Red Tide

by

Carol Deminski

            My wife Amanda has been sick on and off now for about two years.  Her doctors have told us they’re surprised she’s made it this far, and whatever we’re doing, keep it up.  Amanda says it’s my love that keeps her going. If anything it’s the other way around.

            We’ve lived a hard scrabble life.  Without her thrifty ways, we’d have either starved or frozen during the unrelenting Maine winters. We’ve eaten our share of beans, potatoes and clam chowder. She goes to the Salvation Army and finds me flannel shirts when she feels up to it. She even found an Eskimo style fur cap which keeps my ears toasty in a gale.

I dig my own clams and mussels and sell them for whatever I can get at the market but this year has been tough for clammers. We’ve had beach closings from the worst case of red tide I’ve seen in my lifetime. The Atlantic has turned bloody with billions of toxic algae and my best clamming spot has been closed for weeks now.

Amanda and I love clams and their briny flesh that’s delicious with Tabasco. They’re a clean mouthful of ocean. When I was courting her many decades ago I brought her wild daisies, a dozen clams, and two bottles of beer. We had a picnic on the rocky beach near her mother’s house with the gulls circling us. She ate those clams with enthusiasm. When she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, I knew. Not long after that I proposed.

When the cancer came back again, Amanda said, “I don’t want to go through another round of radiation.  I’ve been poked and prodded enough.”

She’s had parts of her lungs removed and has endured radiation and chemotherapy. She lost all her hair and grew it back twice although the second time it grew back it was completely white. I told her it was proof, she was my female Moses come down from Mount Sinai. She laughed at that. When she decided to refuse treatment I didn’t try to change her mind. She’s always put a good face on it for me no matter how sick she’s been but as time passes it’s gotten harder to watch her suffer.

Lately she’s been sleeping more and when she wakes up I help her out of bed. She insists on cooking dinner every night. She sits on a step stool near the stove and I hand her chopped carrots or bite sized shrimp. I can’t ask her not to cook. It would take away her determination to do something everyday, to have a purpose. I don’t have the heart to tell her that she puts too much salt in the food, God love her. I know she can’t taste much. It doesn’t matter; I’ll eat anything she puts in front of me.

Last night she tried to get up to go to the bathroom by herself and slipped. She hit her head and has a welt the size of a quarter. I sat up at the noise and jumped out of bed to help her.  When I carried her back to bed she said, “I hate being such a burden.”

“Amanda you’re not a burden to me. Besides, I’d do anything for you,” I said.

“If you mean that, let me go.”

I buried my face in her nightgown and breathed deeply. The familiar smell of washing powder mixed with her scent is something I’ve lived with my entire life. It’s a comfort to me. She wrapped her arms around my head and said, “You have to let me go.”

We cried together for a while and I lay alongside her until she fell asleep. I walked out to the porch to smell the salt breeze and to think about how I could find strength for her. I went down to the beach and stood there for hours listening to the waves crashing ashore.

At first light I went to the beach and dug up some clams. I drove to the store to buy a six pack and on the way home I wanted to buy daisies but I couldn’t find any. When she woke up I laid a red checked tablecloth on the bed. I brought in a basket with the clams, Tabasco and two beers. I opened both our bottles and put a straw in hers.  She took a sip and smiled. “Just like our first date, huh?”

I nodded and pushed her pill bottles aside to put her beer on the nightstand. I cracked the first clam, gave it a dash of Tabasco and held it out for her. My fingertips tingled. She looked up at me as I fed it to her, then I smoothed the white hair from her face and kissed her forehead. I cracked the second clam and fed it to her. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. I was surprised by her burst of strength. She gurgled a bit, but she got it down.  I got the third one open and she began gasping, the neurotoxin was closing down her airways, but she held her mouth open, eager to swallow it. We lay in our bed and I held her until her breath subsided. I kissed her and called the ambulance. She looked so grateful and at peace.