Never Been to Maine

As one partner’s life slips away, the other reflects on their friendship and life together.

“Well, I’ve never been to heaven…”
Three Dog Night
–“Never Been to Spain”

David Starsky stood in the window of the rented oceanside cottage and watched his family play in the dark, grainy sand of the beach. The chill of the early-morning air filtered through the screen, bringing with it the crisp, salty smell of the Atlantic Ocean. It was late August, and the weather in Maine had turned considerably cooler over the last few days. His wife Lydia sat on a rock with baby Ruby perched on her lap, the sun catching in both heads of auburn hair and lighting them to a bright red hew. Lydia turned her head back toward the cottage and, seeing David standing in the window, waved Ruby’s chubby hand and arm at him. “Daddy,” Ruby giggled, her hand now waving on its own accord.

Starsky smiled at his cherished wife and precious baby girl and offered a slight nod and wave back. His family would be returning to California tomorrow. School started for his oldest daughters, Gracie and Emaline, in a few short days, and 18-month-old Ruby would be going as well, leaving him alone. He had no idea how long he would have to remain here. Part of him hoped not for long, but another part–a bigger part, truth be told–secretly wished to stay forever. In his mind he was aware of the inevitability of the situation he was facing; he just wished someone could explain it to his heart.

Starsky sighed and his weary violet eyes wandered skyward as for the countless time that short, fateful summer, he offered up a silent prayer to the powers that be for strength. A gleeful squeal from Ruby brought his attention back to the beach. A seagull had swooped down and landed on the rock across from where she sat. Ever curious and frighteningly fearless, she slid from her mother’s lap and wobbled toward the gull, the sound of her giggle echoing across the beach.

“She’s as beautiful as a sparkling ruby.” That’s what Hutch had said when he first saw her just hours after her birth. It had been a difficult delivery, and Starsky had been standing in the nursery window lost in thought as he stared at his tiny, premature daughter. She was lying peacefully in an incubator, wrapped in a soft white blanket and baby cap with only a tuft of thick red hair peeking out from underneath the band. The words and gentle hand on his shoulder had offered Starsky the comfort and warmth he had grown so dependent on over the years. His eyes locked with Hutch’s through the reflection in the nursery window and a loving smile lit his best friend’s face. Starsky smiled back, taking a moment to savor the constant unwavering love emanating from the man behind him. The partners stood silently in the nursery window, watching each precious breath the baby took until Starsky, knowing no other name would do, finally dashed off to inform Lydia he’d found the perfect name.

The memory forced a weak smile, and Starsky ran his finger along his jaw as he exhaled a drawn out nervous breath. He sat on the arm of the easy chair in front of the window and turned his head in the direction of the back bedroom, listening for any sound coming from the sleeping form lying just beyond the doorway. Hearing only long, even breaths, Starsky’s tension eased slightly and he returned his attention to his family on the beach. The gull, apparently losing interest in the foursome, had flown away, leaving Ruby free to chase after a sand crab trudging slowly toward the water.

Starsky began to calculate in his head how long they had been staying in the tiny cottage so far away from home. It had been a little over two months, practically the entire summer, and the time had flown by. The family had enjoyed their stay overall, spending their days lazing on the beach or driving into town to have lunch and sit with the tourists and local residents on the dock, watching the lobster boats unload their daily catch. They’d visited lighthouses, taken boat tours and frequented the many shops along the coastal highway. It had been a peaceful way to spend a final summer, just what Hutch had requested.

“I want to go to Maine,” he’d stated simply as the twosome sat in his office during their daily routine of sharing the morning paper and a cup of coffee.

“Maine?” Starsky, his feet crossed and resting on the corner of Hutch’s desk, murmured from behind the sports section. “You mean the state?”

“No, dummy, the street.” Hutch rolled his eyes and turned the page of the Arts and Leisure section. “Of course the state.”

Starsky raised an eyebrow and peered around his paper. “What the heck’s in Maine?”

“I dunno.” Hutch shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Nothing in particular.”

“Then why do you want to go there?”

Hutch placed his elbows on his desk, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His eyes met Starsky’s.

“Never been to Maine.”

Starsky held the stare then offered a slight understanding nod. “Guess we’re going to Maine,” he said, returning his eyes back to the ball scores.

That had been two months after the diagnosis. Hutch’s frequent headaches had turned into dizzy spells and bouts of confusion. The always articulate captain had suddenly started forgetting words mid-sentence and had even fainted once during an address to a class of fresh-faced cadets. A nasty case of the flu had been blamed publicly, but Starsky, now a lieutenant, forced Hutch to finally see a doctor. Three specialists later, the verdict remained the same. A rare, inoperable tumor with symptoms that only present themselves when it’s too late. He’d been given anywhere from six to eight months, possibly a year. But his condition continued to worsen rapidly, and the twosome knew their time together was short.

So when Hutch decided he wanted to spend his final days somewhere he’d never been, somewhere where life was simple and slow, Starsky knew he had to go along. Hutch’s wife Dorthea had died two years previous. There were no children, as Dorthea had always been frail and, subsequently, barren. She had been Hutch’s one true love. Their 16-year marriage had thrived and her death was almost his undoing. His and Starsky’s friendship had only grown closer over the years, even after they both made lieutenant and were no longer technically partners. In their hearts, however, it was a partnership, a bond that could never be shattered. Over the years they had seen each other through many triumphs and tragedies, loves and heartaches. They had promised years ago to be there for one another through to the very end, and it was a pledge that would never be broken.

Starsky sighed and stood from the chair, wrapping his cardigan tightly around him. He glanced at his watch. Twenty more minutes before it was time for Hutch’s first dose of medicine. He gave thought to going out to sit with Lydia for a bit, but a gnawing twinge in the pit of his stomach told him to stay near. He glanced back at the bedroom doorway and bit his lip, fighting an urge to wake Hutch early. Deciding his partner needed as much rest as possible, he remained by the window, watching his family and praying for strength.

In the back bedroom, Hutch lie atop the patchwork quilt of the big brass bed that he had been spending the majority of the last few days in. He had awoken earlier in the morning to find Starsky sleeping next to his bedside in a wicker chair. Not wanting to disturb him, Hutch had tried to make it out of bed on his own, but was too weak to stand. Starsky was quickly by his side and placed a steadying arm around his shoulder, half-carrying him to the bathroom.

Once the necessary duties had been accomplished, Hutch sat weakly on the closed toilet lid waiting for Starsky to begin their morning bathing routine. Starsky wrung the excess water from the warm, soapy cloth and turned to discover a broad, yet weak, smile on Hutch’s face.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked as he knelt before Hutch and began gently rubbing the cloth over his too thin arms and hands.

“You.” Hutch’s voice had become a mere whisper.

“Me?” Starsky returned the smile and continued with the bath.

Hutch nodded and caught Starsky’s eyes with his own. “Starsk, promise me something.”

Starsky stopped with the bath and held Hutch’s stare. “Name it, it’s yours.”

“You won’t forget…” Hutch’s breath caught as he looked down at his hands.

Starsky tossed the washcloth into the sink and placed his hand under Hutch’s chin, gently lifting his head. “Forget what, buddy?”

Hutch’s eyes wearily roamed his best friend’s face as he lifted his hand and placed it against Starsky’s cheek. “Me.”

Starsky sucked in a long breath and pursed his lips together, choking back the threatening tears. “How could I forget you, huh?” His voice cracked as he attempted a smile. He covered the frail hand on his cheek with his own and closed his eyes, leaning into the feeble grip. His eyes, glistening with tears, opened and met with Hutch’s once more. He reached for Hutch’s free hand and placed it against his chest. “You’re not going anywhere, partner. You’ll always be right here.”

Hutch nodded and smiled weakly, closing his eyes. He leaned forward and rested his head against Starsky’s shoulder. “I’m so tired, Starsk.”

Starsky rested his chin on top of the still-blond strands of hair. “You want to do this later?”

A slight nod against his neck was the only response.

“OK,” Starsky grunted as he stood and lifted Hutch to his feet. “I don’t guess this is real comfortable for you anyway. We’ll do it from the bed later, huh?”

Starsky helped Hutch back to the bedroom, sitting him on the foot of the bed as he straightened the sheets and fluffed the pillows. Hutch slid to the top of the bed and lay on his side without getting under the covers.

Starsky placed his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “You don’t want to get under the quilt?”

“Too warm.”

“OK.” Starsky smiled and petted the shoulder. He tugged at a lighter blanket draped over the brass footboard and spread it over Hutch’s legs, leaving some extra around his waist so he could easily pull it over his shoulders if he got cold.

“I said too warm.” Hutch reached down to pull the blanket away.

Starsky gently grabbed Hutch’s hand and leaned in closer. “Just humor me, would ya, please?”

Hutch sighed and nestled his head further in the pillow. “All right,” he grunted.

Starsky smiled at the stubborn streak that would never quit, no matter what. “Thank you,” he cajoled and squeezed Hutch’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back after a while.”

Starsky groaned as he stood, placing his hands on his hips and leaning backward to stretch his back.

“You’re getting old,” Hutch’s thick, sleep-filled voice was muffled against the pillow.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Starsky laughed at the observation and turned to leave the room.

“Starsk?”

“Hmm?” His heart suddenly in his throat, Starsky stopped in the doorway and turned to face Hutch. He’d opened his eyes, and they were sharp and clear, defying his age, defying his condition, and they were focused intently on Starsky.

Hutch knew that he could reach out now and touch his very life. It stood before him, and there was no judgment. His every happiness, his every failure, his every reckless deed, his every regret, his every blessing, his youth and his old age stood staring patiently back at him, waiting for him to speak. He could feel his life slipping away, but there would be no goodbyes. The love had been in the everyday, and the lifelong company of his best friend had proved it.

“I was only kidding about the age.”

Starsky grinned broadly, slightly relieved. “You always did steal my best lines. Sleep, I’ll be back.” His eyes stayed locked with his partner’s for a moment longer, then he turned and was gone.

The early morning light flooded the room and Hutch continued to stare at the empty doorway.

“I know you will,” he whispered to where his life had stood.

*~*~*~*

It was a peaceful slumber, filled with the memories that had made up his life. He dreamt of a winning home run in Little League, proud parents applauding from the stands as his team triumphantly lifted him onto their shoulders. His first romantic kiss behind his grandfather’s barn with Sarah, the handyman’s freckle-faced daughter. Delivering his high-school valedictorian speech, promising a hopeful future and advising to remain true to yourself without sacrificing others. Then, sitting in orientation at the police academy, a sudden, sharp tap on his shoulder. He’d turned to find a pile of dark disheveled hair sitting atop a tanned face lit with a friendly, crooked grin.

“Ya got the time?”

Hutch’s eyes wandered down the arm of the faded red NYU sweatshirt and rested on the big silver watch garishly adorning his questioner’s wrist. The lack of response caused a dark eyebrow to rise as curious violet eyes followed Hutch’s stare.

“Oh! That’s busted. Bought it at a garage sale–10 bucks.”

Hutch was instantly intrigued. “You bought a broken watch for 10 dollars? Mind if I ask why?”

“Well, it’s Pierre Cardin.” He held out his wrist for closer inspection. “A real steal if you ask me.”

It was Hutch’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “But it doesn’t work.”

The dark curls bobbed as the man nodded. “Yeah, but, see, that’s not the point. It’s a nice watch.” He looked down at the broken watch and fiddled with the strap, a reminiscent expression suddenly overtaking his face. “My grandfather always used to tell me a man should wear a nice watch. Makes him seem important.”

The statement was delivered with all the confidence of someone who’d just discovered the cure for cancer. It made absolutely no sense, yet somehow, Hutch marveled, coming from his new acquaintance, it made all the sense in the world.

Smiling violet eyes looked up from the watch and the man shrugged. “‘Sides, no one needs to know it doesn’t work.”

“Unless, of course, you tell them.” Hutch’s words were matter-of-fact. He watched as a myriad of expressions passed over the man’s face. Smugness replaced with confusion, then embarrassment, then annoyance, all within a matter of seconds. The piercing eyes snapped and squinted at him.

“Look, you don’t gotta tell me what time it is if you don’t want to. I can ask someone else.”

The original question long forgotten, Hutch squinted as well. “Huh?” he stammered, then remembered how the conversation had begun in the first place. “Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just a sec.” He chuckled as he reached into the pocket of his neatly pressed trousers, pulling out his grandfather’s gold pocket watch. “It’s quarter to 12.”

“Terrific!” The crooked smile returned. “Only 15 minutes to lunch. I’m starving.”

Inexplicably drawn to the dark-headed enigma, Hutch returned the smile and extended his hand, which was met with a firm, enthusiastic shake.

“Ken Hutchinson.”

“Hutcha–who?”

“Hutchinson.”

“Hutch-in-son,” each syllable was clearly enunciated as the name was visibly locked into memory.

Hutch smiled broader and nodded enthusiastically at his new friend. “Yeah, that’s it. Hutch for short.”

“All right then, Hutch. I’m Dave–Dave Starsky. Nothing for short. A toothy grin met Hutch’s smile and two sets of blue eyes locked for the first of many times to come. “Hey, ya wanna have lunch with me?”

*~*~*~*

Hutch opened his eyes and stared into the bright morning light streaming through the windows. It was brighter than usual and warmer somehow. It was all that he could see, all that he could feel. He wondered if he was even still in the tiny bedroom. He couldn’t feel the bed underneath him or the blanket around him. He felt nothing. Yet he sensed another presence with him. A peaceful, gentle presence. He was drawn to it, wanted nothing more than to follow it through the light.

“Dorthea?”

He felt the presence envelop him and began to drift away. There was no more fear, no more pain; just a quiet serenity. He wanted so badly to go into the light, to follow the inviting calm. But there was one last task at hand. Hutch closed his eyes and searched his soul for the face he was looking for. He found him, standing by a window, a sad, thoughtful smile evident on his lips. Hutch reached out and gently placed a hand on the hunched shoulder.

“Starsk…”

The light grew brighter, the warmth more inviting. Hutch couldn’t wait any longer. He smiled faintly at his best friend, then gave in to the light, allowing it to pull him away from this world and into its unspoken promise.

“Hutch?” Starsky startled at the touch on his shoulder and the faint whisper in his ear. “How did you….”

He turned around abruptly and faced an empty room. A shiver wracked his frame as he felt his partner’s very essence pass slowly, gently through him.

“Hutch,” he breathed, his eyes darting frantically around the room and finally coming to rest on the bedroom doorway. “Oh, God.”

He stood silent, staring at the beam of sunlight peeking through the door. Hutch had left him, he knew, had passed through him on the way. He swallowed hard and looked briefly away from the doorway he knew he’d have to force himself through. But how? How could he go in there when… when everything he’d known was gone?

He took a steadying breath and forced himself across the room. Standing in the bedroom doorway, he stared at Hutch’s peaceful form lying atop the “too warm” quilt. The blanket Starsky had so carefully placed around him had been removed, lying off to the side in a rumpled heap. Somehow a faint smile broke through and Starsky moved to the bedside, sitting gently on the edge. He reached over and softly brushed strands of fine hair from the cool forehead. The lines that had developed over the years from a brow that had knit together often in thought or amusement or anger, and later in pain, had eased, leaving traces of the youthful, handsome face Starsky had first become familiar with.

“Oh, Hutch,” Starsky breathed, picking up a lifeless hand he knew as well as his own. The tears flowed freely as he held his partner’s hand tenderly against his cheek. For some reason he’d told himself he’d feel a form of relief when it was finally over, but that feeling never came. All he felt was sadness, loneliness and an emptiness that could never be filled again.

“David?” Lydia stood in the doorway, Ruby in her arms. “Honey, is he…”

Starsky’s eyes wearily shifted to the sound of his wife’s voice and he slowly nodded his head. “He’s gone,” he whispered. “Dear God, he’s gone.”

Lydia pulled Ruby closer to her and placed a kiss on the baby’s soft forehead, watching as her husband cradled Hutch’s hand and silently cried. She turned to leave the twosome to a final moment together, a tear streaking down her cheek. A tear shed for Hutch, shed for David, and shed for a friendship like no other coming to a sad, peaceful end.