There are some disappointments that don’t leave you—no matter how many years have passed since they happened.
When I was in high school, Rodney Graham asked me to attend the Christmas formal with him. Rodney was an athlete and very popular with both male and female students. We were lab partners in biology, and so we interacted fairly regularly. He was nice to me. He made me laugh.
I was crazy about him.
When he invited me to attend the dance, I was both shocked and ecstatic. I’d had dates to go to other dances, but they were always with less popular, less attractive boys. My mother and I went shopping for the dress, and we found the most beautiful satin dress—round skirt, fitted bodice, beautiful full sleeves. The dark blue color set off my skin and eyes, and I spent hours on my hair and makeup.
When he picked me up in his Mustang, I felt like a princess. He was friendly and amusing on the drive there, and I’ll never forget how everyone watched us as we walked into the school gym together.
All the other girls were envious, unbelieving, that he’d chosen to attend the dance with me. In all my life, I’d never had an experience like that before—the feeling that the best guy had chosen me, that he’d singled me out among all the other girls he could have chosen.
The high lasted for about fifteen minutes—just long enough for us to have one dance and for him to get me a cup of punch. Then his ex-girlfriend showed up, and he started to talk to her. Then he started to dance with her. Then I was completely forgotten.
I left the dance understanding that I’d been put in my place—that kind of Cinderella moment, entering the room like you were really something special, just wasn’t intended to happen to me.
For the rest of my life, this truth was confirmed. Not that I’ve ever considered myself unworthy or unattractive. I’ve had my share of male attention, and I’ve had plenty of wonderful moments. It’s just that all my highs and lows are well within my expectations for my life.
It’s just as well. Time and experience will always confirm that daydreams and fantasies are not the stuff of real life. And when you think for a moment they might be, the real world will come crashing down on you hard, like it did for me at that dance.
All this to say that I have no flights of fancy surrounding my attendance at the afternoon’s talk with Dave. I’m happy about it—how could I not be?—but at age seventy-one, I well know what to expect from the world, and this outing doesn’t mean more than it actually is.
I do take a little longer than I normally would to decide what to wear, although I end up in one of my usual outfits—a flowing cotton skirt and a blue top that matches my eyes, complete with cardigan and beads. I put lipstick on, but no other makeup, and I decide I look appropriate for an afternoon’s activity, while still looking as attractive as is possible for me to be.
I comb my hair down around my shoulders and decide to leave it that way.
At exactly two forty-five, there’s a knock on the door, and I walk over to open it. Dave is standing there in the doorway. He’s obviously changed clothes since this morning—into a new golf shirt and another pair of trousers—and that fact makes me feel really good.
My heart is fluttering, just a little, but I’m satisfied that my expectations aren’t unrealistic or too high.
It’s just nice—that he asked me to go with him, that he seems to be taking it seriously, that he’s willing to be my companion in public and not just in the privacy of the morning at the bench.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his eyes scanning up and down my body quickly before resting on my face.
“I am. Let me just grab my bag.”
I walk to the table to pick up my crocheted purse and my keys without the walker, which is waiting at the door.
“You don’t really need this thing anymore, do you?” he says, glancing down at the walker.
“Not really. I think I would be just fine with my cane.” I used a cane on longer walks before the accident, since it helped on the few times I lost my footing. My old cane—of pretty, polished mahogany—is resting near the door, where it always is, as inspiration to keep working at walking so I can get rid of the walker soon.
“Then why don’t you switch over to it?” His question is obviously serious, based on genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I kept telling myself I would wait to ask the doctor.”
“Did he say you need to get his permission first?”
“No. For driving, but not for using the cane.”
He smiles at me, almost whimsically, and reaches over to pick up the cane. “Then why not try it today? We only have a very short walk.”
I reach out to accept it but hesitate, a little shiver of nerves surprising me. I have no idea where they’ve come from.
Dave must see something of my reluctance because he pulls back the cane. “If you’re not comfortable, then you can always wait.”
I take a shaky breath and reach out for the cane. “I don’t know what my problem is. I’ll try it. I’ve been wanting to start using it, and there’s no reason to not start today. I just feel …”
“What?”
“Insecure or something.” I look down at the floor, since that’s not something I admit very often—certainly not to other people and usually not even to myself. I’ve always been independent, resistant to admitting weakness, as far back as that afternoon I almost fell out of the oak tree.
There’s no reason for me to say something like that to Dave right now. I really don’t know what came over me.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asks more quietly, as if he’s picked up on my state of mind.
I laugh and pull myself out of my introspection. “I could fall down and break another hip.”
“I won’t let you fall,” he murmurs, offering me his arm. His smile seems private, special—and it does something very silly to my heart.
Irony has always been as close to my heart as anything else, so I can’t help but tease, “You say that now, but I could take down both of us, I’m sure.”
He laughs in response.
I wrap my hand around the arm he’s offered, and I use the cane in the other hand as I walk. As we start down the hall, I realize my nerves were unfounded. I’ve been walking quite well for the last week, and the cane is more than enough to stabilize me as we walk to the side entrance of the building and across the short path to the building next door, where the community rooms are located.
Dave’s arm offers me something else.
My expectations are completely realistic. I’m anticipating nothing more than a pleasant afternoon that could very well go no further. So I’m surprised when I walk into the large community room on Dave’s arm and see the reaction.
We are early, but nearly all the residents of Eagle’s Rest get to activities early. Some folks arrive for lunch at ten thirty. So the room is about half full when we arrive, and everyone is looking at us.
There’s a rustle of reaction. I’m not sure why I didn’t expect it. Obviously, my showing up with Dave to any sort of function will be a cause for gossip in a place like this. We gossip about everything, since there is not always much else to think about, and there has been considerable interest about Dave’s romantic choice for a while now—even a pool going about whether he’ll choose Kathy or Gladys.
Both of them are already in attendance—positioned, as usual, at opposite sides of the room. And both of them are shocked and then almost immediately infuriated by the sight of the object of their affection with me.
So they’re shooting me down with their eyes as others look on with interest, amusement, surprise, or a mingling of all three. I even see a few female faces look just a little bit envious.
Of me. Of me.
If I were still a teenager, my head would have blown this arrival out of all proportion with visions of being Cinderella at the ball. I’m not a teenager, though. I’m not even close. So while I feel a faint fluttering of pleasure, it’s tempered with some amusement (at myself, as much as at everyone else) and the sounding bell of wisdom.
After all, the only thing happening here is my walking into a room next to Dave.
Dave appears oblivious to the attention. He’s scanning the room, frowning. I’m sure it’s because so many people are already here and have claimed the best seats.
“Where do you want to sit?” he murmurs, turning his head to look at me.
I spot a row with the aisle seats empty—the only ones empty on this side of the room. They’re midway back, but it won’t be any trouble seeing the lectern, and I prefer to be on the side of the room with the door in case I need to get up to use the restroom. “What about there?” I ask, indicating the empty seats.
He nods and leads us over to them.
I feel more comfortable once we’re seated. A lot of women would revel in this sort of attention, but I like the idea of it more than the reality. I might have dreamed of being the princess at the ball when I was younger, but I actually prefer for people not to be looking at me all the time.
Dave is still frowning—he’s clearly quite annoyed at the seating situation. He gets crabby easily. I’ve noticed that about a lot of older men—like their filters to life’s annoyances have weakened as the years passed. It sometimes makes them seem spoiled or slightly childish.
I don’t want him to be grumpy, since it’s likely to make me grumpy too. Plus, it’s such a little thing that it’s not worth worrying about. So I smile up at him. “This is perfect. I like to be close to the door. Thanks for getting these seats.”
He smiles in return, relaxing and adjusting his chair slightly, so it’s not farther back than the rest of the row. “Good. That worked out well then.”
Men—even good, intelligent, strong-willed men—can be led around by their egos.
Marjorie enters the room just now, looking frail but much better than she did yesterday. I wave to her and gesture to the empty seat beside me. She comes over to sit down, and I ask her how she’s feeling.
“Oh, much better. Much, much better.” She shifts her gaze to Dave. “I was under the weather yesterday.”
“I heard you were. I’m glad you’re back on your feet.” He smiles at her very kindly. “You look wonderful today.”
I’ve got to admit that there’s a lot I like about Dave Andrews. There’s a lot I admire about him. And there’s a lot about him that I’ve enjoyed.
But nothing has made me as happy as seeing him smile and speak to Marjorie that way—like she’s important, special, worthy of attention—and seeing how much it means to her.
I’m willing to overlook a lot of crabbiness in a man who is kind-hearted enough to do that.
The next morning, I wake up almost an hour early, thinking about Dave.
Yesterday was lovely. We listened to a very interesting talk about folklore in the region. Then Dave, Marjorie, and I went to have tea out on the veranda. At dinner, Dave even came over to sit with Gordon and me instead of heading to one of his normal tables with Gladys or Kathy.
I actually feel a little sorry for those two ladies. They both had such high hopes, and they both worked so hard to snare the man they wanted. It must sting like fire for someone else to come in out of nowhere and swoop him up, right out of their clasp.
Not that I’ve swooped Dave anywhere. I’m not silly enough to assume that one day means anything. But I’m more excited than I was the day before yesterday—there’s potential I didn’t believe was possible on Friday—so my mind is whirling with it on Sunday morning, as I look out at the dark gardens and drink my tea.
The sun is rising a little later now than it did when I first arrived. It’s already the second half of September. Some of the leaves on the trees in the woods are starting to turn brown.
A few are even falling off the branches.
When it’s finally time to dress and leave for the walk, I put on a pair of pants, since it’s feeling rather chilly outside, and I take my cane instead of my walker.
I did just fine yesterday. I think I’m finally rid of the walker.
I’m a few minutes too early, and Dave isn’t waiting when I go outside. I feel a sharp drop in my chest—an old, familiar knell of Appalachian gloom, reminding me that bad things happen whenever you get too happy.
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.