Route 66

34 Home

How does Blake react after thinking I was dead for all those years? Does he accept me back with open arms or despise me

The streets leading up to my home were familiar but the years had left their mark. The homes, pristine decades ago, now had a coat of rust. Saplings had grown into tall, mature trees and formed a canopy that shut out the sun.

I remembered many evenings sitting out back with Blake while we watched the sunset together as I rested my head against his strong chest. Everything was perfect as I drifted to sleep in the protective arms of my husband.

As I pulled into the driveway, nothing had really changed much except for the towering trees. With a deep breath, I rang the doorbell and it was opened by a beautiful slender woman in her mid-forties whom I recognized right away.

"Beth?"

"M-Mom?!"

Tears streamed down my face as I nodded vigorously.

She flung her arms around me in a tight, sobbing embrace and exclaimed, "You're alive, my God, you're alive!"

There were no more words exchanged for several minutes as we wept tears of joy and slowly made our way to the sofa I remembered so well.

After a couple final sniffles, Beth said, "Mom, what happened? Where did you go?"

"I'll explain everything in time but how's your father?"

She reached over, gently held my hand, and said, "He isn't doing so well. He's suffering from cancer and Alzheimer's and doesn't even know who I am anymore."

My heart sank with despair and I said, "What about Matthew?"

"We both work for the CIA and have devoted our lives to tracking down the monster who assaulted you so many years ago. Matt was with a special ops mission to Zimbabwe, hot on his trail. Then he just disappeared. We haven't heard from him in several weeks and don't know if he's dead or alive."

I nodded slowly; grief stricken, and then whispered, "Where's Blake?"

"He's in your bedroom, resting."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes, but he's wasted away and may not recognize you."

I pushed the door open quietly and noticed a wheelchair positioned in the corner.

Blake lay resting with a gaunt face, glazed eyes, and wisps of snowy white hair matted to his forehead. His bony hands were motionless.

I knelt down, gently stroked his face, and said, "Blake, honey, it's Veronica. Do you remember me?"

He gazed into my eyes for a moment and then whispered, "My Earth angel has come to escort me from this world to the next. They've sent the most beautiful angel in all of heaven to relieve me of this place. Thank you Lord...thank you."

Hot tears splashed across his fingers as I held his icy hands and then, with trembling lips, Blake said, "The remembrance of you is what made my life worth living. Ahhh...you played the piano so beautifully. Please play for me once again...my Veronica...my angel."

"Yes Blake."

I swept him up into my arms, sat him down in the wheelchair, and gently rolled him into the living room.

Then I positioned myself on the bench for the first time in fifty years, locked eyes with my husband, and whispered, "I never stopped loving you."

From the first keystroke to the last the performance of Fantasie Impromtu was flawless, my mental block had disappeared. The last note was so subdued that you could hear a pin drop.