Eleanor turned slowly to Cliff, pinning him with her famous Miss Eleanor stare. “Cliff, you should go. And if you ever talk about Jonah like that again, or suggest something ridiculous like a prenuptial, I’ll disown you. Do you understand? Never tell me what to do again.”
Cliff’s face turned bright red. “Mother, you’re not thinking clearly.”
“No, I’m actually thinking very clearly And I know what I want. And I want you to leave now.”
Cliff glared at Jonah, shook his head, and stormed out of the cafe.
Darlene leaned back in her chair, smiling. “Well, it looks like I picked a good day to finally take some time off. Wouldn’t have wanted to miss that.”
They all laughed.
Eleanor sat down in her seat and looked up at Jonah, a new sparkle in her eyes. “Well?”
His forehead creased, and his eyes clouded with confusion. “Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his smile lit up his whole face. “I sure am. Ellie, will you go out with me?”
Eleanor’s eyes softened and her lips curved into a smile that made her look decades younger. “Yes. We’ll go out on Friday. Pick me up at six.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonah said, his eyes twinkling. He dropped some bills on the table for his coffee, then turned and headed out. But not before one last look back at Eleanor with a bemused smile on his face.
“Well, that was quite the morning,” Beverly said as she sat back down. “Guess I was right about no one is too old for a second chance at love.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Miss Eleanor said brusquely. “Jonah and I—and our relationship—are not up for discussion.”
“But we all like to think that love can strike a second time, don’t we?” Beverly asked softly.
Darlene looked over at Miss Eleanor, deeply engrossed in staring absentmindedly at her coffee. Maybe love came a second time for some people. But she’d lost her chance with Mark. If only she had told him how she felt. Maybe things would have been different. But she’d let that opportunity slip away.
Chapter28
Mark took one last look around his apartment. It looked different now with so many of Sarah’s things packed away. Boxes of her clothes sat by the door to be donated to a woman’s shelter. Sarah would want someone else to get use out of her belongings. He donated cartons of her books to the library in a small town nearby. He couldn’t quite give her favorite coffee mug away, but it stayed in the cabinet now.
He patted his pocket again to make sure he had his notes. As he walked out of the apartment, he turned back. “I’ll make you proud, Sarah.”
A half-hour later, he stepped into the bustling auditorium and scanned the rows of seats that were quickly filling with eager literary enthusiasts. The familiar scene and excitement brought back memories of past festivals where Sarah had commanded the stage with her magnetic presence.
Savannah appeared at his side and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You nervous?”
“Yes.” His voice came out rougher than intended. The thought of following in Sarah’s footsteps was a constant pressure on his shoulders.
“You’ll do fine.” Savannah squeezed his arm before stepping back.
The festival coordinator introduced him, her voice echoing through the space. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden stage as he made his way to the lectern. The audience fell silent, faces turned expectantly toward him. The spotlight warmed his face as he pulled his carefully prepared notes from his pocket.
He looked down at the words he’d written, meant to honor Sarah’s memory and her contribution to the literary festival. His throat tightened. The pages trembled in his hands.
“I…” He cleared his throat. The words on the page blurred together, feeling hollow and inadequate. With a deliberate movement, he folded the papers and slipped them back into his pocket.
He gripped the edges of the lectern and looked out at the sea of faces. “When my wife Sarah stood on this stage, she never needed notes. She spoke from her heart about the power of stories to change lives. Today, I’d like to do the same.”
The room was so quiet he swore he could hear a pin drop. He loosened his grip and drew in a deep breath, drawing strength from the memories of Sarah’s passionate speeches in this very spot. “As some of you know, my wife, Sarah, passed away a few years ago.”
A whisper went through the crowd. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Sarah organized the first literary festival here. She believed that books were more than just entertainment. They were doorways to understanding, to empathy, to knowledge. She used to tell me that every person deserves the chance to open those doors.”
His voice grew stronger as he spoke about the cause so dear to his wife’s heart. “Sarah picked new and upcoming authors to introduce each year, giving them her full support. She worked tirelessly to ensure that children in under-funded schools had access to books. That adults who struggled with reading could find the resources they needed. That libraries in small towns could keep their doors open.”
