Page 4 of Dear Henry, Love Edith
“I got your letter. I know what it said. But you’re making a big mistake. South Africa? No. That’s crazy. Come home. Let’s talk about this.”
“But that’s just it. Pittsburgh isn’t home for me.” Not since Brian died. Maybe not even before then.
“Where are you right now?”
Oh, she hated this. Edith tugged on her shirt collar. Why did confrontation always have to make her so sweaty? “I know Brian told you to look out for me after he was gone. And I appreciate all that you’ve done. I do. But you don’t need to take care of me. I’m good.”
Or at least she would be once her passport arrived. Who knew passports could take so long to process? Clearly not Edith. If she’d known that, she would have started the application process back in kindergarten. Then maybe she would be boarding a flight to the Eastern Cape of South Africa right now instead of sweating in a rental car in Illinois simply to avoid conversations like this.
So much for being courageous.
“What if I want to take care of you?”
Okay. This phone call was going from awkward to downright painful. She turned the air conditioner up higher. “It’s not what I want.” And now she was itching. Everywhere. At this rate, the hives wouldn’t disappear until mid-December. “Please, just let me go. It’s time for both of us to move on.” Before he could offer any further protest, Edith said, “Goodbye, Steve,” and ended the call.
CHAPTER TWO
Henry winced as he adjusted his right leg beneath the diner’s red- and white-checkered tablecloth. “Let’s Twist Again” blared from the jukebox in the corner. “Sure, Chubby Checkers,” Henry muttered under his breath. “Rub it in a little more, why don’t you?”
According to his ortho surgeon, Henry’s progress was right on track. Well, if this was whaton trackfelt like, he pitied the poor soul who ever fell off track. Six weeks after the accident and Henry’s right knee felt like it belonged in the body of an arthritic eighty-year-old on a cold, damp day.
Speaking of arthritic eighty-year-olds... Henry sighed, reading Kat’s text message before sliding his phone back into his front shirt pocket. So the landlord discovered mold in Kat’s basement, did he? Well, cue the theme song toThe OddCouple. Looked like Henry and ol’ Edith were going to be housemates for the long haul this summer.
Though Henry would never say so to Kat, the thought of having someone under his roof, even an elderly someone, didn’t actually sound all that bad. Spending the past six weeks at home with little more than pain and the scent of Icy Hot serving as company, Henry hungered for a taste of something different. Something besides office work, physical therapy, and Peg’s leftovers.
Besides, Kat was right. Well, mostly right. He hadn’t remodeled; he’drestored. But either way, no point in letting all that space in his house sit unused and empty if there was someone who could benefit from it.
His eyes trailed the young family finishing up their meal at the booth next to him and heading out the door a minute later. A wistful smile hovered over Henry’s lips, watching the dad tug playfully on his daughter’s dark ponytail, then give his wife a gentle tweak on her neck before she leaned into the car to strap their toddler son into his car seat. The look she sent her husband a moment later communicated more than words ever could. So did the quick kiss she planted on his cheek.
Henry couldn’t help the stab of envy that pierced him. What would it be like to have someone like her? Someone to share a look with. Someone to share a family with. Someone—
“Sorry I’m late.”
—not like Angela. Henry swung his gaze from the window. “Oh. Hey.” He rescued a napkin from sliding off the table due to the breeze kicked up by Angela’s arrival.
“It was crazy today. You have no idea.”
Angela never ceased to amaze him. Within five seconds, she had unloaded her oversize purse onto the table, raised a finger in the air to notify the first waitress who came into her peripheral vision—because Angela had yet to take her eyes off her phone—that she’d “like a chef salad with half ranch, half French, one egg, no croutons, dried cranberries if you have them, and just water please, but could you get a clean glass? This one looks dirty. Thank you.”
Then as quickly as she sat down, she scooted out of her chair. “Sorry, babe. Gotta take this.” And with her phone pressed against one ear and a finger pressed into the other, she made a hasty retreat out the door, a soft ding announcing her departure.
“Um, was she talking to me?” A freckle-faced girl with tufts of red hair arching her head like a frazzled rainbow stood next to his table. “It’s my first job. I mean, my first day. I mean—” She swallowed and the pink blotches on her cheeks turned red. “All I heard was chef salad.”
The bell dinged again, and the young waitress sent a nervous glance toward the door but exhaled when a different woman entered. Henry, however, felt his entire breath lodge inside his throat.
“Did she want an egg and no croutons? Or was it one crouton and no eggs?”
“Goldie Hawn,” Henry murmured.
“Excuse me?” the waitress said.
Henry couldn’t stop himself from staring at the young woman at the door. Ever since he watched the movieOverboardyears ago as a kid, he’d always had a giant crush onGoldie Hawn. And shoot if this woman wasn’t the spitting image of her. Except for the eyes. Somehow this woman’s dark eyes were even more beautiful than Goldie’s blues. “Um... sure. That sounds fine.”
“The egg or the croutons?”
“Oh. Ah—” He watched the Goldie Hawn look-alike make her way past him and about dropped his glass of water when she met his gaze. Up close, her big brown eyes were even more of a knockout.
“Sir?”
