Harry slammed his clenched fist against the window frame rattling the pane of glass. Tears welled up, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. His mind whirled round and round. The meeting with the doctors was worse than he had expected. Inoperable. A matter of weeks, maybe days.

Ruby’s gonna die, and I can’t stop it from happening.

Harry stared out the dirt-stained bedroom window and gritted his teeth. Dandelions carpeted the backyard, and the grass had gone to seed. The flowerbeds, Ruby’s pride and joy, sprouted weeds, choking the perennials that had flourished under her watchful eye. A giant maple tree blocked the life-sustaining sunlight from reaching most of the yard.

Ruby stirred in the bed nearby. “Ha... Harry.”

“Yes, Ruby,” he said, turning toward her. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, rubbing her temples. “It’s my head. It hurts, that’s all.”

The doctor said her pain will increase toward the end. Is this it? Harry never felt so helpless. Ruby’s vitality was slipping away unstoppable as the receding tide.

Harry cleared his throat and looked outside once again. “Ruby, do you remember when we planted that maple tree? It was when Jimmy was born.”

Ruby turned toward Harry’s voice and said, “Uh-hm.”

“Jimmy was five when he fell off the rope swing and broke his arm. You were pregnant with Mary at the time. We planted that rose bush when she was born. Do you remember? You always loved the smell of fresh-cut roses.”

Dried rose petals lay on the dresser near the bed covered in dust. They had long since turned brown; the water in the bud vase evaporated, and the stem and hip withered.

I should get a fresh rosebud from the bush; Ruby would like that. But Harry was beyond action.

Ruby moaned and turned away. “Jim... Jimmy. Where’s Jimmy?”

“Don’t you remember, dear? Jimmy died in the war.”

“Ma... Mary.”

“Mary’s coming in a few days.”

Ruby groaned. “Ooooh, the pain’s so bad... like my head’s being crushed. Oh, my God, it hurts.”

Harry went to the bathroom and retrieved the new prescription from the medicine cabinet. “The doctor ordered some stronger pills. They should help you feel better,” he called to her.

“Please hurry!”

Harry fumbled with the pill container. Damn containers; who can open them? He cursed and threw it against the bathroom wall. It bounced and hit the floor but remained intact. Harry stomped on it hard--too hard--and the plastic shattered. Pills scattered everywhere.

Crap!

Harry scooped up two pills, wiped the grime away from a dirty glass, filled it with some tap water, and hurried back to Ruby’s side. “Take these, Ruby. You’ll feel better.”

“I can’t. My mouth’s so dry.”

Harry held the glass to her lips. “Ruby, take a little sip of water.”

Ruby pressed her lips to the glass, and a trickle of water soothed her parched tongue and mouth. She swallowed. Another sip of water quenched her dry mouth.

Harry placed two pills on her tongue and tipped the glass to her lips. Ruby choked down the pills and water. Harry lowered her head to the sweat-stained pillow and ran his fingers through Ruby’s hair: once fiery red now matted gray. Age and disease had robbed Ruby’s beauty, but she was as beautiful as ever to Harry.

Harry returned to the bathroom to scoop up all the pills he could find. After flicking off the dust, he put them in a clean glass and set the glass in the medicine cabinet.

The doctor said, “There’s nothing stronger.” Harry searched the floor for the label. He found a crushed plastic section and crumpled label: Take 1-2 tablets orally every 4-6 hours for pain relief. Caution: No more than 8 pills per day.

He held the label in his hand. Harry wondered how much longer Ruby had to suffer--and how much more he could endure. He looked at the glass of pills.

Could I do it? Would Ruby want me to do it?

Harry poured several pills into his hand and stared at them. They had always joked about ending it all if either was faced with an incurable disease. ‘Just strap me to a motorcycle and point me toward a tree,’ Harry would say and break out in thunderous laughter. ‘Strap me behind you,’ Ruby would say.

Neither Harry nor Ruby was laughing today.

“Harry?”

Harry put the pills in the glass and rushed to Ruby’s side. “Yes, dear. How’s the pain?”

“Better, but I feel groggy.”

Harry pulled his chair closer to the bed and held Ruby’s hand in his. “It’s the medication’s side effect. It takes away the pain but leaves you woozy.”

“The rose is dead.”

“What?”

“The rose in the vase is dead. I always liked fresh roses, thorns and all.”

Damn, I should have taken the time to get a fresh rose. Harry never knew when Ruby’s lucidity would surface. He damned himself for not being prepared.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Huh?” asked Harry, avoiding eye contact.

“Harry, don’t avoid me. What did the doctor say? Am I going to die?”

“We’re all going to die,” he said, nonchalantly.

“Damn it, Harry. I love you dearly, but you can infuriate me when you try to candy-coat everything to spare my feelings. You’ve been doing it for sixty-five years, and sometimes it pisses me off. So, tell me what the doctors said.”

“Brain cancer. Tumor’s inoperable. No hope for recovery,” said Harry as if he were reading her newspaper headlines.

“You could’ve put a little candy-coating on it.”

“That’s what he said. It’s the plain and simple truth.”

“Well, that explains the headaches. How long do I have? How long do we have?”

“He didn’t know, but not long, I guess.”

“Any treatment?”

“None.”

“Oooooh,” cried Ruby, tightly squeezing Harry’s hand.

“What’s the matter? More pain?”

“Feels like my head’s in a vise,” she said, rocking her head side to side on the pillow.

“It’s only been two hours since the last dose. We’ll have to wait for more.”

“Why?” asked Ruby. Her eyes focused on Harry’s.

“The instructions said, ‘1-2 tablets every 4-6 hours,’” said Harry, looking away from her intense gaze.

“Why?” she asked, squeezing his hand once more.

“They’re strong medication and could harm you if you took too many,” he said, looking at her with concern.

“Harm me? More than my cancer?” asked Ruby with a small chuckle. “I doubt it.”

“That’s what it says.”

“Listen to me, Harry. I’m the one in pain. I’m the one with no hope of recovery. Give me a pill.”

Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. It had crossed his mind that he could quickly end Ruby’s suffering, but he couldn’t do it. Now, Ruby was going where Harry couldn’t go--wasn’t ready to go.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said.

“Harry, you always buried your head in the sand when it came to the big decisions, and you left them up to me. Well, I’d like to talk about it, but my headache is pounding. Please give me another pill.”

Harry went to the bathroom, took the glass of pills from the medicine cabinet, and filled another glass of water. Harry placed the medications on the nightstand and removed one.

“Here’s one more, but that’s all.”

“Harry, you’re so sweet,” said Ruby, smiling.

Harry lifted Ruby to a sitting position, put the pill on her tongue, pressed the glass of water to her lips, and tilted it back so she could swallow. He lowered her to the bed, fluffed the pillow around her head, and kissed her on her forehead.

Once she’s asleep, I’ll slip out and cut a couple of roses for the vase. Ruby will like that.

Ruby’s breathing became rhythmic, and Harry was sure she was asleep. He took the bud vase to the bathroom and soaked it in the sink. With a damp washcloth in hand, he returned to the dresser, scooped the dried petals into the trashcan, and wiped the dust away. Harry glanced at Ruby and, satisfied that she was still sleeping, headed to the kitchen for a paring knife.

Harry chose a rose in full bloom and a bud that would bloom in a few days. Careful to cut the stems long enough for the vase, he hurried back inside. Ruby was still sleeping.

How did Ruby say to arrange them? Open bloom lower with bud above, or was it the other way around?

Harry dried the vase, filled it with water, and proudly put his floral arrangement on the dresser.

I wish I’d done this every day. So little effort, but it says so much.

Harry slumped into the chair next to the bed and fell asleep.

When he awoke, Ruby was choking and gasping for air. Bile drained from the corner of her mouth, and she coughed, retched, and inhaled. She was drowning.

“Ruby!”

Ruby’s body convulsed. Harry scooped up her thrashing body and held her. Her heart pounded against his chest. She labored to breathe.

“Ruby, what wrong?”

Ruby’s arms were too weak for a struggle. She clasped her neck, trying to get air. Her fluttering heart reverberated against Harry. Her arms fell limp at her side.

“Ruby, speak to me!”

Harry clutched Ruby tighter to his chest.

What’s happening?

In the tangled sheets, Harry spotted an empty glass. He glanced at the nightstand. The glass of pills was gone.

How could I have been so stupid?

Ruby retched, again, choking, gasping for air.

“Ruby, Ruby. Why’d you do it? Why?”

Harry held Ruby tight to his chest and wept. In his confusion, self-loathing, and anguish, he fought the urge to keep her alive for one minute more.

“Let her go!” his spirit cried out.

A final convulsion racked her frail body, and she gasped. Then it was over. Ruby was quiet and peaceful. Harry released her, laid her on the bed, kissed her lips, and whispered, “I love you, Ruby. Sleep, my love.”