”

  Claire smiled. “Perfect.” Putting the pot down, she sat across from him. “Eat.”

  He shoveled in a forkful of egg whites and followed it with coffee. When he put the cup down, he asked, “What’s your day look like?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. “The usual. The school until four...oh, then the doctor. Should be home by five or so.”

  He frowned. “Still tired?”

  She took a sip of coffee before nodding. “Still tired.”

  He chewed some more egg, swallowed and sighed. “Make sure you tell the doctor.”

  “I will.”

  They finished breakfast silently, letting the radio newscaster’s voice fill the peaceful void. Twenty minutes later, each in their own car, they left for work.

  <><><>

  With their wedding anniversary a sunrise away, John opened the door to the jewelry store, praying the jeweler had kept his promise. Relief loosened the knotted muscles in his back and shoulders when the jeweler smiled.

  “Perfect timing,” Ross Lowell, owner of Bay Jewelers said in greeting. He lifted his hand, a small black velvet box rested in his palm.

  “I was worried,” John admitted.

  “Have I ever let you down?”

  “Never, Ross. May I?” He reached for the box.

  The jeweler extended his hand. John took the box and opened the top. The ring sparkled at him, one carat of a perfectly cut diamond rested in a white gold solitaire setting. The simplicity of the ring and the beauty of the diamond were exactly as he’d hoped. Claire did not like ostentatious, and he knew this would be perfect for her.

  John looked back at the jeweler. “Perfect, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, John. I agree; it will be perfect for Claire. Please give her my congratulations on the anniversary.”

  “Of course.” He handed the box to the jeweler and waited patiently while Ross Lowell wrapped it.

  When the jeweler returned the wrapped ring, John handed him his credit card. A moment later, he signed the receipt, thanked the man, and left. It took him another eleven minutes to get home and park in his garage.

  Exiting the car, he wondered why Claire wasn’t home while at the same time, he was glad because it made putting the present away easier. Claire arrived twenty-minutes later, and their nightly routine fell into place.

  By eleven, they were in bed and watching the news on WNBC. Claire, her neck resting in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest, her arm draped across him, her hand gently caressing his side. John kissed the top of her head, the newscaster’s voice fading momentarily. “I almost forgot. What did the doctor say?”

  She reported, “All is well.”

  He kissed the top of her head again. “Good...can you believe ten years tomorrow?”

  �
�It doesn’t seem like it.” Her voice was a whisper in the room. Her hand again caressed his side, her fingers sliding across his ribs.

  At eleven-thirty, John clicked the remote and the bedroom fell into darkness. Claire had fallen asleep five minutes ago. Instead of turning on his side, he remained on his back, holding her to him and enjoying the soft sounds of her breathing until he fell asleep.

  The alarm went off at six. There was a strange weight on his chest. He opened his eyes to find that neither he nor Claire had moved during the night. He kissed the top of her head and slid his arm from beneath her to roll onto his side and shut the alarm off.

  “’Morning,” he said as he sat.

  “’Morning. Happy anniversary.”

  He turned to catch her blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Happy anniversary.”

  He kissed her. When he straightened, Claire stretched, tossing the covers as she did. He watched her, again admiring how she looked in the morning. Her short hair stuck out in every direction, reminding him of the women in avant-garde films they enjoyed. She was slim, with graceful petite features and a body to match. Her breasts, slightly larger than most would expect of a woman her size, pushed against the light fabric of her nightgown, their tips rigid as the air conditioning swept across her.

  He traced her outline with his eyes. How lucky I am to have had Claire fall in love with me, he told himself for the umpteenth time. He knew he was not among the best looking of men—he’d never kidded himself about that. His best description of himself was that he wasn’t ugly and he wasn’t handsome, he was...in-between, which was all right with him, because somehow, despite his limitations and lack of good looks, Claire had fallen in love with him.

  “Why?”

  Claire’s brows furrowed. “Why what?”

  “Why do you love me?”

  The gentle tinkle of her laughter echoed from the walls. She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Stop. You have no idea, do you? You still don’t understand that I’m the lucky one in this relationship.”

  He covered her hand with his and shook his head. “I understand that you’re the insane one.” He took her hand from his cheek, turned it palm up, and kissed the soft skin.

  She squeezed his hand and looked deep into his eyes. “The first time I saw you, you walked into the classroom like a lost puppy.” Claire sighed. “I fell in love with you on the spot. I didn’t know why then, it just happened, but I know why now, and you know as well. We fit, we blend, and we are stronger together then either of us are alone.”

  “You are my strength,” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

  <><><>

  Smiling at her from across the table, John pushed aside the niggling worry lurking at the edge of his mind, a whisper of something ‘off’. Instead, he waited for the waiter to finish pouring the coffee. When the waiter finally walked away, he reached across the table to take her hand in his.

  “You know how much I love you, yes?”

  Claire held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

  “And you know I always keep my promises?”

  Her eyes, still locked with his, turned questioning.

  “I made you a promise eleven years ago, when you said you would marry me. Do you remember it?”

  The corners of her lips quirked up. “We both made a lot of promises to each other.”

  He turned her hand palm up and placed the small wrapped box in her hand.

  She stared at it, then back at him. “What?”

  “Open it.”

  She looked back down at her palm. The tip of her tongue flicked across her lips. She stared at the fancy paper covered box for a full minute before carefully unwrapping it to reveal a black velvet case. Again, her eyes flicked to him. He nodded once, she opened the top, and gasped.

  He watched her, a smile on his face while she took in what lay on her palm. “I...”

  He took the box from her, and lifted the ring from it. The diamond spit shards of multi-colored light, reflected from the small candle on the table. “Take off the band for tonight, tonight you are engaged again.”

  She stared at the ring even as she slid the white gold wedding band from her finger and continued to stare when he slipped the engagement ring gently along her finger and settled it in place.

  He watched a single tear slip from her eye and roll down her cheek. “I—”

  She placed a finger across his lips. “—It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

  He wiped the tear away. Before he could speak, she said, “Take me home, now.”

  “The coffee?”

  “Now!”

  <><><>

  Music from the living room stereo filtered in through the bedroom doorway along with the hallway light, giving them just enough illumination to see each other. Lying on their sides, John drew small circles on the warm skin of the small of her back as their breathing eased back to normal. Their lovemaking, tonight, had been different. A combination of passion, love, and something else John couldn’t quite define.

  Then, slowly, the feel of her breasts against his chest and the warmth still flowing through him from their lovemaking combined to push him toward sleep. From somewhere in the oncoming layers of sleep, he felt something wet on his shoulder.

  He took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, he shifted and looked down to discover Claire crying. “What?” his voice was barely audible.

  She shook her head and pressed her face tighter into the space between his neck and shoulder. “Claire...”

  She drew back far enough to look at him. “Nothing...I’m happy, very happy.”

  “So happy you’re crying?”

  She shook her head. “I am happy, it’s just the day and the ring, and knowing how much I love you is playing with my emotions. Don’t ask questions, not right now, just hold me until we fall asleep.”

  Despite her words, the strange, nibbling worried feeling would not go away. It sat there, stirring inside him, prodding him. He shook his head, took another deep breath, and resettled himself. He drew her close and the arm around his side tightened, pulling them even closer together. “I love you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  May 21

  Saturday morning came and passed, as did lunch. The deck was drenched in sun and the late spring day was warm, but not hot. John sat on a large Adirondack chair, ensconced comfortably on the cushions of a chair not usually meant to have anything covering its wood planks. John liked the cushions and really didn’t care what was or wasn’t supposed to be on the chairs.

  The sliding door opened, followed by the flapping sound of Claire’s sandals. A moment later, she stepped between his chair and the one next to it, set two tall glasses next to it, and sat. “Sangria.”

  John looked from glasses to Claire. “I thought you were making iced coffee.”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I changed my mind.”

  Picking up a glass, John took a long drink. When he set it down, he gazed at Claire. “What’s going on?”

  She glanced away for a second. “Why do you think something’s going on?”

  “Because I know you, Claire, better than myself, I think. Something is bothering you and you’re holding back from me. I sensed it last night, and I feel it right now. What is going on?” he repeated.

  He watched her lift her left hand and stare at the ring for a moment before looking at him. “I wanted to wait until tomorrow night, b...”

  “Tell me.”

  “When I was at the doctor, the tests he ran last week came back. Wa...one of the tests came back positive.”

  With her words echoing in his ears, his stomach muscles twisted and the fine hairs at the back of his neck stood out. “For?”

  She swallowed, moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Cancer.”

  There was a twist deep inside; his stomach went sour. He clenched his teeth to stop from throwing up. The word was so unexpected it took a half-minute for him to comprehend what he’d heard. When it finally got
through, he gulped in some air, cleared his throat, and shook his head.

  “I...” He started to push off the chair when she grasped his arm.

  “No, please, just sit next to me. Hold my hand, talk with me—nothing else.”

  Leaning back, he took her hand gently into his. “Talk to me.”

  “I have an appointment Monday morning with Dr. Blumberg, and then with the oncologist in the afternoon. Dr. Blumberg wanted to go over everything with me again.”

  He looked at her. “We have an appointment.”

  “But work. Mondays are busy for you. Your clients—”

  “I’ll call in. We are going to the doctor.”

  “Okay.” She squeezed his arm.

  “Tell me everything.”

  He sat listening for almost an hour, keeping silent even when her pauses between words stretched endlessly. When she finally finished, he stood, drew her to her feet, and pulled her into his arms. He pressed her tightly to him. “We will fight this together. We will do whatever is necessary to get you healthy again.”

  “I’ve looked it up, John. There isn’t much hope for pancreatic cancer.”

  He ignored the newest punch to his gut, a twisting knife blade trying to eviscerate him. He ignored everything he knew. “No! I will not think like that. We will find a way!”

  Her arms tightened around him, pressed him closer, but she did not say a word. When she finally released him, she stepped back. “Let’s enjoy the Sangria and the day. There’s nothing we can do until Monday.”

  He studied her, listening to his own heart pounding louder than it should. He let his emotions, his love for her, run through him. “Yes, ma’am.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday 9:30 a.m.

  “Too often, this type of cancer is non-symptomatic, which is the case with Claire. Because this disease works in that way, that small sore on your lower abdomen is where it metastasized and was the reason you came in, in the first place.”

  “Which means what?” John asked.