A Storied Man

Bernie is a poverty-stricken woman whose life takes an unexpected turn when an old friend returns to town. This is The End.

Related reading: Talk With a Killer, Wall

The End

“Are you sure this is the first place you want to go?” Shonda said.

Their eyes were locked onto a computer’s LCD monitor displaying various trips that had been booked and, for as many reasons, had been canceled last-minute. Shopping around that way, with neither of them tied to an office job, they could save money with spontaneity.

“Yes. No doubt in my mind,” Bernie said.

It had been an arduous three months, but with physical therapy and Shonda’s encouragement, Bernie had recovered physically. Breathing independently of the vent or any supplemental oxygen had come slowly, and because it used so much air, she spoke only for short periods at first.

Speaking up against Jeff Stivins had taken more than just rehabilitation. It had taken all of her courage, but because she had committed to not being the victim again, she held her head up and — for her brother, her dad, and her mom, chose life.

Her testimony had helped put Jeff Stivins away for more than one life sentence. Because he was an unpopular public figure, local judges and attorneys wasted no time getting him to trial. The defense had an appeal planned, but that would not stop Bernie.

“But it’s where your father died.”

“Yes, but he never finished seeing everything. I want to do it for him.”

Shonda clicked the mouse and leaned back in her Herman Miller Mirra chair. “Okay, I just booked it. The U.S. Virgin Islands. No turning back now.”

Bernie sipped Coke from a can and nibbled a Keebler Grasshopper cookie. “Have you already arranged the donation?”

“Just like you said, twenty-five percent of what we spend on every trip goes to the home for battered women and children. That has to be the strangest demand I’ve ever heard someone make before accepting a job,” Shonda said.

“I’m a strange woman.”

Shonda threw her head back and downed the last of a can of Diet RC. “It’s a good thing I’m a rich woman racked with guilt.”

“You know, there’s one more person I didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’ to yet,” Bernie said.

They drove to Pop’s One Stop.

Shonda wore a full, knee-length cotton skirt with a large flower print, a matching pink tank top and flip-flops. She grabbed Bernie’s hand and burst through the front doors, the bells above them announcing their arrival.

Bernie, clad in khaki capri pants and a bright blue, fitted tee shirt, liked the way her feet felt in the tan canvas slip-ons. Although she had not exactly moped around the previous spring, this time around she was much more upbeat.

She had good reason.

During her recovery, doctors had told her that only 15% of patients in a coma due to oxygen deprivation come away able to live independently. They attributed some of her remarkable recovery to the constant exercise and spare eating habits of her former lifestyle. A person less fit most likely would not have fared so well.

Finally, Bernie had overcome the odds and believed that not only did she have nowhere to go but up, but she actually had a good shot at getting there.

From behind the counter, Pop looked up from the quarter-folded Sun-Times and smiled at their arrival. He climbed slowly from his barstool and leaned down behind the counter, out of sight. He stood back up and set on the counter two plastic, gallon milk jugs full of water. “I saved these for you, Little Bernie.”

“Thanks, Pop, but you can just hang onto them,” Bernie said.

He looked back down at the newspaper’s crossword puzzle. “Four letters, means ‘liberated.’ Starts with ‘F.’”