It was
strange to sit up in bed and smell coffee coming from the kitchen. I liked
the idea that a cup of hot coffee was ready and waiting for me. For so long now
it had been just my kitchen and my kitchen alone and I’d grown accustomed to
doing the coffee and everything else on my own.
Steam
sifted through a half-closed bathroom door as I passed it, tugging my housecoat
over my pink, cotton nightie. I usually wore pyjamas, long ones that covered my
legs because I often kicked the blankets off in the night. But they were all in
the wash. Everything it seemed was in the wash. That’s how it is when someone
moves in with you. Your routine changes and life is never the same.
In
the kitchen he was shirtless, his hair still wet from his shower, looking
bewildered at an open cupboard. When he heard me, he turned around and a soft
smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “Morning. How did you sleep?”
“Good
morning,” I mumbled reaching for an empty cup. “Mmm I love the smell of coffee
in the morning. Thanks for doing that.”
He
leaned down and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I don’t know where you keep
everything or I would have made you breakfast too.”
I
squeezed past him in my tiny kitchen to get the milk from the fridge. “I hardly
ever eat breakfast anymore, but I can make you something if you like.”
“No
thanks. I’ll grab something on my way out. I noticed a ‘Timmies’ just
around the corner.”
“Alright
love.” I don’t know why I added the ‘love’. I never called anyone ‘love’—ever.
But it seemed right that I should call him that.
So,
The Post kept me up to date, and if it didn’t I had Millie Freeman across
the road. She knew everything about everybody and she kept no secrets, not even
the ones people asked her to keep. Once you learned that about Millie you never
told her anything that was a real, true secret. You only told her the stuff
people would find out eventually anyway.
He
came back to the kitchen pushing an unruly clump of black hair in place over
his brow and slipped a suit jacket off the back of his chair. “Now, I have a
late appointment today, but if you can wait, we’ll make dinner together when I
get home. I’ll pick up everything we need and a bottle of wine, okay?”
“That
sounds lovely.” I smiled back at eyes so blue they reminded me of the ocean.
Not an ordinary blue, but a greeny-blue, light in some places, darker in
others, as if the depth of their colour somehow held the secrets of his soul.
He stood there, gazing back at me, his tall frame filling the doorway. He was
dressed up today, professional looking in his grey suit and tailored yellow
shirt and matching tie. It had been ages since I’d seen him in that suit. Not
since….
“Red
or white?” he asked with some insistence as if it weren’t the first time he’d
posed the question and I realized I’d been lost in thought.
“Oh!
Whatever you like. It doesn’t matter to me. What are we having, chicken, fish,
beef?”
“Never
mind. I’ll just get one of each. We can put one away for another time.” He bent
down and grazed my cheek again with the softest of kisses and I pulled him in
for a hug.
His
arms around me felt wonderful; warm and safe and I felt tears welling up in my
eyes. I wanted to ask him to stay home today; to sit with me and talk of old
times, to look through the pictures like we’d done last night. But he was
fidgety and I sensed, anxious to be on his way. I let him go and called out as
he headed for the door, “Have a good day,” hoping it would truly be a good day
for him, wishing him success and happiness in whatever it was he was doing
today.
“See
you later,” he called back, closing the door behind him.
And
then I was alone.
The
mail would be in the box by now. Jerry always came before eight. Such a nice
man, Jerry. He had a smile for everyone and he never crossed over the
flowerbeds, like that substitute who came when Jerry was on holidays. Jerry had
one of those Fitbits. He showed it to me once and said he clocked over twenty
thousand steps a day on his route. I shouldn’t wonder since he does nearly the
whole village every day.
As
I pushed open the screen door, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye,
across the road on Millie’s front porch. Oh dear! I should have waited to get
my mail. Now she’d want to talk. She’d invite me in for coffee and I’d never
get away. I have things to do. The laundry for one, so I can wear pyjamas
tonight and not his ratty old night gown. I did not want to be sitting in
Millie Freeman’s kitchen all morning.
But
she didn’t ask. She simply waved and called out. “Morning Sarah. Nice having
your Joe home, isn’t it?”
My
Joe! My Joe! Whatever did she mean? My Joe’s been dead for nearly ten years.
The woman had gone bonkers!
She
must have seen my frown, though how she could from all the way over there I
didn’t know, but she came toward me before I could answer and stopped when she
was more than halfway up the drive.
“Are
you alright, Sarah? You look a little pale.”
“I’m
fine Millie. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I crossed my arms over
my chest—a clear sign, I hoped that I didn’t want her to pry or worse yet, come
inside. I didn’t want to sit at her place and I most certainly did not want her
sitting at mine. I had things to do.
“Well,
when I said that… about your Joe being here? You got a funny look on your
face.”
“Millie,”
I leaned closer toward her wondering if she really had gone off her marbles.
“You know that Joe’s been dead for years don’t you?”
She
laughed then, that hideous little giggle she always did when she was about to
impart some tidbit she wasn’t supposed to. It made me feel inferior, dumb for
not knowing what she knew. And it hurt, cut deep into me because just for a
moment, it seemed I was some kind of joke or something.
“No
darling. I mean Joe, your son. The tall handsome lad. The one who moved in with
you because you need taking care of.”
“Oh…
That Joe.” I left Millie standing in the drive and closed the door behind me.
Joe, my son. So that’s who made the coffee this morning.
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