by Noelle Adams
“Not really. She and her husband have had problems for the last year, but I thought they’d work through it.”
“Was it nasty then?”
“I don’t know. She makes it sound … more like she’s finally just given up.”
“That’s really hard, but maybe it’s best for her.” I don’t usually say things like that. They sound too easy, too simplistic for the real world. But I have to say something, and I can’t think of anything else.
“Maybe. I know she hasn’t been happy. I just thought …” Gladys sighs, and the streaks of mascara running down her cheeks strike me as incredibly sad. “I just thought they would make it through. Her father and I were married for fifty-one years.”
“Wow.” I hadn’t known that about Gladys either. “That’s amazing. You must have been very happy.”
She shakes her head. “Not all the time. But I loved him.”
I haven’t expected anything to run this deep in Gladys, and that’s my mistake, my judgmental nature, trying to sum up a whole person in high heels and bleached hair. “That must have been a beautiful relationship,” I say, trying to say something of what I feel while still being encouraging.
“It was. I wanted that for Candice too.”
“Maybe she’ll still find it. Maybe it will just look different than yours did. Don’t you think that’s possible?”
She pauses for a minute, obviously thinking about these words. Then she nods. “Maybe. Maybe.”
I sit with her for several more minutes, until she reaches over and pats my arm in a silent thank-you.
I don’t really feel better when I return to my room, but at least I have something else to think about.
I discover another lost soul about an hour later, when Charlotte drops by my apartment to check on me.
I can tell something’s wrong immediately, even through the cheerful smile she gives me. “Dave is coming back today, isn’t he?” she asks.
She doesn’t know we’ve broken up. There’s no reason she would know, unless Dave told Kevin, who told her. But I suddenly realize why there’s a brokenness under her smile.
Kevin is moving. She’s had to finally admit to herself the hopelessness of their relationship.
It’s a terrible feeling—finding out you’ve been emotionally investing in a lie. I know this from experience.
“That’s what I heard.” I step aside to let her in.
“Have you talked to him today?”
I try to decide whether I should just blurt out our breakup or save it until later, when it’s obvious to the whole community. “No. I haven’t.”
“I guess there’s no reason for you to go visit him this morning, since he’ll be coming back later today.”
“I’m not going to visit him.”
Under normal circumstances, she would probably have noticed something in my blank replies, but she’s too distracted by the feelings she’s trying to keep under control. I can see the struggle on her full, even features, even as she’s hiding her expression. “That makes sense,” she says.
I want to know what she thinks about Kevin and the whole situation, so I say casually, “I hear that Kevin is moving.”
She’s been doing her normal thing of picking things up in the room—although the only thing for her to pick up is my tea cup. Her body grows very still as she stands over the sink. “He is.”
“That must be hard.”
Her face twists. “I should have expected it.”
“Did he … did he promise anything?”
She shakes her head. “No. He never did. I just … I just thought it meant something.”
Of course she did. That’s what so many women do. Men will spend time with them, kiss them, have sex with them even—just because it’s easy and they’re there—and women will assume that the actions are a declaration of feelings.
When, in reality, they’re nothing but actions.
“I know it’s hard,” I say, falling back on the same words I used with Gladys, “but maybe it’s for the best.”
She’s not crying. She looks broken, though, like she’s barely holding herself together. “I don’t see how.”
“Yeah, I know. It always feels that way. But it won’t always feel that way.”
“It’s just hard when … when he might have been my last chance.”
“That’s just not true. You’re young.”
“I’m over forty.”
“That’s young, as far as I’m concerned. You still have plenty of time.”
“I guess. But I want kids, you know.”
I can’t answer immediately, because that hurts. It hurts me, even secondhand. Love might be able to bloom at any age, but children can’t. There’s a time limit imposed by our bodies, and all the medical miracles in the world can’t necessarily counteract it.
I sigh. “I’m sorry. But you never know what will happen.”
She straightens up and smiles at me, as if she’s willing herself to feel better. “I guess so. I mean, look at you and Dave, falling in love.”
Right. Look at Dave and me. Proof that anything can happen.
“It’s never easy,” I say, and even I’m not sure whether I’m talking about her situation or about mine.
Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s everything.
Deciding I’m going to do something good today, no matter how miserable I feel, I say, “I’m really sorry about Kevin, but I’m pretty sure there’s someone else who is interested in you.”
She looks genuinely surprised. She obviously has no idea. “What are you talking about?”
“You might spend some time noticing Dr. Martin.”
There’s the oddest succession of emotions on her face—confusion, self-consciousness, resistance, embarrassment. “That’s crazy.”
“I don’t think it’s crazy. I see a lot, you know.”
“I know you do.” She stares at me for a minute. “But I’m not sure he’s my type.”
“I think that’s because you’ve never really noticed him. It might be worth considering. I have good instincts.”
She ducks her head. “Maybe.”
I’m not fool enough to believe that I’ve fixed her with a little bit of matchmaking. She’s still going to be hurt and sad about all the time she wasted with Kevin.
It’s one thing to have something real and then lose it. It’s another to realize you never had anything real.
I think about that a while as I sit in silence, staring out at the gardens and at the beginning of the path that winds around the woods and reaches a bench that looks onto the valley.
I wonder which is true of Dave and me.
Have I been fooling myself this whole time, believing that what we have is real?
Or have I had something real and then lost it?
I go to lunch, even though it will be safer and easier to just stay in my apartment.
I don’t want to fall into depression, and I know the best way to avoid that is to get out and think about something else.
I see Gordon sitting by himself, having arrived at the dining room twenty minutes early as he always does, and I take a seat with him.
“How is Dave?” he asks.
I can’t resent him for asking this. Everyone will, and it’s perfectly understandable. Dave passed out on Sunday in a crowded room, so naturally the concern and curiosity about his health will be universal.
I’m the obvious person to ask. I’m supposed to be his partner.
“I think he’s okay. The doctor believes it was just one of those episodes, and he should be back to normal pretty soon.”
“Good. When does he get out the hospital?”
“Today, I think.”
Gordon looks at me sharply. “Why don’t you know?”
“I haven’t talked to him since yesterday.”
“Is everything all right between you?”
I shake my head and say lightly, “Not really.”
Gordon sighs and stares down at his place setting. “I’m
sorry to hear that.”
“It’s just one of those things. It’s hard—at our age.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“It’s hard at any age,” I add.
“Yes. It is.”
“How did you and Wendy do it, starting a relationship so late in life?”
He gives me a curious look. “I don’t know. The same way anyone else does it—with a lot of patience and trust. It was worth it, though. I just had her for a year, but it was worth it.”
The words are poignant, and they make my throat close up. I can’t say anything. Evidently I don’t have to. Gordon is obviously in an introspective mood, and he looks around at the tables filled with seniors. “People get together a lot here. I watch them. Sometimes it seems like they just get together because it’s convenient, so they won’t be bored and lonely. And sometimes it seems like they’ve been waiting for each other all their lives.”
“Which were you and Wendy?”
He meets my eyes. “Both. Either. I don’t know. I loved my wife for forty years, and then, after she died, I found Wendy. My life was complete before I found her, but it was even better afterward. Even now, after losing her, it’s better than it was before.”
“I guess,” I say, trying to process the words. “I’m not really in the same situation. I didn’t spend my life with someone. I spent most of it alone.”
“But it was a good life?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Is it better with Dave—right now, I mean?”
“I … I don’t know.”
He tilts his head slightly and gives me a little smile. “I think maybe you do.”
After lunch, I go back to my apartment and try to watch a British mystery and do a word game, but I can’t really focus on either one.
I keep wondering if Dave is back, if Dave is going to move really soon, if he will want to talk to me at all—even just to say good-bye.
I hope he’s feeling better.
I hope he’s okay.
I hope he’s missing me … at least a little.
I’m fighting a battle with my mind, trying to concentrate on anything but Dave, when my phone rings.
I see that it’s Beth, so I pick it up.
“Hi, Aunt Ellie, how are you?”
She’s a young woman with a career and an active social life. It’s really sweet of her to remember me and make an effort to occasionally connect.
“I’m fine, dear. How are you?”
“I’m getting over this very annoying cold. Dad said your boyfriend was in the hospital.”
“Oh. He was. I mean, he is.” There’s no reason to be taken aback by the conversation, but I am.
Beth sounds slightly amused. “Well, is he or isn’t he?”
“He’s getting out today. It’s just that he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”
“What? Why not?”
“It’s … just one of those things. He wants to move, so it just won’t work out.”
“I thought he loved it there as much as you do.”
“He does. I think he does. But his family wants him to move.”
“Oh. I’d think they’d be thinking more about him.”
“Yeah.” I let out a long breath, trying not to be so judgmental. “Well, maybe they are. Maybe they really think he’ll be better off closer to them.”
“But he has you here. Why would he be better off somewhere else?”
The words are as depressing as anything I’ve heard yet today. “I don’t know. But he’s going.”
“I guess it’s not possible for you to go with him.”
“I don’t want to move. I love it here.”
“I know. I know you do.” She speaks quickly, as if she’s afraid she’s offended me. “I was just thinking that, if you really want to be with him, it might be a possibility.”
Of course it’s a possibility. And I have to admit to myself that if Dave had asked me in a way that made me believe he understood what a sacrifice it would be, I might even have considered it.
Maybe. I don’t really know.
“As you get older,” I say slowly, “you get more and more set in your ways. It’s hard to just pick up and change. It’s not like getting together with someone in your twenties, when both of you are really just forming your lives.”
“Yeah. I guess so. It just makes me sad, though. You two seemed really good together.”
I swallow so emotion doesn’t sound in my voice. “Maybe we were.”
“You don’t think he’ll stay for you?”
I’m not willing to move for him, so there’s almost no chance that he’ll be willing to stay for me. It’s simply too much bending. We’re no longer strong enough to bend without breaking.
“Probably not.”
“I’m really sorry. Won’t you be lonely when he goes?”
“At first, I’m sure I will. I’ll miss him. But I’m used to being alone, and I’ve never minded it before.”
“Okay. Well, as soon as I feel better, I’ll come take you out to lunch. How will that be?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She pauses. Then says, “I’ve always thought that, once you’re older, people get smarter and make fewer mistakes. But we don’t, do we?”
I almost laugh. “No. We definitely don’t.”
I sit on my recliner for the rest of the afternoon.
Then finally, at about four o’clock, the compulsion to know if Dave is back and if he’s really okay is simply too strong.
It doesn’t matter if we’re not a couple anymore. I want to make sure he’s all right.
So I get up and walk down the hall, turning the corner toward where his apartment is. I hesitate briefly before I start to walk down.
I’m halfway down the hall when I see his door is open.
It probably means he’s back. Maybe he just arrived.
Or maybe he’s already packing up boxes and someone is carrying them to the car.
I’ve made it this far, so I have to continue. I have to know that everything is okay with him.
As I’m approaching, Charlotte walks out through his door and starts to shut it. Then she turns her head and sees me drawing near.
“Ellie,” she says with a smile. “I was just checking on Dave. He just got back.”
Well, that answers my question, doesn’t it?
“Really? That’s good. Is he feeling all right?” I keep my voice soft so it doesn’t carry into his apartment. The door is still slightly cracked, since Charlotte paused with the knob in her hand.
“Yes. He’s feeling much better. Why don’t you check on him yourself?” She gives me a smile that’s almost mischievous, and somehow I know she’s starting to feel better about her own situation.
If she can feel better so quickly, then my suspicions are confirmed that she never actually loved Kevin. That’s good. That’s really good.
“I think he’d be very happy to see you,” she adds, opening the door again.
I stop in my tracks, my mouth partway open, but no words come to my lips. Naturally, I should decline the suggestion. We made a clean break, and I’ll just look like a fool if I try to hang around after everything has been said.
But I want to see him. And I’d like to think that I have gotten a little wiser as I’ve aged. Pride doesn’t mean nearly as much as we all believe it does. Some things are far more important.
So I give Charlotte a little flicker of a smile and start through the door. I almost run right into Dr. Martin, who is on his way out.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, with his kind smile. “I have a bad habit of almost knocking you over, don’t I?”
I smile at him, and I see Charlotte smile too. And I feel a great wave of satisfaction as I watch them walk down the hall together.
It’s not like they’re a couple now—or anything close.
But at least Charlotte seems to have noticed the man.
He’s a man who deserves to be noticed.
So now the door is still open, and Dave is inside.
I walk in, closing the door quietly behind me.
I take several steps before I see Dave. He’s sitting in his big leather chair, looking out one of the large windows.
I clear my throat, so he’ll know I’m here.
He gives a little jerk and turns around. He’s wearing a T-shirt and track pants and white gym socks. He looks older than usual and so incredibly tired.
“Eleanor?” His voice is slightly hoarse.
“Yes. It’s me. Is it all right for me to come in?”
His face transforms. “Of course it’s all right.”
fifteen
I come farther into his living room and stand awkwardly for a moment until I decide to sit down on the couch, perched on the edge of the cushion, in case he doesn’t want me to stay for very long.
He’s just staring at me now. For a moment, I thought I saw something like relief and awe on his face, but now it’s blank, so I’m not sure if the expression I’m hoping for was really there or not.
It could be my imagination. Wishful thinking. It’s been known to happen before.
“How are you feeling?” I ask at last, since someone needs to say something.
“Okay.”
“You still don’t look up to full strength.” He doesn’t. He looks a little pale, although better than he was yesterday, and there’s a shakiness about him that I’m just not used to seeing.
It scares me. Makes me think of watching him get older and older, frailer and frailer.
“I’m not, but I guess I’ll be feeling better soon. That’s what they say, anyway.”
He looks more resigned than usual, and I hate the sight of it. It’s wrong. Dave Andrews just shouldn’t look like he’s given up. It’s not who he really is.
“Did the tests come back with any results?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing definitive. They still don’t know what’s causing these episodes.”
“So what did they say?”
“The same as they did before. We’ll keep watching it, but there’s nothing really to do unless it gets any worse.”
That scares me too. Of course it does. “Do they think it will get worse?”
