Hand Prints

Rebecca sat in the recliner in front of the big picture window, hoping she'd see John coming up the front walk. He'd been gone for three days, with no goodbye said. Thirty-five years of marriage - gone in the blink of an eye. She hated him for leaving her this way. At the same time, she knew she'd never be able to stop loving him. She needed more than her ten fingers to count how many times she'd been angry with God in the past seventy-two hours. Then she would remind herself that somehow some good was going to come out of this, even if she never saw it. "Everything happens for a reason" , she kept repeating in her mind.

Rebecca remembered the day she and John were married. A big wedding, with every family member and friend they could think of there. She only nineteen, and he twenty, her parents had said she was too young for marriage. They changed their tune when they saw how happy she was. After the first few years things grew a bit rocky. John was not the easiest person to live with. Rebecca, however, couldn't picture life without him, and refused to give up. She had no idea how she'd go on without him now.

Restless, Rebecca glanced at the front walk again, and was astonished when she saw the familiar frame of a man. "Well, I'll be." She spoke out loud to the empty living room. It was John, slowly making his way up to the door. Just before he reached the steps, he turned his head and saw her stare, fixated on him. Turning away from the steps, he walked to the window and stood, gazing into her eyes. Rebecca, without sound, slid from the recliner to the floor and knelt in front of the window, right where John's face appeared. It was almost simultaneously that they each brought both hands up, placing them on the window on either side of their faces in the exact same spot.

"Mom?" "Hhhmmm." "Mom!", the voice called a little louder. Rebecca stirred in the recliner, and opened her eyes, to see her oldest daughter standing over her. She must have dozed off. She hadn't slept much in the past few nights. "Mom, are you alright? Are you ready to go to the funeral parlor?" "Hhhmmm? - Oh - Yes, dear, I'm alright. I suppose we should get going." Walking down the front walk, as her daughter helped her to the car, Rebecca glanced back at the big picture window and could have sworn she saw the vague outlines of four hand prints overlapping on the glass.