A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  “Probably.”

  And that was the end of his input. The clock ticked loudly on the wall, the spigot dripped a few times, then stopped. Edna could hear him swallowing his milk and the side of his fork hit the plate.

  “Well, I’m off to bed,” she said quietly.

  “No. Sit down.”

  She glanced at him in surprise, then stood behind a kitchen chair, her fingers gripping it tightly.

  “Sit down, Edna. I need to talk.”

  Silently, she pulled out the chair and slid into it.

  “I need help with the Christmas shopping. I don’t know what to buy for the children. Sometimes I feel so detached from them since Sarah left us. It’s almost as if the children are growing up without me. As if I’m watching from a distance. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. A mother is sort of like the glue that keeps the family together, I guess. Would you consider spending a day shopping with me? Or should I just hand over my wallet?”

  Unexpectedly, he looked straight at Edna and grinned, a tired, boyish lopsided grin that made him appear much younger.

  She laughed. “The wallet. Just hand over the wallet.”

  He laughed with her. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard him laugh before but liked the rumbling sound.

  “No, seriously. Would you be embarrassed to be seen with me at the local stores? We could go to Elkhart, to the big stores.”

  Taken aback, Edna raised her eyebrows.

  “Why would I be ashamed to be seen with you?”

  “You’re dating that Emery.”

  “Yes. But this would not be a date or anything. I’m working for you.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be that.”

  She lifted puzzled eyes to his. She found his amber eyes with a light that was not humor or teasing or . . . or anything. But there was so much in his steady, unwavering gaze. Edna was thrown into this golden light, the light that erased the kitchen and the tabletop, the hissing of the propane lamp, the rectangle of night in the window. Her heart beat rapidly, with a dull banging in her chest, but still the moment lasted and lasted.

  “Uh, no. It . . . uh . . . wouldn’t be a date. So, sure. Whenever is a good day.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Her baking day. “Whatever. Yes. Yes, I guess so.”

  “Edna, this may be too offensive, too personal, but I often find myself wondering if you’re happy. Is this Emery the one you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

  Edna’s gaze fell. She scratched the surface of the tabletop with her fingernail, softly. She tried hard to find the proper words, but there were none. She decided to test the winds of honesty, take a chance and bare her soul to this quiet, lost widower.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.”

  Their gazes locked, held. Edna was bathed in the glow of his amber eyes that now turned dark, as if storm clouds had rolled in.

  “Not really. I am in love, though. I love him. He’s fun to be around, you see, he’s the man of my dreams. He’s the reason I never dated. I held out all those years. And now, well, I guess you could say, my dreams have come true. He’s what I always imagined. It’s just . . .”

  Orva waited.

  “I’m tired. I’m completely exhausted. You’ve heard the term, whirlwind courtship?”

  Orva nodded.

  “I’m whirled straight off my feet. I’m tired. And dizzy.”

  He smiled.

  “But you’ll marry him when he asks you?”

  “Yes. Oh yes.”

  Orva said nothing.

  Should she ask him? Why him? She wanted to ask the question that ruffled all her thoughts of late, that left her lying awake at night, mulling over the awful chasm that stretched before her, yawning at her feet now.

  “Um . . . I . . . hope you don’t think this is inappropriate, Orva. But there is one serious doubt in my mind about marriage to Emery. He . . .”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. Orva urged her on, gently.

  “Well, this is so childish. But . . . Do you need physical attraction to marry someone? I can hardly stand some of his . . .”

  She could not bring herself to say kisses.

  She wanted to fade into the back of her chair, to slide under the table. Why had she even thought of asking a personal question? Her sisters had already warned her about her lack of response to Emery’s clumsy overtures. Can him, they’d said. Get rid of him. He’s not for you.

  Your head is filled with fantasies of Emery Hochstetler.

  The first time she’d mentioned some of his inept attempts at romance, they’d shrieked with laughter, real knee-slapping belly laughs that brought a lump to Edna’s throat and rebellion against their mockery.

  “Just marry Yonie Hershberger,” Fannie gasped.

  “At least you’d have a house dog,” Sadie yelled.

  It still hurt, the insincerity, the situation that seemed so humorous to them was very real to Edna. She’d often wanted to confide in a true friend, but had never worked up enough nerve. And here she was, bumbling along like a frightened schoolgirl.

  The silence stretched away into the night, with Orva’s gaze situated somewhere over her left shoulder, his face like stone.

  “Forget it.” Edna whispered. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He roused, as if his thoughts had been far away.

  “I was a married man, Edna, and I loved my wife completely. She was my friend, my helpmeet. I am a man, of course, but I would imagine that physical touch is important. You do love him, but have no desire to be touched by him?”

  Edna’s face flamed miserably.

  “You can tell me,” Orva urged, softly. And she did. They talked far into the night, openly, honestly. She was amazed to learn of Orva’s personal sorrow long before he knew his wife was sick. So much hidden rejection, so many nights when he doubted himself.

  She explained everything to him, in the end. He encouraged her, smiled, then laughed openly at some of her descriptions.

  “He wants to go to Florida. He wants to take me to Florida for two weeks. In February. I’ve never been there. He’ll want to go to the beach. I’m just not ready to . . .”

  She lifted her hands to her face, then shook her head back and forth.

  “I have dreamed of this. Played it over and over in my mind. Here I am, and all I have is exhaustion. I’m just so tired.

  “Thank you. Thank you for this talk, this time. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your concern.”

  “It’s more than that, Edna.”

  When she hurried across the kitchen, she knew she was taking flight like a scatterbrained little bird, but there was no preventing it. She had to get away from this man with whom she had a shared her deepest fears and insecurities.

  The evening had rolled along like a freight train, seemingly unstoppable, with time meaning nothing until they both realized it was after midnight, and yet they talked.

  Something had fallen away as the night wore on.

  Pride. Dishonesty. The armor of hidden insecurities.

  Edna had never mentioned Neil. Well, it was best left alone, that subject.

  The dog had never materialized, with Neil’s vehement denial of ever wanting one. Orva’s hurt, sheepish grin after Neil’s fiery onslaught had finally died away. Yes, the place was full of drama and unhappiness with Sarah gone, but she always wanted to come back to Orva’s home, every Monday morning without fail, blindly following her deepest instincts, the need to protect, to help.

  She lay awake, her eyes open wide, pondering Orva’s words. One day at a time.

  Her hands shook as she ran the fine-toothed comb through her hair the following morning. Her eyes smarted with lack of sleep; her brain felt as if someone had taken a potato masher through it.

  But Edna sent Neil on his way to work with a packed lunch of a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil. The girls went off to school with a handwritten note from Edna.

  Dressed in a somber navy blu
e, she belted her black pea coat and grabbed her purse when Orva called up the stairs when the driver arrived. He was standing beside the SUV, watching her approach, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He smiled, then opened the door for her, waited till she was settled, and closed it gently.

  Unbelievable. Edna blinked. She blinked again. No one had ever helped her into a car. And it seemed like the most natural thing on earth, as if she was as precious as, well, something that had to be taken care of.

  Not something, but someone.

  She was someone.

  Enough now, Edna. Just take the day as it comes and stop all this philosophy.

  She watched the scenery flashing past the window, the farms, pastures with Holstein cows cropping the brown grass, hoping to find the last green shoot beneath the fading vegetation. Horses frolicked behind acres of white fences; bicycles, buggies, cars, and trucks in a constant flow.

  Orva listened as the driver kept up a steady conversation, mostly one-sided, which seemed to work well. Occasionally, Orva would offer a viewpoint, which only served as a launching pad for another volley of words.

  They slid to a stop at a red light.

  “Where’s your first stop?” the driver asked, turning to look at Edna.

  “I didn’t think about it yet. Orva, do you have any suggestions?”

  “Why don’t we start at Walmart, for the girls’ gifts?”

  “That’s fine.”

  They spilled through the doors with the throng of holiday shoppers, were approached by an effusive greeter and handed a cart. Orva stepped back and spread his hands to offer the cart to her.

  “I’m no shopper,” he said wryly.

  She smiled and pushed the cart to the children’s toys, then to the aisle that contained only dolls and accessories.

  “Emmylou would be thrilled to have one of these,” Edna said, picking up a large pink box containing a beautiful baby doll with a shower of thick blond hair, blue eyes that opened and closed, a pacifier, barrettes, and a comb and brush set.

  Orva agreed immediately, and Edna set it in the cart.

  “Clothes for the doll?” she asked.

  “Whatever you think is fine with me.”

  They chose Lego bricks the girls could use, to build homes with families and cars, swimming pools, and swing sets. Edna told Orva that Marie would spend hours constructing villages, designing houses. She was a quiet child who could immerse herself in the intricacies of erecting things out of Neil’s old set of Legos.

  Orva frowned, then told her if she talked like that, it made him certain he was lost in his own world of selfish thoughts, since Sarah’s passing.

  “You know my girls better than I do.”

  “No, no. It’s only that I’ve been there all day nearly every day every day for over nine months.”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  They purchased board games and books for the girls, then spent hours at Target and the biggest sporting goods store Edna had ever seen. Here Orva bought hockey equipment for Neil; the best, most expensive items, then bought him a gift card to purchase more items of his choice.

  “Hungry yet?” he asked her quietly, as they stood in line to pay for their purchases.

  “Starved.”

  “You pick.”

  “Steakhouse? Italian? Chinese?

  “Your choice. This is for you.”

  “I know you’ll like the steakhouse.”

  “But will you?”

  “Of course.”

  Their table was private, set in a small dimly lit alcove, the booth with backs so high it was impossible to see the other diners except for the one table across the aisle, which was empty. Edna felt shy quite suddenly, unable to think of one endearing thing to say.

  This did not seem to bother Orva at all, leaning back against the back of the seat, his arms crossed, looking around at the paintings on the walls, the western antiques grouped on the opposite wall.

  They ordered tea and read menus, discussing the variety of appetizers and entrées.

  The food was perfect, but Edna had a hard time enjoying it. How did one stop comparing Emery to Orva? Why was life so terribly complicated? All these years of being alone, turning into a lemony singleton with no prospects, and here she was, almost engaged to the man of her dreams, and wondering why she felt this way with Orva.

  It’s more than that, he’d said.

  What did that mean, then?

  It was all about last evening. They never should have had that conversation. Edna felt so wobbly and unsure of anything now. Orva was a man who had suffered, came through bad times, continued feeling at a loss with Neil, and was crowned with a humble spirit.

  Emery was exhausting. He dragged Edna from one event to the other, her smile bright and reassuring, carrying her love like a pink banner for everyone to see. Then one evening, pouring her heart out to this man, this quiet, hurting man . . .

  She caught her breath.

  “Edna?”

  He reached across the table and found her hand. He laced his fingers into hers, slowly, gently.

  “I want you to know that you are a beautiful woman. One who needs to think hard before you agree to marriage. Will you do that?”

  The blood drained from her face, her breath in ragged gasps.

  She could not form words, so she nodded.

  “You see, Edna, it will soon be a year since Sarah passed, and I would never step into another man’s territory. I have Neil to think about. No woman in her right mind would deserve to live with him.”

  Edna could only stare into his eyes, shocked to hear him say that.

  “But . . . but I have lived with him.”

  “You have. That’s true. But you would never agree to be his stepmother.”

  Edna bit her lip to keep from blurting out the truth.

  She would. Oh, she would.

  Her eyes filled with tears. She bit down hard on her lower lip, but the tears came regardless.

  “Edna,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  She shook her head, reached blindly for a Kleenex in her purse. Her chest heaved with emotion, but she could only shake her head repeatedly.

  Orva released her hand.

  “I just . . .” she choked, coughed, took a sip of her tea. She pushed a lettuce leaf around her plate with the edge of her fork.

  “I pity Neil. That anger is his only weapon to stave off the world, so they don’t see the little boy crying inside of him. He blames you that his life has gone crazy.”

  “He hates me.”

  Edna shook her head. “He hates himself.”

  Orva did not speak. His face was lined with grief, mirroring the exhaustion in Edna’s face, underlying bewilderment creating a vulnerability, a mixture of suffering and insecurity. Their eyes met, and spoke volumes.

  He reached for her hand, his thumb caressed her palm, gently, so lightly, every move an act of caring.

  “You understand him better than I ever will.”

  “He’s hurting, is all.”

  They allowed their eyes to linger, to speak the language of newfound friendship. It couldn’t be love, Edna reasoned. It was not possible to be in love with Emery and get carried away like this.

  There had to be a name for what she felt for Orva.

  The thought of what it would be like to kiss him entered her mind.

  Then she would know. Was one man so different from another?

  What if Orva did kiss her and it was as perfect as she always imagined Emery to be?

  When she slid out of the booth, he stood up, took her coat and helped her into it, the way English men with good manners did.

  Her knees were weak with an emotion she could not name.

  She buttoned her coat. His hand stayed on her back, lightly.

  “Promise me, Edna.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you’ll take your time to consider Emery’s proposal when it comes, O.K.?”r />
  She looked up at him (he was not so tall) and nodded.

  “I promise,” she said soberly, and felt the prick of honest tears, again. He drew her slightly closer by the pressure of his hand then stepped back, put his coat across his shoulders and shrugged into it.

  He waited for her to lead the way, and she felt like a princess, wearing the tiara of this man’s trust.

  “Now for your gift, Edna. You tell the driver where to go.”

  “Oh, I don’t need anything. My room is stuffed full at home. Seriously.”

  “Surely you want something. I’m not good at choosing gifts for women, so you think about it, O.K.? Maybe a gift card or something?”

  She smiled, nodded.

  The weekend with Emery went well after Edna determined to set her priorities straight. She was ungrateful and spoiled, critical of Emery, was all it was. Orva was lonely, at a loss with Neil, and all she felt for him was pity.

  They went to see a Christmas pageant at the local Baptist church, then to Olive Garden with two other couples, both younger, but good friends of Emery.

  He was attentive, polite, rubbing her shoulders with long, thin fingers, laughing uproariously at his own jokes, ordering wine as if he was accustomed to this every day. It was pure Emery, and Edna became relaxed and happy again, putting Orva and Neil out of her mind efficiently. Yes, this was indeed the man of her dreams at last.

  They lingered at the kitchen table, planning the trip to Florida. They’d stay in his grandfather’s house, ride the bus down and back. Edna drank cup after cup of black coffee, listened to his well-laid plans, and nodded repeatedly.

  “Sounds exciting,” she said, with far more enthusiasm than she felt.

  “Oh, you wait till we get down there, girl. We’ll paint the town red!”

  She felt her toes curl under the table and pursed her lips to stop the grimace. Would she ever get used to his expressions?

  Girl? She hated when he called her that. It was so conceited, or something.

  Christmas came and went in a whirl of activities, wet snowflakes, gifts, food, and more events and dinners and hymn singings. Emery gave her a set of white china with a plain gold ring around the outside, a beautiful plate, with cups and saucers, and serving dishes and stemware to match.

  It was very expensive and very beautiful. Edna kissed him in gratitude and was rewarded with his declaration of undying, true love.