Note: This is a companion story of Unexpected Chapter 33.
Patrick Turner looked at his left hand, there on his fourth proximal digit was the symbol of his union to his late wife. Their union was a marriage of love that started with promises made to one another in front of their families and God. As he said his vows that day twelve years ago, he believed that he would only ever have one wife. When she placed the ring on his finger, he intended to wear that band of gold forever.
The ring was an outward sign of his commitment to Marianne. It was there gleaming when he nervously took her on their wedding night and when he felt her expanding girth as the product of their love grew within her. It shimmered when he held Timothy, his son, for the first time as the early morning sunlight streamed through the window.
As he clung to her hand when she was passing from this life, the ring was reminder of the pledge of love they had made forever. He was her husband as he held Timothy's small and trembling hand and she was laid in the ground. He didn't want to stop being her husband, he thought, as his grieving son slept fitfully next to him in his bed. So he walked through life as Dr. Turner, widower, and he wore his wedding band as a tribute to his wife and their love.
The ring gleamed on his finger when he started having thoughts about a different vow. The vow that kept him awake, was not one made by him, but by another. His vow had ended in death, but ever present on his left hand was the reminder to him, if to no one else of what once was.
Yet somehow the band of gold became an imposter as his heart began to fill with a love that was not his to have. Still it remained on his finger as he gently held the spirit lamp and gazed into the soul he loved. When his left hand caressed her hand and brought her palm to his lips in an unforgivable kiss, he wore his ring.
His ring reminded him of her vow just as the stethoscope reminded his of his oath when he ever so carefully only touched fabric and metal although he longed to brush his fingertips on the smooth skin of her back and breastbone. Just to feel the softness that which was never meant to be his would have filled him with joy and sorrow.
The ring was still a reminder of the man he once was when he longed to reach across and take her hand in comfort on the drive to St. Anne's. It was there mocking him as he sat alone, absentmindedly stirring his tea at the roadside café on his way back to Poplar.
His ring continue to be his companion as he held the pen in his left hand and wrote letter after letter even when he feared they were only reaching the bin. Still he persisted and then finally today his ring was like an old friend he had outgrown when he reached out to her and touched her forehead.
He has a new love, an unbelievable love and so he unceremoniously removes the precious metal from his finger where it had been for so long and puts it away, out of sight for safe keeping. He thinks perhaps someday his son will wear it when he vows to love another. Patrick Turner looks at his left hand, his fourth proximal digit is now bare for the first time in many years, but his heart soars because he is certain it will not remain unadorned for long.