ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: The Writer, His Wife, and their Afterlife

Book One, Part One, Chapter 60: An Anniversary Present

Ernie’s urologist sends him home with a catheter, to help in the healing of his bladder.

Resting on the daybed, Ernie reads. Sometimes he writes. Just now he’s writing an article about his coronary by-pass.

When I came to in Recovery, I heard a nurse crying. I thought it was my wife, crying because I was dead. When I realized I wasn’t dead, I asked why the nurse was crying. Eight of us had gone in for by-passes that morning. Her patient hadn’t made it. “I’m quitting this work,” she sobbed to her fellow nurses. “I can’t bear it.”

I bring Ernie the mail and a copy of the New York Times I find in a recycling bin. First, he opens the mail, which includes a letter from his personal-injury lawyer. Out falls a check.

“The insurance company finally paid up,” he says. He shows me the check.

“Thirty thousand dollars is not enough for what you suffered, Ernie. And the accident wasn’t your fault. You were hit head-on by an out-of-town driver going to a job interview who turned into your lane by mistake.”

“If it hadn’t been for the accident, I wouldn’t have gotten the ultrasound, and maybe I wouldn’t have gone to a urologist so quickly. I wouldn’t have had the by-pass. Let’s count our blessings, Ernestina.”

“Joshua needs new tires for his motorcycle,” I say.

In L. A., Joshua’s acquired both a commercial agent and a theatrical agent. He wants a good role in a good film. So far, the meatiest role he’s landed is in a commercial for Bob’s Big Boy, a West Coast hamburger chain. “People recognize me on the street from the commercial,” he’s told us. “They say my lines back to me.” To help pay his bills, he works part-time at a motorcycle shop.

“I’ll send Joshua a check,” Ernie says. “That’ll ease his mind.”

Ernie opens the Times to see a full-page ad for upcoming crossings of the Cunard Line’s Queen Elizabeth II.

“I’ve always thought there’s a village in England that would feel like home to me,” he says. He keeps reading. “The ship leaves New York harbor on September fourth, bound for Southampton. What do you think, Ernestina?”

Ernie has no mind for dates except for something like 1066, the Battle of Hastings.

“Do you know what the fourth of September is, Ernie?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“It’s our thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

Using his favorite pen, a yellow Mont Blanc, Ernie endorses the thirty-thousand dollar check and, with a flourish, hands it to me. “Happy Anniversary, Ernestina. We’ll celebrate it on the QEII.”

“Ernie, the fourth of September is only a few weeks away, and you still have a catheter in you.”

“So? I’ll pull it out.”

Which is what he does.