Page 133 of The Love Haters

“And ‘Heart and Soul’?” I asked.

Rue shrugged. “It was my husband’s favorite.”

We gave that a moment.

“Anyway,” Rue went on at last, “I will tell Hutch about me, of course—but this is always a hard time of year for him. I might wait a little while.”

We’d run out of flowers, so we sat on a park bench to wait for the boys.

Next, Rue said, “I was just reading that old people are happier than young people. Do you want to know why?”

I nodded.

“Because old people,” Rue said, “don’t have as much time left. And they know it. It’s called a time horizon—a sense of how much time we have remaining. For teenagers, it’s vast. It’sinfinite. But as we get older, it shortens and shortens—and we can’t help but feel it. As it shrinks, it makes everything more precious. We appreciate the days more because there are fewer of them to come. And it’s really true. I felt it so much today. How fast it all goes. How much we have to be thankful for. What a miracle each breath is.”

Without meaning to, I leaned my head against Rue’s shoulder.

“We don’t last forever, sweetheart. We’re not supposed to. It’s okay. It’s part of it all. I’m good for now, and that’s enough.”

Across the street, the boys were headed our way, waiting for the light at the crosswalk to change.

As we watched them start toward us, Rue said, “Do you know what my favorite flower is?”

I shook my head against her shoulder.

“Daisies,” she said. “The cheapest daisies you can find. So you can hand out lots and lots and lots of them. Anytime you feel like it.”

Twenty-Two

DINNER WENT FINE.Dinner went great.

It wasn’t untilafterdinner that all hell broke loose.

We went to an old-timey Italian restaurant with white tablecloths a few blocks from the Starlite. We ate bread and most of us drank buttery red wine, and Hutch, Cole, and Rue did what they always did on anniversary day: they told stories.

Everybody at the table took turns. The time in college when Robert stole a street sign and got chased by a Doberman. Cole and Hutch’s dad teaching them how to spin a basketball on their fingers—and their mom making pancakes in the shape of the boys’ initials. There were beach stories, and camping stories; stories about birthdays and loose teeth; stories about pets lost and found. Stories about ripped pants and forgotten keys. Some of the stories seemed well-worn and well-told, but others got unearthed in the churn of conversation. Either way, I came away feeling like I knew everyone—the whole family, past and present—a little better.

This was what Rue had been missing. This lovely way of rememberingtogether, and holding on, and bringing the past into the present, even if only for a little while.

And at the end, they really did tip the waiter a hundred dollars. And he whooped with joy and hugged everyone.

But then dinner ended.

On the short walk back to the Starlite, the boys started arguing.

It was one hundred percent Cole’s fault. It was like he wastryingto make Hutch mad. Just complaining and provoking and baiting him. He kept listing, for example, all the ways life kept being unfair to him but not to Hutch.

After a while, Hutch started pushing back. “Why are you keeping score? It’s like youwantto be angry,” Hutch said then. “Like you’re looking for reasons.”

“I’m not looking for reasons,” Cole said. “You just keep offering them up.”

“Like what? I’m just living my life.”

“Like everything,” Cole answered. “You’ve got twice as much money in your savings account. You have the coolest job. You’re taller.”

“You’re mad at me for beingtaller?” Hutch demanded.

“You got the best nickname, too,” Cole went on, undeterred. “You got Hutch—and I got nothing.”

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