by Noelle Adams
Maybe Dave won’t come out for the walk this morning. Maybe he’s already gotten tired of me.
I tell myself not to be stupid, and I wait two minutes until Dave appears at the back door of the building.
He looks surprised when he sees me waiting. “You’re early.”
“I know,” I say. “I woke up early and got bored of sitting around.”
This is mostly true, and it’s all the truth he needs to know about my state of mind.
“It’s a little nippy this morning,” he says. He’s wearing a light jacket, and he adjusts it so it’s falling smoothly around his hips. “Are you going to be warm enough?”
“Of course. This is a warm sweater.”
Frowning, he reaches out to feel my sweater between his fingers and thumb. “I guess it will be okay.”
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “I told you it was fine.”
“Well, I don’t want you to be cold.”
I can’t help but laugh softly, fondly. “I won’t be cold. This is my favorite time of the year. There’s nothing like autumn.”
“Yeah. Nothing like it. The time when everything dies.” His voice is dry, but he’s smiling as he begins to walk.
“But it dies in such splendor. Even the air feels fresher somehow, like it’s putting on its best clothes for the fall of the leaves.”
“It’s probably because the humidity lessens.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You don’t have to ruin my poetic thoughts with prosaic science.”
He just laughs, and I really like the sound of it.
After a minute, I ask him, “Don’t you like the fall?”
“I do. Especially here in the mountains. But I don’t think I like it as much as you do.”
“I’ve always loved it.” I sniff at the air. “Can’t you smell it?”
He sniffs too. “Dirt?”
“No,” I reply, giving him an indignant look. “Not just dirt. That’s the smell of the fall. You can’t smell it any other time of the year.”
He laughs again and looks around. It’s already light, but the sun is making its first appearance over the mountains in the distance, streaming faint rays out over the valley. “It is a really nice morning.”
“I can’t understand why so many people just sleep through mornings like this. Evenings are never nearly so nice.”
“Evenings have their own appeal, I guess.”
For some reason, his words change the mood between us, and I’m not exactly sure why. It’s like he’s thinking of something else, and his thoughts were somehow evoked through the tone of his voice, although I certainly hadn’t heard anything obvious.
But I feel inexplicably excited—in a different way than my pleasure over the fall morning.
We’re quiet until we reach the bench, and then I lower myself to sit down, propping the cane against the side. “Now you just sit here and look at that valley and feel the air and tell me you don’t think the autumn is the best time of the whole year.”
“Do I have to?”
He’s mostly teasing, so I give him a look of exaggerated bossiness. “Yes. Sit there and be quiet and learn to appreciate it.”
He smiles at me, warm and soft, but then he turns to look out onto the valley. I see him breathing in the air, and I hope he’s appreciating it like I do.
I want him to. I want to share it with him.
“It’s kind of a rich smell,” he says at last, proving he’s actually taken my instructions seriously. “Earthy and … I don’t know … full. Like the earth is throwing out everything all at once, because it knows it’s nearing the end.”
The words touch me, and not just because they prove he’s listening to me, caring about what I care about. “Yes. That’s it exactly. Spring is lovely, but it’s too new to hold nearly so much.”
He nods, smiling again but in a different way.
“What are you smiling at?” I ask, since it seems like he has something to say but isn’t saying it.
“Nothing. Just you.”
I’m starting to feel self-conscious, and I have to fight not to drop my eyes. “What about me?”
“I’m not surprised you like the autumn so much, since you’ve always been kind of like it.”
Now I’m more than self-conscious. I feel a wave of pleasure and intimate connection. I hide it, since that’s what I always do. “Oh, you mean old and dirty and nearing the end.”
He gives me that frown that’s becoming familiar. “No. I mean how you’ve always seemed to have more going on inside than you show to the world, like there’s so much there that’s rich and full that’s just beyond the surface. It makes a man want to dig deep.”
I don’t think anyone has ever said something so nice to me in my entire life. I smile at him, feeling almost shy, which isn’t a normal feeling for me anymore. But I’m too experienced to be swept away by the notion, since his words haven’t played out as true in my life. “That’s a really nice thought, and I appreciate your saying it. But I haven’t actually seen it happen.”
“Seen what happen?”
“Men wanting to dig deep.” I shake my head. “I’ve never been the belle of the ball.”
He’s not smiling anymore, and he’s looking at me soberly, as if he’s thinking through the merits of my words. “I can see that.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He chuckles. “I just mean that it takes more than a quick glance to see it. Back when we knew each other before, I could never understand why you annoyed me so much, and I think I’ve finally figured out it’s because you scared me.”
So I’ve been liking this conversation up until now, but this isn’t what I want to hear. “I wasn’t that scary, surely.”
“You weren’t scary, no. I was just scared because I sensed you might be too much for me.”
“You didn’t think about me that much back then.”
“Not consciously, no. It was just a feeling I had. And I didn’t like feeling intimidated—I was used to being able to tackle anything—so it got channeled into annoyance.”
“I thought it was just because I was always arguing with you.”
“That too.”
We smile at each other for a long time, and I feel an entirely new sense of complete understanding, like we’ve really gotten to know each other, like we’re closer than I’ve been with anyone in a really long time.
If I’m honest, maybe ever.
We sit without talking for several minutes, both of us silently agreeing to let the conversation wash over us, let the morning sink in. After a while, he reaches over to take my hand, the way he did the other day, but today it feels less like comforting.
It feels more like he just wants to touch me, the way I want to touch him.
“Eleanor,” he murmurs.
For some reason, the sound of his saying my name both startles and pleases me. People don’t actually use my name very much, and when they do it’s always Ellie. Hearing him say it feels intimate in a way I really like.
“Yes?” I’ve been staring out at the valley, but now I turn to him.
“I would like to spend time with you, if that’s all right with you.”
I blink, that fluttering excitement I’ve been feeling for the last two weeks intensifying and taking definite shape in my chest. But I’m suddenly nervous, so I do the thing I always do—stall to give myself time to think. “We have been spending time with each other, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” His eyes are resting on my face quite seriously. “I meant more seriously. If you’d like, of course.”
So that’s very clear. There’s no way I can have misunderstood it or made more of it than it is. He’s asking directly, in a very old-fashioned and gentlemanly way that I approve. “I would like that,” I manage to say. “I would like that a lot.”
He smiles, looking relieved for just a moment the way he did yesterday before he asked me to go to the afternoon talk with him. “Good. I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
; It seems, no matter how many years you live, you still have the potential for very silly conversation.
He reaches over then and lightly strokes my face with his fingers. It’s the lightest of touches, but it’s shocking somehow—it’s been so long since anyone has touched me like that. My skin isn’t smooth anymore, but he doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are almost hungry. I’d forgotten a man can look that way.
He leans forward slightly. “May I?”
It takes me a moment before I realize he’s asking to kiss me. I’m caught up in the same kind of emotional flurry I remember from when I was younger—a blur of excitement that can hardly believe this is happening. “Yes,” I whisper.
He goes slowly, scooting over slightly so he doesn’t have to lean as much. Then he tilts my head up and his head down until our mouths are a breath apart. I can’t really do anything to help him. It’s like I’m in a daze.
Then his lips are gently pressing against mine, and it feels just as lovely as I remember, the way kisses always feel when you really want them, when you deeply want to be close to a man. He applies light pressure and pulls away, and then kisses me again, a bit longer this time.
My hand reaches up automatically to rest on his shoulder.
The kiss isn’t deep or insistent or overwhelming—it’s just full of feeling that leaves me breathless. He pulls away, briefly resting his forehead against mine before he presses one more soft kiss on my mouth and pulls away.
He’s smiling when he straightens up, and I imagine I’m smiling too.
But the truth is that it’s a full minute before I can think clearly at all.
The next day, Beth takes me out for what she calls a “spa day.” What it is, really, is two hours of facials, manicures, and getting our hair done.
Whatever it’s called, it’s very kind of her to invite me, and I greatly enjoy it.
Beth isn’t as bookish or introspective as I am. She’s more like her grandmother—my sister—outgoing and friendly, with a warm heart for everyone.
She tells me about the men she’s gone out with lately. There are evidently far more of them than I went out with in my entire twenties and thirties. But she’s obviously not leading them on. She has fun with them, and I imagine they have fun with her.
Surely one or more of them has fallen in love with her, but it’s quite clear to me that she’s not fallen in love with any of them.
While we’re sitting side by side, getting our nails done, she brings up the topic of Eagle’s Rest.
“Is it okay?” she asks, her eyes serious and resting on my face. “Do you think you can be happy there?”
I think of Marjorie and Charlotte and Gordon and the walk that skirts the woods and the bench that looks out on Valentine Valley. I think of people-watching during meals and mornings with my tea on the patio.
I think of Dave.
“Yes,” I say. “I really think it’s a good place for me. I’m happy.”
She lets out an exhale of relief. “I’m so glad. Dad and I were a little worried, you know. You’ve always been so independent. And not having your house or a dog or anything, I was afraid …” She trails off.
“It is an adjustment,” I say softly. I want to tell her the truth and make her feel better. “But I’m adjusting. And there’s a lot that I like about Eagle’s Rest.”
“Good. That’s so good. I thought you were looking happier.” She gives me a playful look. “Maybe you’ll even find a boyfriend.”
I have no idea what to say to that. Should I tell her? Is a boyfriend what Dave is to me now?
“What’s the matter, Aunt Ellie? I was just teasing. You might find a boyfriend, you know, but I’m sure you’ll be plenty happy without one.”
“Oh, I know. I knew you were teasing. The truth is there is a gentleman that I’ve started spending time with.”
She looks almost awed—like I told her the best sort of news.
This is a strange thing that happens to people who have been long single. Even if they’re happy and successful, everyone acts like the world has finally turned in their favor if they at long last find someone to pair up with.
I don’t know why it’s always like that, but it is.
“Are you serious?” she asks in almost a whisper.
“Yes. I am. His name is Dave, and he’s very nice.”
I’m not sure nice is really the best word to describe him, but what else can I say?
“Oh, I’m so excited for you! Are you just starting to date, or is it serious?”
“I don’t know how serious it is, but we had a conversation yesterday and we agreed to start spending time together.” I use the same words he used, since they’re easy and innocuous.
And they’re true. We are going to spend time together. And if we also kiss from time to time, then no one else needs to know that right now.
“That’s wonderful! Maybe I can meet him sometime.” Beth is smiling in her sincere, full-faced way that’s so pretty and vibrant.
She’s just like her grandmother.
I still miss her grandmother—a lot.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to meet him sometime. Maybe you can drop by for tea one day. Something easy and casual.”
“Yes, that’s perfect. This is the best news ever. Wait until I tell Dad. Aunt Ellie is spending time with someone!”
I’ve had great joy in my life. I’ve had great successes. I’ve had loves and losses and deep feeling. I’ve had a full, rich life.
But there’s still something in the world that believes—that will always believe—that I’ve never really lived until I get a husband.
I used to believe it too—on nights when I’d be lonely in bed, thinking over all of my failures with men.
I don’t believe it anymore. Sometimes wisdom catches up to you. But I decide it’s still okay for Beth to be so happy for me.
After all, having found someone to spend time with is a very nice thing indeed.
nine
For the next three weeks, Dave Andrews and I spend time together.
A lot of time together.
We walk together in the mornings, eat our meals together, attend a variety of activities together in the afternoons. I still spend most of the mornings after breakfast in my room, since I get too drained if I’m always around other people, but I spend more time with Dave than I have with anyone since Jeff, who I lived with.
The staff and residents of Eagle’s Rest clearly understand that we’re a couple. People ask me about Dave now if he’s not with me. And even Kathy and Gladys seem to have given up in their obvious pursuit.
I guess it doesn’t take long—for something so drastic to change, for someone to transform from a single woman to one half of a couple.
A lot of the time, I still don’t believe it, and part of me is just waiting for it to end.
On a Friday morning, he’s holding my hand as we reach our bench, and after we sit down, he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss against the knuckles.
He does little things like that a lot. He’s by nature touchier than I am. Not that I’m complaining. I very much enjoy when he kisses me or puts his arm around me, but my natural inclination isn’t always to touch the person I’m with, no matter how much I care about him.
Dave is different. Dave likes to touch.
I smile at him and let him pull me against his side so he can put his arm around my shoulders. I lean against him, gazing out at the clouds hanging around the tops of the mountains in the distance.
It’s October now. No question about it being fall. The breeze is so crisp it almost bites.
Dave worries when it’s cool in the morning, and I know he’s going to worry even more when it gets to be winter and I still want to walk—but we’ll tackle that issue when it comes up.
After we’ve been lost in our own thoughts for a while, I ask, “Did Clara ever come up here? Is that why you dedicated the bench to her?”
He shakes his head. “No. She never did. Eagle’s Rest wa
s being built when she died, and they were hitting me up for a donation, so I dedicated this bench. I walked around the property and found the most beautiful spot, and I wanted it to always be a gift to Clara.”
“That’s beautiful. It’s a lovely memorial for her. Is that why you came to live here?”
“Yes. I was familiar with the area, of course, but it’s mostly because of this bench. It feels like I’m a little closer to her here, and I wanted that for my retirement.”
“You could have built a big house and hired a private nurse if you needed one, couldn’t you?”
“Yes. I could have done that.” His voice is low and unreadable.
“So why didn’t you?”
He shrugs slightly. “It would have been lonely.”
This rings true to me. Dave has always been more social than me, and I can see why he would want to live somewhere that would offer him a real community, especially since relations with his stepfamily seem a little strained.
We let the subject drop, and I wonder if he’s still thinking about it like I am.
“Do you still want to go to the craft fair tomorrow?” he asks after a few minutes of silence. We still don’t have to talk all the time, and that’s one of the best things about him, as far as I’m concerned.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
There’s a large craft fair every year in the nearby college town, and I’ve gone every year for decades. I’m excited about going again this year, and I’m pleased that Dave wants to go with me.
“Kevin called this afternoon,” Dave says, a different note in his voice. “He was wondering if we want to have lunch with him tomorrow, since we’ll be in town in the morning for the fair.”
I pull away from him just enough to look up in his face and see he’s slightly reluctant, like he doesn’t know what I’ll think about this idea. “That would be okay, I guess. He wants to have lunch with me too?”
“Yes. He said he’d like to get to know you, since we’re …”
“We’re what?” I ask, with a teasing smile.
