“And you still talk too smoothly.”
We laughed until we were nearly crying.
Pastor Wells politely pretended not to notice.
My friend Marlene from the choir noticed everything.
I knew I’d be answering questions about it on Sunday.
Garrett stayed through the rest of the bake sale.
Afterward, he asked if he could buy me coffee.
I told him coffee would be fine.
Maybe a slice of pie too.
“If you’re feeling generous,” I teased.
He laughed.
“I’ll buy you a diamond ring.”
I thought he was joking.
I didn’t know he had been waiting more than half a century to keep that promise.
After that, we started meeting every Tuesday at the same little diner.
We talked for hours.
Garrett told me about his late wife, Patricia, who had passed away nearly ten years earlier.
He told me about his children, Margaret and Daniel, who lived nearby and called him every Sunday.
I told him about Howard.
About the good years.
About the difficult years.
About how strange it was to find yourself alone after spending so much of your life beside another person.
One afternoon, Garrett stirred sugar into his coffee and looked at me.
“I always wondered about you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You had a funny way of showing it. Fifty-three years is a long time to stay silent.”
“Life got in the way.”
“Life always does.”
Six months after our reunion, Garrett stood on my front porch and asked me to marry him.
He didn’t have the diamond ring yet.
But he was working on it.
I said yes.
Not because he owned a beautiful house.
Not because he had money.
I said yes because I remembered the boy who had walked me home through the rain without complaining about his soaked shoes.
Some promises simply take longer than others.
Meeting His Children
Our engagement dinner took place at Garrett’s mansion.
That was the first time I met Margaret and Daniel.
Margaret hugged me, but it was the kind of hug where her arms moved without the rest of her body joining them.
Daniel shook my hand like I was someone he’d just met at a business meeting.
“So good to finally meet you,” Margaret said.
“Your father’s told me so much about both of you,” I replied.
She smiled.
But it didn’t reach her eyes.
Later that evening, as I walked toward the powder room, I heard voices in the hallway.
Margaret.
And Garrett.
“Daddy, please. Just think about it.”
“Margaret, I’m not changing a thing. We’ve talked about this.”
I stopped.
I didn’t want them to see me listening.
So I quietly stepped back.
For the first time since Garrett had returned to my life, a small question entered my mind.
What exactly had I walked into?
The first morning I woke up in Garrett’s house as his wife, I expected to feel like a guest.
Instead, Garrett brought me coffee in a china cup.
Then he kissed the top of my head.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said.
“Stop grinning,” I teased. “You’ll spill the coffee.”
“Let me grin.”
For a while, it felt almost perfect.
Then Margaret began making comments.
One Sunday, she arrived with a casserole dish.
Her eyes immediately went to the table.
“Mother used to set the table that way.”
She paused.
“Patricia. In case you forgot her name.”
“I didn’t know your mother,” I said gently. “But if the runner bothers you, I can take it off.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
“Everything about this bothers me.”
Garrett appeared in the doorway.
“Margaret. That’s enough.”
She didn’t apologize.
Neither did Daniel.
The comments continued.
My clothes were “a bit much for a woman your age.”
She questioned whether I’d ever “worked a real job.”
And once, at the dinner table, Margaret asked what exactly I thought I would inherit.
I tried to ignore it.
Garrett didn’t.
“Eleanor isn’t a topic of conversation,” he said quietly. “She’s my wife.”
Margaret looked directly at him.
“She’s your mistake.”
Garrett put his fork down.
I’d never seen his expression change so quickly.
“You will not speak to her like that in my house.”
Later, I heard Margaret whispering about “Mom’s memory” and “that paperwork you promised.”
Garrett answered quietly.
I couldn’t make out the words.
I went upstairs and pretended I hadn’t heard anything.
The Things Garrett Never Told Me
A few times that month, I noticed Garrett spending long periods in his study.
The door would be half-closed.
He would be speaking to someone named Whitfield.
There were papers spread across his desk.
A leather folder.
