40. Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Eight
1997, Chicago
J ohnny had a lovely place here, Lenore thought, not for the first time, as she stared out the window at the long and narrow backyard that sloped gently before breaking into a small copse of silver birch trees. She loved those trees. They were the first to lose their leaves in the autumn and the last to bud in the spring. Currently all the trees were bare, and everything was covered in white.
She’d moved to Chicago five years ago when she could no longer live alone. She hadn’t wanted to leave her house on Pearl Street. In fact, she cried when she closed the door on it for the last time. Her niece Edna had promised to look after it. Hilda had been gone a long time. And although Alistair had died years ago, Harriet still lived in Lavender Bay, surrounded by children and grandchildren. They kept in touch through the odd phone call or letter .
Johnny entered the room, carrying her breakfast tray.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said, setting the tray on the table in front of her and rubbing his hands together, something he did unconsciously. She wondered if he was aware of it.
She smiled at the sight of him, thinking that this was what her John would have looked like had he lived to an old age. Johnny had gone completely grey, but John would be forever young.
“Are you warm enough?” Johnny asked.
“I’m fine.” She wore a thick housecoat over her nightgown, and a blanket she’d crocheted years ago covered her lap.
“Heading off to work?” she asked. He taught at the university level. Much to her disappointment, he’d never married and there had been no grandchildren for her.
“I am,” he said. He was dressed for the day in a pair of jeans and a heavy turtleneck. His work uniform, as she liked to think of it. “Rose will be here in half an hour.”
Lenore nodded, looking over the tray in front of her. It was the same breakfast she’d been eating for the last sixty years: a slice of toast, lightly buttered, and a small bowl of porridge with a glass of juice.
If it was Rose coming today then it was either Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. She wasn’t quite sure. The desire to know was minimal, so she didn’t bother asking.
“I dreamt of your father again last night,” she said.
“How is he?” Johnny asked.
She held the spoon in her hand, almost forgotten. “He was just as I remember him.” The last few weeks, she’d been dreaming a lot of John. It was such a great comfort.
“Tell him I said hi.”
Lenore laughed. “I will.”
“I’ll be home for dinner, Mother,” he said, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead.
“All right, John, go on, or you’ll be late.”
The sound of his laughter trailed behind him as he left. She listened as he thudded down the staircase, opened the front door and closed it behind him, then turned the key in the lock.
Bypassing the porridge, she picked up the toast and caught sight of her hand, studying it. The skin was almost translucent, with blue and purple veins threading just beneath the surface. When did that happen? When did I get so old?
She took a bite of toast. She hadn’t told Johnny that the last couple of mornings, she’d woken to the sound of John calling her name. His voice had been as clear as a bell. How she had missed that voice!
After she ate half of the toast, she set it down on the plate, having had enough. Leaning back in the chair, she turned her head slightly to look out the window. Rose had affixed an acrylic bird feeder on the outside of it so Lenore could watch the birds, which she enjoyed immensely.
When she thought of the decades that had passed since John’s death, it made her tremble. But there had been things she had to do. She’d had a child to raise, a house to keep, and people to look after. When she closed her eyes, she liked to think of the house on Pearl Street and all who had lived there with her. It was pleasant to go back in time; it was like flipping through the pages of a favorite book.
Her life hadn’t turned out the way she expected, but it had been good.
A cardinal approached the feeder, its red vibrant against the stark snowscape.
“I’m ready, John,” Lenore whispered.
After all, she’d kept him waiting long enough.