Death and Tea at Three

15 Harold and Julia

Harold had never considered himself a good-looking man. His squared nose always seemed a little too large for his face. His hair had begun graying when he was in his twenties. And on top of that, he had a scar on his forehead. Julia thought it made him look distinguished, but Harold felt it was just another blemish on an already poor face. None of this concerned Harold – he had already come to terms with his looks. He would often joke with Julia that he had become a musician so women would like him, though they both knew that wasn't the truth.

Unlike Harold and his vagabond looks, Julia was more of a classic beauty. Her long, dark hair cascaded down to her shoulders, with her bangs cut blunt over her forehead. The corners of her lips curled in a way that made her appear to be always smiling. Harold loved the way the right corner curled a little higher than the left. He lived to make her smile.

Julia's eyes, though - they could bring even the stone-like Harold to tears. Chocolate brown, framed by long lashes. Harold missed looking at her eyes. He missed watching the way they lit up when she was filled with passion. The way her eyes glossed over when she spoke about the people she loved.

Had it been five years ago, Harold would have loved answering questions about his wife. He would have told stories of her beauty, her intelligence, and her courage. He would have bragged about her job in the hospital, and all the patients she had helped. He would have talked about her bleeding heart, and the extra hours she would put in to make sure the people she took care of were okay. That's all it was ever about for Julia – making sure others were okay.

To Harold, her courage to care for others was unprecedented, and her beauty transcended eras. However, that beauty faded throughout her illness. Slowly but surely, her lively face turned gaunt and yellow. Her fluttering eyelashes became lifeless, and eventually, bare. Her usual grin was weak and only appeared on rare occasions. The strong and fierce woman Harold had known was now a shell of her former self.

Harold refused to see any of it. To him, she was no different than the day he met her. He knew deep down she was fading, but he wanted to hold on to her – the real her – for a little longer. And so, Harold did just that.

Harold was not one for surprises or spur-of-the-moment decisions. When he finally decided to bring some cheer to Julia, he was meticulous in every aspect of his planning.

It wasn't much, to be fair. Harold rented a cottage from a co-worker, and one Friday afternoon, he drove Julia up to the cottage which was situated on a small lake.

As Harold's Chevrolet pulled up the ramshackle cottage, he was utterly disappointed. He felt a sinking feeling in his heart, which slowly moved to the pit of his stomach. The beige cottage looked as if it had not been maintained in years. Harold felt cheated, embarrassed, and quite frankly, pissed off.

With his eyes wide and his mouth agape, Harold turned toward Julia, waiting for her to mirror his look of complete disillusion. Julia looked around, her eyes just as wide as Harold's. But then she surprised him. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she beamed him a smile.

"This is perfect. Thank you," she said.

"You don't have to pretend to like it. I won't be offended. You can tell me the truth," Harold replied.

Julia muscled every ounce of her strength and leaned in toward him. With her outstretched hand, she lifted his chin and kissed him.

Harold stared at her eyes. The darkness of her irises drew him in. Though the Julia he knew was fading, there in that moment, she had found herself once more.