Henry

I think I should cancel.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“But I don’t understand what’s going on between us. She makes me so nervous. She makes me … assault strangers.”

“That sounds right, not wrong. Parker needed to be knocked down at least once in his privileged life. Real people shouldn’t look that nice. A bruise on his jaw humanizes him.”

Henry dropped his head to the surface of his office window. People were filling the sidewalks below, headed home. “Abby, I can’t do it.” It was five-thirty, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything all day. His head filled with pictures of walking side by side with Matilda. He felt like a flustered moron. One moment, he wanted to run to Matilda as fast as possible and the next he wanted to leave town permanently. How could she thrill him and scare him to death at the same time? Why did she make him happy and give him nightmares? Was this normal? Maybe Dr. Wells should do those tests sooner.

“Henry, son, take a breath. It’s just a walk. And it’s about time. You two need to figure this thing out. Together. Not apart and brooding. Just go. Talk about the weather. Then talk about other stuff. And then kiss her.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

If I kiss her, the world might implode. Henry sighed loudly. “Beverly Wilson lectured me on proper behavior today. Everyone knows I hit Parker. I might be run out of town the moment I step outside. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t talk like that. That’s just people being stupid people.”

“Yeah.”

“Henry?”

“It’s okay to struggle.”

The sentiment brought tears to his eyes. Get a grip. “Yeah. But what if …”

“Oh, no! No ‘what ifs.’ ” There was a shuffle on the line as Abby shifted her receiver. “Now, look. Take a few longs breaths. Run out right now and grab something chocolate to give her. Not flowers—flowers die. Chocolate can be savored. And then just go. It will work itself out. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Abby.”

“You bet. Call me later and tell me everything. I’ll be up reading, so it won’t be too late. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

n

Henry stood at the top of the second-floor stairs, looking down as if it were the precipice of an ugly cliff. In his hands, he gripped a small square turquoise box of truffles from Estelle’s. He was trying not to crush them.

Walk down the stairs.

Henry tugged at the collar of his blue pinstripe button-down. He didn’t own a tie. Or slacks. He looked down at his jeans.

Walk down the stairs. Now.

Henry shifted the box again. Then, bravely, his face flushed with nervousness, he descended. He listened to the murmur of voices, Matilda and Thea. He pictured Matilda’s small figure, her smile and the curve of her hips under her long skirt. Words in his head. He had finished the repairs on the typewriter last night. Or at least, he thought he had. Everything looked normal, except for a few scratches and dings. The T key was a little crooked. A potent urge to try it out with the words filling his head almost made him flee back up the stairs and run to his apartment.

“Hi, Henry.”

Matilda wore a long knit skirt, black and flowing, and a simple red blouse. The red made her hair and eyes appear darker, her skin whiter. She looked up at him from the circulation desk. She was alone. Thea must have slipped out; Henry was grateful for that.

“Hi.” He managed as he closed the distance between them. “These are for you.” He held out the little blue box.

Her eyes widened, some emotion flickering there. And then she smiled. “Are these Estelle’s truffles?”

He nodded. “I ran over. Abby suggested I shouldn’t come empty-handed.”

Matilda’s smile grew. “Abby is a wise woman. These are my favorite.”

A flush of heat went through him. He’d stood at the glass counters, debating (and trying to ignore the whispers behind him). When he’d seen the delicate truffles, he knew that’s what he should get. He shifted uncomfortably. I knew. How did I know? He swallowed. “Uh … ready to go?”

Matilda picked up her purse and rounded the desk. They walked quietly to the door. Henry held it open. As she passed, he got a whiff of her citrus hair.

“Did Beverly come up again?” she asked.

“No. I got lucky.”

Matilda locked the doors. They descended the steps. Turning toward her street, they walked slowly, close but not touching. Henry couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her. The day was warm, almost hot. The air smelled of cooking dinners.

After a few minutes, Matilda broke the silence. “How’s your hand?”

Henry looked down at his red, bruised knuckles. “Sore. Stiff. But how’s Parker?” He looked over. “I really am sorry.”

“I know. Parker is fine.”

“An old lady hit me with her purse when I went to get your chocolates.”

Matilda put her hand to her mouth, smiling and suppressing a laugh. Henry couldn’t look away from her face. She said, “No. Really? Who was it? I thought that only happened in movies.”

“Me too. I have no idea who she is. Really short, hunched over, gray hair, a million wrinkles, and a very heavy purse.”

Matilda let out a burst of laughter. “Might have been Vera Wagner. She’s a mean old thing.”

“Yeah, my shoulder and I found that out.”

Matilda laughed again. “Of all the people to hit, Parker, town golden boy, was the worst choice. You should have hit Carl Bounder, the high school football coach. No one likes him.”

Henry smiled, feeling the strange sadness that plagued him lighten. “But, uh … Abby told me you were engaged to him once? Parker—not Carl.”

Matilda nodded slowly. “Yes. It ended six years ago. He’s married to Thea now.”

“But you stayed friends?”

A light shrug. “We were always better friends than anything else. How ’bout you? Any exes back in Michigan?”

“Nothing worth talking about.”

“And how’s the paper?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Henry found himself walking closer to her, and she didn’t move away. He was glad he hadn’t run off to his typewriter. Too soon they were in front of her house. They stopped, both looking up. “This is a great house,” he said.

“Thanks. It was my Aunt Jetty’s. She raised me.” Matilda opened the truffle box and pulled one out. “She passed away about six years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Six years—same time things ended with Parker?”

“Yeah. Jetty died of liver cancer, and I ran away from him and everything.”

Henry nodded. She offered him a chocolate, he took it. For a comfortable moment they savored the treats, still looking at the house.

“I really miss her,” Matilda said quietly, her eyes widening as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“What was she like?” Henry turned to her. He saw the sentiments on her face before she spoke.

“Wild. Simple. Loving. Artistic. She cooked the most delicious food. She fell in love with an Italian man and he taught her. She loved plants and color. She was perfect.”

Henry stepped closer. “I wish I had known her.”

Matilda looked up at him. “Yeah, I wish you had too.” Her hand was trembling as she put the lid back on the chocolate box. Then, surprisingly, “I’m not ready to go inside. Can we walk for a bit longer?”