“Eighty-five. Same as always.”
“Emily, what’s going on?”
“She thinks he’s dead, Richard.”
“Who does?”
“Eleanor! She saw the first line and couldn’t read the rest!”
“Emily, what’s going on?”
“Oh no.”
“You asked if she wanted to see him.”
“Yes! In his living room! In a cardigan!”
“She heard a grave!”
He covered his face with both hands.
Sixty-two years of heartbreak, I thought, and the only thing missing was one sentence.
“She heard a grave!”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“Theodore’s death hit Thomas hard. Heart trouble.”
“And now?”
“Home. Weak, but improving.”
“Does he know she came?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell him myself.”
“What happened to him?”
“Then tell him tonight.”
“And then?”
“Then I’ll bring her.”
Richard called me the next morning.
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“He cried for an hour,” he said.
“Does he want to see her?”
“Then I’ll bring her.”
“He asked if he should shave.”
“Tell him yes.”
At nine, I called Eleanor.
“Emily? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I need to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“He asked if he should shave.”
“I found something you need to see.”
I drove her to a small house with a white porch and tidy flower boxes.
Richard was waiting at the bottom of the steps.
“Richard? Why are we here?”
“Someone wants to see you.”
The front door opened.
“I found something you need to see.”
A white-haired man stepped onto the porch, holding the railing. He was thin, and his hands shook a little.
He saw her and stopped.
“Ellie?”
Eleanor grabbed my arm so hard it hurt.
“Thomas?”
He smiled.
The front door opened.
“You finally made it.”
Thomas came down the steps one at a time. Eleanor walked up to meet him.
They held on to each other.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come that Monday,” she whispered.
“Ellie, it was sixty-two years ago.”
“I wrote you a letter.”
“You finally made it.”
“I know. Richard told me.”
They stood there a long time, hands clasped.
Then Thomas looked down.
“Is that my ring?”
“Your brother gave it to me.”
“Good. I was afraid he’d pawned it.”
They held on to each other.
Eleanor burst out laughing.
He held out his arm.
“Come inside. I’ll make you some coffee.”
“Is it terrible?”
“It’s the worst.”
I was already sneaking back to the car when Eleanor called out.
“It’s the worst.”
“Emily, wait. Thank you for bringing me here.”
I shrugged.
“You’ve waited long enough.”
A week later, my phone buzzed.
Monday. 11 a.m.
Same name. Same address.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
When I pulled up, Eleanor was waiting at the curb, hair done, lipstick on.
Thomas stood next to her, holding her purse like it might explode.
He helped her in.
“Where to today?”
“The diner, please,” Eleanor said.
“Same parking spot?”
“The diner, please.”
Thomas laughed. “Not this time. We’re going inside.”
I parked, and he helped Eleanor out.
“Coming, Emily?” she asked.
“I’m working.”
“Twenty minutes won’t hurt. Come on!”
I followed them in.
“Same parking spot?”
They sat at the third table by the window.
Thomas ordered coffee and two eggs.
Eleanor stared at him.
“You still order the same thing?”
“Some things never change.”
“Even after sixty-two years?”
They sat at the third table by the window.
“Especially after sixty-two years.”
I took a sip of my coffee.
It was terrible.
I wasn’t going to tell them.
In seven years, I’ve driven people to weddings, funerals, first dates, and last goodbyes.
I wasn’t going to tell them.
But I’d never before delivered someone to a date that was sixty-two years late.
And I’d never been so glad to be the one driving.
