Chapter 19
Lucy
I’m out walking next day when I spot a taller man, just like my handsome neighbor. He’s way ahead of me again, up the hill, so I quicken my pace.
It’s my lucky day. The traffic lights go red and the man in the coat is stuck for a few minutes while I catch up.
I’m puffing when I reach him, elated it really is Dirk.
“Well, hello, neighbor,” I say, and he turns to me and breaks into a smile. “Where are you going, Doc?”
“Nowhere in particular. Thanks for the drinks the other night.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” I say. “Don’t you just love this neighborhood? So many old trees. How are you liking it?”
“Fine. What is this? An inquisition?”
“It’s called ‘conversation,’ Dirk. It won’t kill you. I’ll leave you alone if you want. We don’t need to walk the same way.”
“No, no. I’ve never been good at small talk.”
“It doesn’t have to be ‘small.’ We can go deep, Dirk O’Connell. Ten questions, remember? The big ones. Like ‘what brings you the most joy.’ That’s an important one, don’t you think?”
“Hmmm. Joy. Hard to define. Never thought about it.”
“But it matters.”
“What? You think life is about chasing joy?”
“Oh wow. You’ve skipped straight to the meaning of life. That’s the really big one.”
“Alright. So we’ll backtrack to joy. What brings you the most joy, Lucy?”
“That’s cheating, making me go first, but I’ll tell you, because for me, that’s the easiest question of all. Just about everything brings me joy. Like walking here with you, getting to know you better.”
He stares at me as if I just made it up. Old cynic.
“Dirk, I feel joy from the moment I wake and stretch and see the sun has risen again, to the moment I’m back in bed at the end of a full day, warm and cosy and drowsy, with a good book.
I’ll never stop if I tell you everything that brings me joy.
I love to talk – that’s evident – I love my first mouthful of cereal in the morning, my first sip of coffee, laughing with friends, walking.
I truly do. You already know I love roses.
I love Brighton Court, the way those apartments have held so many other lives – I actually found some old silver teaspoons hidden in my apartment last night. Can you imagine? Now it’s your turn.”
“Okay. I guess my kids are okay. Yes. They turned the love around somewhere. Maybe when they knew they’d lose their mom.
I never thought I’d see them care so much.
And afterwards, after Millie died, they didn’t just keep in touch.
Dee practically moved in with me. I kept working, like a maniac, trying to block everything out, and she quietly cleared out all Millie’s things.
Millie was everywhere; always had been. Jamison came out every second weekend to help.
Jamison and Dee talked about me as if I wasn’t there.
I wasn’t really. The clinic was my retreat, my salvation.
Nothing there changed. Phone kept ringing.
I’d get home and Dee would force me to eat something, and they’d talk about the future, toss up ideas. ”
“I’m pleased for you, Dirk.”
“You’re pleased for me?”
“I’m jealous, really.”
“Jealous?”
I frown. I can’t help it. My chin actually wobbles. I think I’m going to cry.
Dirk, the gentleman, slows his pace, touches my wrist, brings his gaze to mine, drops his voice, conspiratorially.
“Do you want to sit, Lucy? Need to talk about this? Want a coffee? Or a drink?”
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. One minute I was striding along beside him, and now I’m a mess. How did he know I’d like to sit? My legs have crumpled. I want to curl up in a ball and howl.
He leads me into a wine bar, to a booth in the corner.
“Coffee? Wine?”
“Rosé, please. Just one. Rose-colored glasses and all that.”
While he’s at the bar, I pull a tissue out of my bag and clean myself up.
The tears have stopped. I blow my nose, check my reflection in the little circular mirror Bart and I bought in Paris, a lifetime away.
I’d hurl it under a bus but it’s too useful and it’s not every day a woman in love goes to Paris.
The darkness is a mercy. I snap the mirror shut as Dirk returns with two large, stemmed glasses, one glowing ruby red, and the other, pale pink. ”
“I’m all ears,” he says, as he slides my glass across the dark table. We tap our glasses together. I could get used to this, deep and meaningful conversations with my handsome neighbor, but I’m still not sure I should confide. I’ve only had three sips and the wine will loosen my tongue.
“You said you’d had a gutful of other people’s problems, Dirk. I can see why your patients loved you. You’re even more attractive when you stop and listen. Everyone in Franklin would have been lining up to confess. Not only their broken toes, but their broken hearts. Doctor Hot.”
For the first time ever, he actually laughs; a deep belly laugh that fills the room. I love it. He actually twinkles at me and leans closer, then taps his glass against mine.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“Friendship?” he says. “This is not a consultation.”
I sip a bit more. Okay. So maybe I gulped it a bit, and let the wine soften my defences, let my stiff shoulders drop until I lean a little closer to him. I feel safe with this man. I will let the monster out of the cage.
I hold his gaze.
“You’ve raised beautiful children, Dirk. My Phoebe’s not like that. She doesn’t want to know me. Blames me – for everything. She’s all anger and accusations. I never knew she held so much hate in her heart.”
“You know that’s a stage that will likely pass.”
“Doesn’t seem to be passing any time soon.”
“Sorry to hear it, Lucy, truly I am.”
“I know why you were in demand, why your phone never stopped. You’re a truly caring human being, Dirk. And you passed that on to your children.”
He shrugs, turns the conversation back to me.
“Are you still in touch?” he asks.
“She never returns my messages, blocks my calls. She’s in college. I guess she’s busy.”
He nods at me, ready for more.
“It’s so hard, Dirk. Nobody wants to be in the firing line of rage.
I’ve endured enough suffering lately. I only want to focus on joy, because these days Phoebe brings me everything but.
I don’t know what to do. I gave her my new address, to invite her over and offer her a drink or a meal.
She ignores me. I try to stay in touch, but it’s so hard.
“If that’s a question, it’s not my place to tell anyone what to do, but I can say from experience that anger is a symptom of grief, and that it dissipates.”
“How long does it take?”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you. Everyone’s different, Lucy. We’re complex creatures. You’ve heard of the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.”
“She has to go through all of that before she’ll see me?”
“Maybe.”
“Tell me some good news stories, Dirk. You must have seen plenty of patients go through things like this.”
“Confidential.”
“I’m not interested in the details of who they are. Help me, Dirk.” It’s out there on the table between us, the black cloud that settles on me too often, that sucks the joy out of everything.
“Maybe I’m just selfish, like she is,” I say.
“Maybe I passed that on. You were right about me the first time you met me. I’m divorced, but it wasn’t my fault.
I guess every divorcee says that. I don’t think it was my fault.
Maybe I was too selfish, maybe I crowded Phoebe, was too doting, and ignored Bart and his needs.
And then I started my shabby chic business, and then the lamps.
It kept me busy, scouring places for old lamp bases and material for recovering, and then giving workshops. People love to be creative.”
He just nods at me, so I take another sip of wine and continue.
“I thought Phoebe would want more space in middle school and high school, more time with her friends like most teens. And I was there for her, after school and on weekends. I went to all her school concerts, so proud of her. I drove her places, gave her opportunities, hosted parties for her and her friends, baked healthy food for her playdates. I thought I did everything right. I certainly tried. And we were so close; closer than sisters. And now there’s nothing. ”
“They’re beautiful memories, Lucy.”
I nod. I reach across the table and place my fingers beneath his hand, and he squeezes them. The words of the Beatles’ song run through my brain, and I slip out of my side of the booth and into his, and I nestle beside him, so I can hold his hand properly, and be comforted.
He lets me rest my head against his arm, and he brings his own arm up and around my shoulders, until I’m safe as a cherished baby. I could get used to this.
A little warning bell sounds, deep inside me – that Dirk is a professional carer, that he really would do the same for anyone, that it isn’t safe to fall in love, because I’ve just explained how much it hurts to lose somebody you love.
And I never, ever, want to go there again.
I’d be safer falling in love with my diamonds – my tiny beacons, so permanent in this changing world, so constant, so reliably brilliant.
Dirk walks me to my door. No kiss this time, but he’s respectful. Attentive. I lean in and give him a hug and he hugs me in return, then springs back, and we smile at each other. He actually dips his head to his hand in a kind of salute as he backs away, still smiling.
I let myself in. I hang my coat on the hook, place my keys in the bowl on the hall table, and wander into the living room to gaze out at the city lights. It’s peaceful in here.
Beyond the joy of getting to know my neighbors a little better, I love my apartment. I want to stay here forever.
Speaking with Dirk about Phoebe has calmed me.