“What? You think life is about chasing joy?”
“Oh wow. You’ve skipped straight to the meaning of life. That’s the really big one.”
“Alright. So we’ll backtrack to joy. What brings you the most joy, Lucy?”
“That’s cheating, making me go first, but I’ll tell you, because for me, that’s the easiest question of all. Just about everything brings me joy. Like walking here with you, getting to know you better.”
He stares at me as if I just made it up. Old cynic.
“Dirk, I feel joy from the moment I wake and stretch and see the sun has risen again, to the moment I’m back in bed at the end of a full day, warm and cosy and drowsy, with a good book. I’ll never stop if I tell you everything that brings me joy. I love to talk – that’s evident – I love my first mouthful of cereal in the morning, my first sip of coffee, laughing with friends, walking. I truly do. You already know I love roses. I love Brighton Court, the way those apartments have held so many other lives – I actually found some old silver teaspoons hidden in my apartment last night. Can you imagine? Now it’s your turn.”
“Okay. I guess my kids are okay. Yes. They turned the love around somewhere. Maybe when they knew they’d lose their mom. I never thought I’d see them care so much. And afterwards, after Millie died, they didn’t just keep in touch. Dee practically moved in with me. I kept working, like a maniac, trying to block everything out, and she quietly cleared out all Millie’s things. Millie was everywhere; always had been. Jamison came out every second weekend to help. Jamison and Dee talked about me as if I wasn’t there. I wasn’t really. The clinic was my retreat, my salvation. Nothing there changed. Phone kept ringing. I’d get home and Dee would force me to eat something, and they’d talk about the future, toss up ideas.”
“I’m pleased for you, Dirk.”
“You’re pleased for me?”
“I’m jealous, really.”
“Jealous?”
I frown. I can’t help it. My chin actually wobbles. I think I’m going to cry.
Dirk, the gentleman, slows his pace, touches my wrist, brings his gaze to mine, drops his voice, conspiratorially.
“Do you want to sit, Lucy? Need to talk about this? Want a coffee? Or a drink?”
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. One minute I was striding along beside him, and now I’m a mess. How did he know I’d like to sit? My legs have crumpled. I want to curl up in a ball and howl.
He leads me into a wine bar, to a booth in the corner.
“Coffee? Wine?”
“Rosé, please. Just one. Rose-colored glasses and all that.”
While he’s at the bar, I pull a tissue out of my bag and clean myself up. The tears have stopped. I blow my nose, check my reflection in the little circular mirror Bart and I bought in Paris, a lifetime away. I’d hurl it under a bus but it’s too useful and it’s not every day a woman in love goes to Paris. The darkness is a mercy. I snap the mirror shut as Dirk returns with two large, stemmed glasses, one glowing ruby red, and the other, pale pink.”
“I’m all ears,” he says, as he slides my glass across the dark table. We tap our glasses together. I could get used to this, deep and meaningful conversations with my handsome neighbor, but I’m still not sure I should confide. I’ve only had three sips and the wine will loosen my tongue.
“You said you’d had a gutful of other people’s problems, Dirk. I can see why your patients loved you. You’re even more attractive when you stop and listen. Everyone in Franklin would have been lining up to confess. Not only their broken toes, but their broken hearts. Doctor Hot.”
For the first time ever, he actually laughs; a deep belly laugh that fills the room. I love it. He actually twinkles at me and leans closer, then taps his glass against mine.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“Friendship?” he says. “This is not a consultation.”
I sip a bit more. Okay. So maybe I gulped it a bit, and let the wine soften my defences, let my stiff shoulders drop until I lean a little closer to him. I feel safe with this man. I will let the monster out of the cage.
I hold his gaze.
“You’ve raised beautiful children, Dirk. My Phoebe’s not like that. She doesn’t want to know me. Blames me – for everything. She’s all anger and accusations. I never knew she held so much hate in her heart.”
“You know that’s a stage that will likely pass.”
“Doesn’t seem to be passing any time soon.”
“Sorry to hear it, Lucy, truly I am.”
