Fanny covered her mouth.
I thought of all those mornings when half the grass had already been cut.
All the times the yard barely needed mowing.
All the tea waiting before I arrived.
Theresa had never needed the lawn finished. She had simply needed a reason for Saturday to arrive.
“I hope you do not think that was dishonest,” she wrote. “Lonely people sometimes hide invitations inside ordinary problems.”
She had simply needed a reason for Saturday to arrive.
Olive wiped her cheek.
Roger looked confused.
“Was Miss Theresa lonely?”
“Sometimes, buddy,” I said.
“Even with us?”
“Not when she knew we were coming,” I whispered.
I returned to the letter.
“Was Miss Theresa lonely?”
“You gave me more than company.
You gave me people to bake for.
Birthdays to remember.
Recitals to attend.
A little boy who found my glasses every week, even when I made his work embarrassingly easy.”
Roger grinned through wet eyes.
“I knew they were in her pocket.”
“Of course you did,” I said.
“You gave me more than company.”
Theresa’s words continued.
“Fanny gave Harold a second sunflower.
Olive gave me a chair at your table.
And you gave me the safest gift a widow can receive.
You made me feel expected.”
That sentence undid me.
I pressed the letter against the table and lowered my head.
“You made me feel expected.”
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Fanny slipped her hand into mine.
I read the final paragraph.
“The key does not belong to my house anymore.
It belongs to the next door you decide to knock on.”
Below that, she had written:
“Before you go home today, look two houses past mine.
His name is Walter.
His Saturdays are quieter than mine ever were.”
“His name is Walter.”
I stood and moved to the window.
Two houses beyond Theresa’s, Walter’s porch faced the street.
An elderly man sat there alone beside an overgrown lawn.
I had seen him before.
I had never really noticed him.
I had seen him before.
