Love Everlasting
Page 10
When he motioned me forward, I preceded him into the elevator. “I can imagine. It must have been fun to work together like that.”
Ed nodded. “We were luckier than most. We had something to share that we both enjoyed so much.”
The elevator doors opened at my floor and he walked with me toward my apartment. Slowing as we neared my door, I asked, “Would you like to come in? I have wine, or cocoa.”
His smile warmed me. “Yes, I’d love a cup of cocoa.”
While waiting for the kettle to whistle, I took two mugs from the cupboard. I poured hot water over the instant cocoa before carrying the mugs into the sitting room, where Ed waited. “I hope you’re not a marshmallow person. I’m a cocoa purist, myself.”
“I don’t know that I have a preference. Cocoa’s always good.”
As we sipped or drinks, I tried to figure out why he only emerged one night a week. He seemed to be enjoying my company. Maybe he felt he didn’t know anyone well enough to join in the other nights. “Have you seen the activity calendar? Between the card games, movie night and Mexican Train dominoes, there’s something to do almost every evening.”
“Yes, my daughter pointed that out when she suggested I move here.” He set his mug on a coaster on my Queen Anne table. “But you know, I’m pretty much a homebody. Performing at the club was our big night out. The rest of the time we stayed in and that was fine with us.”
The sentiment was close to my heart. “My husband and I were the same. A good book or TV show was all we needed.”
“I usually just heat up a can of soup for supper, now. Old habits die hard.”
“Oh, but the food in the dining room is so delicious. You’re really missing out,” I said. “It’s nice to have company, too. I can eat here if I prefer to be alone, but I like catching up with others most days. Sometimes being alone with my thoughts becomes too much of a good thing.”
Ed crossed his leg and rested a hand on his knee. He glanced at the photos on my bookshelf before turning his gaze on me. “When my daughter brought up the subject of selling my house, she told me not to think of the change as an ending, but as the beginning of the next phase of my life.”
I smiled. “I like that idea. Beginnings are much more pleasant than endings. And at our age, we see too many endings, don’t we?”
I was still thinking about beginnings when I sat down to supper the next evening with Grace. I was startled when a third chair slid back from the table. Looking up, I saw Ed.
“Would you ladies mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” I returned his warm smile.
Ed introduced himself to Betty, and it seemed the most natural thing to have him sit beside me at dinner. The now-familiar timbre of his voice comforted me—surprisingly so for such short acquaintance. Sort of like curling up under a favorite afghan, it warmed me.
After the usual dinner topics of the weather and local news, Ed said, “I was looking at the activities calendar for the month. I see in two weeks the bus is going to the local Melodrama. Are you ladies going?”
Betty shook her head while I nodded. “I bought a season pass to all six of their shows this year. I really love them. If you want to go, you need to hurry and reserve a spot before the tickets run out.”
“I’ll do that first thing in the morning.”
*
A few nights later, I lay on the cool sheets of my bed, staring into the eyes of my husband in the photo on the nightstand. I never understood how a picture could capture the love in someone’s gaze, but I always felt it when I looked at John’s. Maybe it was because I had always seen that love on his face, so it was how I remembered him.
I sighed and blinked away the welling tears. “I miss you, dear man. We always talked about sharing these years together. I never imagined I’d be waking up alone for such a long time. I was half of a couple for forty-nine years. It just doesn’t feel right being on my own.”
Feeling like a whiny child, I told myself to be grateful for the extra time I had to enjoy my life. We never had children, which contributed to the loneliness, I suppose. But I had friends new and old, and more activities available than ever.
What I missed were the little things that came from sharing your life with someone. The comfort of him sitting in his favorite chair with a book while I did crosswords. Having “our song”. And knowing someone so well you could order for them at any restaurant.
My thoughts turned toward Ed, who had become a friend so quickly. How did he prefer his steak, or did he even eat steak? Well, it wasn’t like we made special requests in the dining room at Paramount Villa. And there was no rush in getting to know him. Getting involved with a man at my age was rather silly, with so few years left to enjoy together.
*
Ed picked me up at my apartment and sat with me on the bus, almost like a real date. What a silly thought, a date! I wasn’t about to start dating again at seventy-two. I’d been watching too many romance movies on cable TV. But sitting beside him was different than sitting next to the other women I usually joined on these trips.
“Have you been to the Melodrama?” I asked.
“Many years ago. I would have enjoyed going more often but Norma, my wife, wasn’t fond of theater.”
“What a shame.” How lucky I’d been that John and I had so much in common.
“She enjoyed tennis, so we played until my knees went.”
“I was never good at sports,” I said. Come to think of it, though, I wasn’t a very good dancer but I’d never let that stop me.
“I wasn’t either. She always won. I always wondered why she didn’t play against her friends, who would give her more of a challenge. But she said she liked doing things together.”
With a glance my way, he said, “Green’s a nice color on you.”
I looked down at my wool coat. I’d had it so long I no longer paid attention to the deep shade of emerald. “Thank you.”
“It makes your eyes look bluer.”
Startled, my gaze lifted to his face, but he was staring ahead. He’d noticed the color of my eyes on more than one occasion? The warm buzz running through was just plain ridiculous, but I savored it.
The play was an original musical set in the 1950s, and was quite fun. The songs were old classics with the action written around a football jock and a carhop, who spent half the first act on roller skates.
As we stood in the lobby afterwards, waiting for the bus to arrive, Ed took my hand. What a girlish thrill I felt at the warmth of his palm against mine. I was grateful my hair was so short or I might end up twirling my ponytail through my fingers like the carhop. At least I wasn’t chewing bubble gum, so I could pretend I felt my age.
We weren’t alone until we got off the elevator at my floor. Ed cleared his throat as we neared my door. “I enjoyed tonight. Would you mind if I bought tickets for the rest of the season?”
“I think you should. They always have a good production.” I dug in my purse for my keys, then realized what he was asking. As I stopped at my door, I met his gaze. “And I’d enjoy sitting by you if you do.”
He smiled, and I realized he was still holding my hand when he squeezed it. “Well, goodnight. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
We became an item after that, taking our meals together and sometimes spending the afternoon in either of our apartments, watching a movie or just reading. No one said anything, but I saw them watching us at times. I realized I didn’t care what they thought. There was only one person whose opinion mattered to me, besides Ed.
One morning I woke and my eyes went first thing to John’s picture. “Good morning, dear,” I said.
I didn’t get up right away, but lay there studying the photo. I’d always felt John was with me after he passed away, his love still wrapped around me like a cocoon to keep me safe. What did he think of my friendship with Ed?
“I wish you were here to talk to me about this. Oh, that’s silly. If you were here, I wouldn’t have a relationship with Ed. You kno
w I will always love you, but I feel if I have the chance to share my life again, I should do it. I know you understand.”
I sat up slowly and took his picture in my hands. Such a handsome face with those laugh lines below his eyes, and the smile that pulled up more to one side. Ed was handsome in his own way, more rugged and outdoorsy, even now with the gunmetal hair and wrinkles.
With a sigh, I walked to my dresser and opened the top drawer. Moving aside the stack of nightgowns, I tucked the photo underneath and slowly shut the drawer. I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hairdresser did a great job of keeping my hair a dark brown that didn’t look phony. My skin sagged and the parentheses around my mouth were carved deep. I told myself that was because of my perpetual smile, not the number of years I had seen.
I looked pretty good for an old gal. What surprised me the most, though, was no longer seeing the sadness in my eyes.
*
Ed turned off the TV when the movie credits began to roll. “My daughter wants me to come home for Thanksgiving,” he announced.
“How nice. It will be good to see your family.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Thanksgiving is all about family, isn’t it? This is the first one since I sold the house they grew up in. My daughter’s hosting it at her place outside Chicago. It’ll feel strange.”
“But your children and grandchildren will all be there with you, and she’ll probably cook the same food she grew up eating.”
“I guess so.”
He didn’t say anything about missing me while he was gone, not even when he said goodnight after dinner the night before he left.
Thanksgiving at Paramount Villa was always a special meal. Some of the resident’s family came to eat there, so children’s voices rang out in the dining room and hallways, which brightened any event. I played Mexican Train dominoes with friends, and managed not to look at my cell phone to see if the battery was charged, since it hadn’t rung. I was sure Ed would call at least once, but my phone was quiet.
Lying in bed Sunday night I was filled with doubts. I looked on the nightstand to talk out my thoughts with John, and remembered his picture wasn’t there anymore. I had to face this alone.
Had I made too much of our friendship? We’d never kissed, but we spent a good part of every day together. If I went to the activity room alone to play cards, others would ask where Ed was. They thought we were a couple. I thought we were a couple. Apparently, Ed didn’t.
I needed to decide if what we had was enough. Just a few months ago I wouldn’t have imagined I’d be so comfortable around a man that wasn’t John. I realized I cared for Ed a lot. But did I love him?
With John I’d felt two types of love. That crazy, passionate young love that burned with a life of its own had eventually simmered into a constant, endless devotion. I didn’t feel that wild passion for Ed, I knew that much. Was it possible to skip straight to the constant comfortable attachment?
Ed joined Betty and me for lunch on Monday. “I was so tired from the trip; I slept past nine o’clock this morning. I just had some toast in my apartment. Did you both have a nice Thanksgiving?”
“Yes, my son came to eat here,” Betty said.
“I always love seeing the families around the holidays,” I said. “The whole complex feels more alive.”
After we finished, Ed came to my room with me. He sat in his usual spot—well, in the only other chair in my living room, and accepted the cup of tea I offered. “You were right; dinner at my daughter’s was as nice as the ones in the past.”
“It’s not where you gather that’s important.” I sank into my chair and put my cup and saucer on the table between us. “It’s all about the people.”
“Yes. I realized that. I missed you, Mary Margaret. I kept turning to say something to you, but you weren’t there.”
I laughed. “There is such a thing as the telephone.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to be rude to my family when I was with them. And by the time I went to bed at night, I was so tired I couldn’t stay awake long enough to call.” He took a sip from his drink. “I did tell my kids about you.”
That surprised me, after the things I’d imagined over the weekend. “Oh?”
“I couldn’t help it. Every time I went to talk about something I’d done, your name came up.” He ducked his head with a frown. “No, that sounds all wrong. I planned to tell them about you. But the more I talked, the more obvious it was you were a big part of my life, I couldn’t have not told them.”
As backwards as that came out, it warmed me deeply. He felt it, too.
Tuesday night we sat together on the bench of the baby grand while Ed played requests from the small crowd that now gathered around us. The activity director had heard about the popularity of our mini concerts, and the maintenance department now set out extra chairs each week.
After the sixth song, Ed’s fingers ran through some chords as he often did when planning the next tune. This time, however, he spoke to the room. “Here’s an old favorite, one which I hope to be playing again a year from now.”
As the notes began, words automatically came to my lips and I sang without thinking. Right up until the one line, “May I always listen to the Anniversary Waltz with you?”
My voice cracked. I forced myself to go on to the next verse, but my eyes were on Ed’s profile. What did he mean, he hoped to be playing the Anniversary Waltz a year from now?
When the song ended, he closed the cover over the keyboard and stood to thank our friends, who clapped and smiled like every other Tuesday night. Unlike every other time, I stumbled as I rose, my mind wanting to push him to explain himself.
He simply smiled and took my hand and led me to the elevator. Somehow we got there before the others and were alone when the door closed. Ed squeezed my hand, and I looked up at him.
He raised one brow. “Well, what do you say?”
I frowned. “To what?”
His smile looked a bit sad. “I’m sorry. Maybe I had it wrong.”
“Had what wrong?”
The doors opened and he led me down the hall without speaking. When we reached my door, I unlocked it as quickly as my shaking hands would let me. “Would you like to come in?”
“I would.” He didn’t sit, but instead stood before the bookcase filled with my photos.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?”
He shook his head.
“Would you like to let me in on what I missed? What do I say to what?” He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. No, surely he’d tell me he loved me first, or do something silly like drop to one knee.
He sighed and turned to face me. “I thought I’d be original, but I seem to have flubbed this. I thought by playing the Anniversary Waltz you’d understand I want to play it again on our anniversary.”
My mouth went dry. My heart raced enough to worry me, at my age. If this was a proposal, it wasn’t the kind I expected. But then, I’d never expected to hear another proposal in my lifetime. “Are you saying you want to marry me?”
“Yes. I am. I want to spend the rest of my holidays beside you, so when my grandson learns to walk you can see it with me, not hear about it over the phone. I want to roll over in the morning and ask what’s for breakfast, not read it from a menu. I can’t promise you a silver anniversary, but I want to share as many as we can together. What do you say?”
I let out a laugh that was also a cry, and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. I walked to him, raising my hands to cradle his face. His skin was soft, warm. He smelled of spicy aftershave and breath mints and home. “I say yes, you silly man. I want to sing the Anniversary Waltz with you as many years as we have left.”
We had the ceremony in the atrium, near the baby grand piano. Ed’s son played for us, his fingers as sure as his father’s. His children welcomed me into the family with none of the hesitation I feared. And at the end of the day, we opened the door of our new apartment and walked over the threshold of a new beginning.
THE END
***
Other titles available from
Jerrica Knight-Catania
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About Jerrica
Jerrica Knight-Catania left her “glamorous” life as an actress in favor of becoming a romance author, where she could write about truly glamorous lives. She currently resides in New York City with her real-life hero of a husband, their shy Russian Blue, Dr. Snuggle, and their beautiful daughter who is most definitely a princess-in-training. Visit Jerrica’s official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what’s new in her writing world! www.jerricasplace.com *
About Jane
Jane Charles has lived in the Midwest her entire life. In fact, she lived in the same house until the day she married. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love with reading. She long ago lost count of how many fiction novels she has read over the years but her love for them never died. Along with romance she has a passion for history and the two soon combined when she penned her first historical romance. What turned into a hobby became a passion, which has been fully supported by her husband, three children and three cats. http://www.janeacharles.blogspot.com/