Chapter 10
Lucy
Living here at Brighton Court, I will need to buy myself a little old lady shopping cart for sure. I’ve only bought a few small things, for my parties, but the bags are so heavy I worry my arms have stretched by two inches and my knees have compacted like a telescope.
There’s a dull “thunk” as I deposit my groceries at the front door of Brighton Court and contemplate the lack of an elevator. So much for the olde worlde charm. I should have forked out more for a place in a newer building where I could just push a button.
For a moment I consider opening the bourbon and taking a little swig, for strength, but it’s not a good look, and Silver Fox could turn up at any moment.
The fact I saw him out walking yesterday at about this time might have had something to do with my choice of time to go shopping.
People who exercise tend to have routines, and yes, I’d love to run into him again.
I contemplate whether to leave the bourbon and coke and mineral water at the mercy of passersby; or the beer, cider and champagne. The caviar must go in the refrigerator soon, even on such a perfect day, but, along with the corn chips, their weight is neither here nor there.
I settle on carting up the champagne – essential for my home-warming. Back downstairs again and facing the other bags, I’m thrilled to see Dirk emerge from the front door in dark gray exercise gear. He attempts to stride past, but I give him a cheery wave; one he can’t possibly ignore.
Dirk almost smiles, then sees my bags. He deliberates. Does he have bad knees?
Success. He turns towards me. I am all for women’s lib – I am fully liberated now that Bart is in my past, but my groceries are simply too heavy to deal with now I no longer have a drive-in garage leading straight to the kitchen and pantry.
I can’t dwell on what I’ve lost, nor the fact that the Minx will now be enjoying all these luxuries and more.
I sigh, push the past way, way back behind me, and focus on the moment.
Thank goodness. Dirk lifts my heart as deftly as he lifts my shopping bags. He even sends me up the stairs ahead of him, like a gentleman, and perhaps I sway a little more than necessary.
At my door, I turn, and he bumps my shoulder as he sets my bags down.
“My apologies,” he says. Adorably polite.
“My fault,” I say. “And what a thing to do to you when you’ve been so kind.
Would you like to come in now, for a coffee?
I’d really like to pay you back for being so chivalrous about the gown.
” I gesture at my closed front door. My apartment is clean and tidy and welcoming, and so am I, but Dirk backs away as if I’m a wild animal. What is wrong with the man?
“Or just drop in for a drink this evening,” I say. “Six o’clock.”
“I have another commitment.”
“Then have a coffee now.”
“I should continue my walk.” He is so formal – stiff with politeness. Is he shy? Or does he think this is some kind of trap?
“Coffee’s not compulsory, Dirk. I’m having one. You might like one, too. I appreciate your help with my heavy bags. You could sit for a moment, and then walk.”
He hesitates. I turn and throw open my door, and sure enough, he follows me inside with both bags. He sets them on the narrow kitchen bench.
“Milk? Sugar? I’m sorry I haven’t made any brownies yet. Do you like them?”
“I don’t need brownies, Lucy.”
“So I’m guessing you like your coffee black?”
He stares at me and nods.
“It’s not a marriage proposal, Dirk.”
I pull down two blue and brown mugs, hand-turned, from the potter in my old neighborhood, slightly off round.
“I brought these with me to remind me how impossible perfection can be to achieve. I love it that they’re not quite right. What did you bring with you from your old life?”
“Not much. Mostly clothes. My children arranged it all.”
“Lucky you.” There’s silence. Do I tell this man my daughter’s still not speaking to me? Something about him instills trust.
“I’m afraid my daughter avoids me,” I say. “According to Phoebe, I ‘broke’ my marriage and ‘lost’ her childhood home.” He raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t rush in, doesn’t judge.
“She may be half right,” I say. “But that doesn’t bring it all back, does it?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “This has nothing to do with you. It’s just that I loved my old house and neighborhood.
Maybe too much.” He nods, as if seriously considering my words.
I sigh. I’m glad I told him. Until this minute, only Donna has known my woes.
He hasn’t walked away, hasn’t condemned me, hasn’t tried to tell me everything will be okay.
I flash him a grateful smile and change the subject.
I open a packet of exotic Italian cookies dipped in chocolate, pour them into a bowl, and load all of it onto a tray.
“Here,” I say, as I pick up the tray. “Let’s take these into the living room. I think you have a similar bay window? I adore this architecture. So gracious. So solid. I chose this place ahead of one with an elevator, just for the pleasure of admiring this room every day.”
“My daughter, Dee, is an exercise scientist,” he says. “She chose this place precisely because it doesn’t have an elevator. In her view, it will prolong my life to have to use the stairs every day.”
“Well, that’s good news for me, too.”
My living room is so charming it lifts my heart. I’m not keen on the pale blue walls, but renters can’t change such things. I’d choose a rich white, but soon I’ll make some lamps to lift it. I’m thinking of warm crimsons and pinks. Supplies are still in boxes in the spare bedroom.
“So, Dirk,” I say as I hand him his black coffee. “What do you want more of in life?”
He is silent a long time. Maybe he’s depressed. Or is he an ax murderer, considering his next victim? I don’t actually know him, after all.
“Don’t tell me you’re a sad old cynic, Dirk? Is there nothing that brings you satisfaction? Or do you love silence?”
“Silence is underrated, Lucy.”
I almost choke on my coffee. And there I was, thinking I was cheering him up with a little conversation.
“On the contrary, communication is vital.” I lift my chin to challenge him.
“You may be right.” He holds my gaze, a slight flush on his cheek, perhaps from the strain of bringing up my groceries.
When I stare back, my heart flips and stills and flaps.
He is serious, this Dirk. My hot neighbor may be a deeply sincere man, and possibly just as sad. Does nothing bring him joy?
I offer him the plate of cookies and he selects the smallest one, with the least chocolate. I grab the largest and turn the thick chocolate end towards my lips, holding his gaze.
He turns to me, and as we chomp at the same time, he closes his eyes and smiles. I swallow and sigh.
“These cookies are masterpieces,” I say. “They’ve been making them the same way in Italy for hundreds of years because they got it right. Don’t you agree?”
When he nods and reaches for another, I’m as glad as if I’ve been coaxing a toddler to eat, or encouraging a stray to become my pet, or a heartbroken man to open himself up to love again. Because I know it in my bones – it is Dirk who will bring me joy.
But I don’t tell Donna. I hold the secret inside me. It’s just an idea, after all, and I’m a grown woman. I know how love can be elusive. I’ve just watched it evaporate and turn my ex-husband into a stranger.
Next night, Donna joins me for dinner. I give her a full three-course dinner, silver candlesticks and all.
“Can’t thank you enough for saving my life, Donna, for taking me in, for feeding me, and giving me the job.”
“That’s what friends are for,” says Donna as she serves herself more baked vegetables. “Although I really only did it ‘cause I like your baked dinners.”
“Ha ha...”
“So are you happy now? Apart from your relationship with Phoebe, and you know I’m working on that for you. I’m no ordinary Godmother.”
“That’s true.”
I stand up and give her a hug, then clear away the dinner plates, ready for dessert.
“Donna, my friend, you are amazing. Thank you.”
“So are you?”
“Happy? Happy to have found this place, for sure.”
“I know you, Lucy. You won’t be happy until there’s another man in your life.”
“I’m only just divorced! What I really want is security. I never want to be thrown out of my own home ever again. I need to buy my own place, Donna, like you did.”
“What kind of place?”
“A place like this. Exactly like this. I wouldn’t even have to move again. It’d be perfect.”