Page 12 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
Henry
Edith folded Henry’s note in half and sank further into her pillow. Though the walls were bare, the room had a cozy feel to it. A subtle scent lingered, making Edith wonder if all the upstairs had been recently painted and Henry hadn’t gotten around to rehanging anything on the walls. Probably because he couldn’t make it up the stairs anymore.
A cherry dresser with a curved mirror sat against the wall facing her bed. Next to the window a rocking chair with a quilt draped over the back rested next to an antique-looking steam trunk.
She stared at the ceiling for several minutes, lost in quiet thought. Only the occasional creaks of the house settling in for the night filled the silence. Her eyelids grew heavy. How come Henry never married? So far she hadn’t been able to find any pictures around the house to show what he looked like, but she imagined he was quite the charmer back in his day.
A handsome young face kept bobbing to the surface of her mind. She tried pushing it down, only to have it pop right back up. What was it about that guy from the diner? Other than the handsome face and gorgeous blue eyes?
She really needed to stop thinking about him. And she would. Tomorrow. Once she finished dreaming about him tonight.
Van Halen’s “Jump” blared on the stand next to the bed. Edith responded accordingly. “Yeesh,” she squealed, clutching her chest. Time to switch her ringtone back to the piano trill before she had a heart attack. Patting her chest to soothe her heart, she scooted up and read the caller ID with a groan.
Well, really now. Who did she expect it would be? Paul Newman?
She’d sent a text to Steve earlier. Clearly he hadn’t received the message to kindly back off. She really ought to block his number.
Edith closed her eyes as the phone continued blaring. She should answer. She should. That would be the adult thing to do. Though he wasn’t really acting like an adult, was he, pestering her nonstop? Besides, what was left to say? Nothing. She had nothing left to say to this man.
Inhaling a deep breath, Edith turned her phone off and slid back beneath the covers.
The silence that had almost lulled her to sleep moments before threatened to suffocate her. Times like this, she wished she wasn’t an only child. How nice it would be to have a sister to talk to. A brother. Someone.
She thought of a few friends she could call. But it was late. And she didn’t want to turn on her phone. She could always go downstairs and wake up Henry, ha-ha. They’d shared a carton of ice cream, after all. Everyone knew late-night emotional conversations came next. Or maybe they hadn’t reached that point in their sharing-a-house relationship status.
Edith rolled over, eyeing her notebook and pen on the floor next to the bed. But that didn’t mean she still couldn’t share some of her feelings with him. In fact, who safer than an elderly man she’d never met to share some of the hurts of her past with?
Edith yanked the notebook off the floor. He wanted to know about her marriage? Edith bit the cap of her pen off and began writing. “You’re going to be sorry you asked, my friend.”
When early morning dawned, Edith slipped down the stairs, placed several sheets of paper on the kitchen island, then scooted out the front door.
CHAPTER FIVE
Henry startled awake. What was that? He rubbed his eyes, taking a moment to orient himself. Even though he’d spent the past several weeks sleeping on the futon in the downstairs guest room–slash–office space, it always took him a few seconds to remember why he wasn’t in his upstairs bedroom. Usually by the time he finished rubbing his eyes, his knee began aching, and he remembered all too well why he was stuck on the first floor.
Henry glanced at the digital clock on the corner of his computer desk. Then rubbed his eyes again. Had he forgotten to set his alarm last night? He reached for his phone. “No...”
He was going to be late for therapy if he didn’t move fast. And considering Henry couldn’t move fast, he was going to be late for therapy.
Henry rolled out of bed with a groan. At least whatever noise he’d heard had woken him up before he overslept any longer. Probably the newspaper. Chelsea, the delivery girl, had developed a mighty strong throwing arm this past year.
Henry hobbled into the kitchen. A gray overcast sky greeted him through the window. No wonder he’d overslept. His gaze drifted to the ceiling. Hopefully the noise hadn’t woken Edith. He’d have to have a talk with Chelsea if it did.
Scratching his chest, Henry yawned and ambled to the front door to swipe the newspaper before it got rained on. He had just bent over to grab it when he caught sight of her. His her. Goldie Hawnher. Crossing the street at the corner.
Itwasher, wasn’t it? Blonde hair trailed down her shoulders beneath a red headband. Oh yeah. It was her all right. He needed to go after her.
His bare feet froze at the edge of the porch, a voice screaming inside his head.And do what?Good question. Henry glanced down at himself. He was still wearing striped pajama pants and a worn gray T-shirt with a hole in the armpit. Hardly the attire a man wanted to wear when he was attempting to redeem himself from a bad first impression.
But he had to do something.
Henry spun back inside his house, ripping off his T-shirt. He hadn’t seen any sign of her since the night at the diner. He’d even driven by the diner yesterday like a creepy stalker, trying to see through the windows in case she’d gone back there to eat again. All he’d accomplished was getting honked at twice for driving so slowly. He couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity.
Henry yanked on a clean shirt, glanced at the time.Shoot.Physical therapy started in ten minutes. What was he doing? He didn’t have time to chase after Goldie Hawn. Who was he kidding? He didn’t have time to chase after anybody.
If his multiple surgeries, extensive rehab, and ever-constant ache in his knee had taught him anything, it was that he wasn’t exactly a young man anymore. The accident had forced him to slow down, look at his life, and face the truth.
And truth was, if he wanted to start that family he’d planned on starting over a decade ago, now was the time. With the girl he already had. As much as he admired his parents, he didn’t want to follow in their footsteps, becoming a dad in his forties.
