Page 10 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
A clock on the wall with a different birdcall for every hour ticked off the next few seconds while Sharon blew on her coffee. “And that’s why I’m here now. Why this house is here. To be a resource not only for Westshire but all the surrounding communities. And so long as we don’t run out of funds, I hope someday to extend that reach even further.”
Sharon took a sip of her coffee, then lifted her mug toward Edith. “But enough about me. What about you? My cousin Ruthie said you’re planning a trip to South Africa at the end of summer. For how long? And what will you be doing?”
Cradling her mug in her hands, Edith gave a small laugh. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. My hope, if everything works out with my visa, is to stay for three years. As for what I’ll be doing, all I know for now is I’ll be volunteering for a nongovernmental organization called Ithemba. It helpssupport a rural hospital located in the Eastern Cape. I don’t know how familiar you are with South Africa...?”
Sharon shrugged and shook her head.
“Well, it’s in an area known as the Wild Coast. Apparently a lot of adventure travelers like to go there because it’s so remote.”
“I imagine it’s beautiful.”
“Yes, but also very poor. They say the infrastructure is practically nonexistent because it’s so rural. Sometimes people walk for hours just to get to the hospital.”
“I see. So will you be volunteering as a nurse while you’re there?”
“That was my original intention, but I guess there’s a bunch of bureaucratic red tape to get through. Things like registering with the South African Nursing Council and taking written exams. I’ve been told it’s a nightmare of a process that may take up until my dying day to accomplish. So I’m not sure yet what I’ll be doing. Kaya Reddy, the operational manager for the organization, is supposed to contact me again later this summer. Considering I don’t even have my passport, she probably wants to make sure I’m serious about coming before she spends too much time deciding what to do with me.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be grateful to have you. Just like we are here. And whatever you end up doing, my goodness, it sounds like it’ll be quite the adventure.”
“Exactly.” Coffee sloshed over the rim onto her fingers. “Whoops. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about South Africa with coffee in my hands. I tend to get a little animated whenever I think about this next chapter of my life.”
“I can tell,” Sharon said, her kind eyes softening with compassion as she handed Edith a napkin.
Edith wiped off her fingers, then started to sip her coffee when she realized what that soft look of compassion meant. It meant Sharon was thinking of broaching the last chapter of Edith’s life. A topic Edith had no intentions of broaching. Ever.
How long has your husband been gone? How long were you married? Do you think you’ll ever remarry? Tell me about him.
Edith popped out of her seat as an owl hooted from the clock. “Oh, my. Noon already.” She dumped her coffee down the sink. “Thanks for the coffee, but I should probably get going and, you know, do something. Stuff. Things.” She backpedaled out of the kitchen. “Thanks again for the coffee. I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow night. Or dark and late, rather.”
“Don’t forget your phone,” Sharon called to her as she was halfway out the door.
“Right.” Edith spun and snatched it from the entryway table. Fourteen missed calls. For. The. Love. Good thing she’d kept it on silent.
Sharon followed her out the front door. “Oh, hey, I meant to ask, where are you staying when you’re not here? I heard about Kat’s house. Please don’t tell me you’re paying to stay at the bed-and-breakfast all summer.”
“No, no.” Edith jogged down the porch steps. “I’m staying with—” Edith’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen. “Steve,” she muttered.
“Steve? Surely not Steve Winters. I knew he was looking for a roommate, but my goodness, he’s only nineteen.”
Edith shook her head. “Not that Steve. My Steve. I mean, no. Not my Steve. Not any Steve. I’m not staying with Steve. I want nothing to do with Steve. Not Steve Winters. I’m talking about my Steve.” She winced and held up her phone. “This Steve. Who is not my Steve. I don’t know why I keep saying my Steve.”
Edith blew her bangs away from her eyes. “What I’m trying to say is my man, my roommate, my—” Steve’s incessant phone calling had her so flustered she couldn’t even form sentences. “An elderly gentleman. Over there. That’s who I’m staying with.” Edith pointed in the general direction of Henry’s house. “It was nice meeting you.”
Edith took off down the sidewalk. Would it be selfish to pray that hundreds of babies were thrown into crisis situations this summer? Probably. But Edith was going to need something more than keeping houseplants alive to make time fly while she avoided Steve until she could escape into the next chapter of her life.
Dear Henry,
I’m glad you liked the banana bread. We must have just missed each other this morning. I was anxious to get over to the infant crisis center and meet some of the, um, plants?
But onto serious matters.
Goldie Hawn... hmmm... Well, Henry, to be honest, as a woman, I can’t say I ever gave her much thought. I think she’s pretty.And she certainly seems fun. But for some reason I’ve always veered more toward movies before her time. Especially movies starring Paul Newman. I love, love, love him! And you want to hear something crazy? I saw a man who put me in mind of him just the other night.
One word, Henry—HUBBA-HUBBA.
And on that note, I’ll bid you good night. May your dreams be filled with visions of Goldie.
Edith
