Every Waking Moment Read Online Free

fall homecoming or some such thing.
    Still shot of yearbook picture.
    I don’t know how I did it, but I got up the nerve to ask. I about fell over when she said yes. She made me feel like a million dollars. Anytime I was near her. She still makes me feel that way.
    An audible “Awwww” rose, mostly from women. People wiped at their eyes. Devin took it all in. It was one of those moments he could predict as they shot the video. The lighting, the crisp speech, the lines in the man’s face, the timbre of his voice. Devin had chills as they filmed that day and had known exactly how to put it together. Now, he had chills experiencing the emotion of the room. It was a holy moment, the fruition of piecing together an old man’s disparate memories.
    When the music swelled at the end and the frame froze on Garrity’s face, smiling and happy with the memories he had divulged, it was perfection. There was nothing left to say but good-bye. The family filed past the casket one final time with the still frame of the man on the screen above.
    Devin rose from his seat and walked into the hallway, wiping tears. Tears celebrating the connection between life and art and how such things penetrated the soul. He had made a connection with the old man and had called from him something lasting, something of beauty. The perfect benediction. Martin Garrity had been here, had walked the earth, had a voice, had a story. His heart beat with love and concern, and that truth could be played over and over.
    He checked his watch again and stood aside as mourners exited, smiling at cousins and distant relatives. A door opened and one of Garrity’s sons moved toward the men’s room. Devin followed and waited at the sink, washing his hands twice.
    “Devin,” the man said, glancing at him. “I didn’t know you were here.”
    “I slipped in toward the end of the service. I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “That video . . .” He shook his head. “That was incredible. You captured him perfectly. The photos and music and him talking about his faith . . . My mother will talk about that for the rest of her life.”
    Devin beamed. “That was my hope. I knew the spiritual component was especially important to him. I couldn’t be happier. It all worked so well.”
    The man dried his hands and shook Devin’s. Then an awkward pause. Devin reached for the door, then turned. “I know this is a really bad time to talk about payment . . .”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “I didn’t do this for the money. That’s not what   —”
    “My understanding was that you were making a documentary over at Desert Gardens.”
    “Yes, that’s how I met your father. And when I saw him deteriorate, I thought we could use some of the footage . . .”
    “To make a little money.”
    “No. It’s not like that. But your father and I had an agreement.” He left it there.
    The man frowned. “You’ll be paid, Devin. The death benefit from his company has been filed. My mother will use that to reimburse you.”
    Devin opened his mouth to speak again but decided against it. He opened the door and the man walked past him.
    “You did an excellent job,” he said.
    Devin nodded and glanced at his watch.

CHAPTER 3
    THE DAYROOM WAS A QUIET and secluded spot toward the north end of the building, down a long, tiled hallway. Across the hall was a room with a large-screen television and areas to park wheelchairs for “exercise” sessions. Pristine yoga mats were still in plastic and equally pristine dumbbells languished. Lining an end table by the television were dusty videos with covers featuring smiling octogenarians. Strengthening the Core , Easy Elderly Pilates , Jane Fonda’s Low-Impact Aerobic Workout , Move What You Can   —all in a similar state of neglect. There was no treadmill, but three exercise bikes sat idle by the large window.
    Etched into the glass wall at the entrance to the dayroom on the opposite side of the hall was a mountain scene that rose like