A few days after Zach's visit, Wendell and I drove to a small diner outside town.
He wanted breakfast.
I wanted somebody else to cook for a change.
We sat beside a window overlooking the parking lot.
The waitress brought coffee and a basket of toast.
Wendell ordered eggs.
I ordered oatmeal and fruit.
He looked at my plate.
"That looks healthy."
"It's supposed to."
"Does it taste healthy?"
I laughed.
"Not everything has to be a punishment."
He smiled and returned to his food.
We talked about ordinary things.
A neighbor of his had bought a new truck.
Carla had persuaded me to attend another senior center meeting.
My knees had been aching more than usual whenever the weather changed.
Wendell listened without turning every complaint into a solution.
That was something I appreciated.
Sometimes I wanted advice.
Sometimes I just wanted somebody to hear me.
After breakfast, we drove back to his house.
He had a few small jobs left to finish, and I offered to help clean the kitchen.
He told me there wasn't much to do.
I told him that had never stopped me before.
He laughed and handed me a dish towel.
We worked side by side.
When the counter was clean, we sat at the table with another cup of coffee.
The yellow bowl sat between us.
Wendell looked at it for a moment.
Then he turned toward me.
"Winnie, can I ask you something?"
I smiled.
"Apparently, that's becoming a habit."
He looked down at his hands.
"What do you want your life to look like now?"
The question surprised me.
Not because it was difficult.
Because nobody had asked it that way before.
My children asked whether I was safe.
Carla asked whether I wanted to go out.
People at the senior center asked how I was coping.
Wendell was asking what I wanted.
I looked through the window.
The pecan tree had lost more leaves.
"I don't know," I said.
He nodded.
"That's all right."
I considered the question.
"I want to keep my house."
"All right."
"I want to see my grandchildren whenever they'll let me."
He smiled.
"I'd expect that."
"I want to keep going to the senior center."
"Then you should."
I looked at him.
"And I want to be able to spend time with you without feeling like I'm doing something wrong."
His expression softened.
"You aren't doing anything wrong."
I nodded.
I wanted to believe that completely.
Then I asked him the same question.
"What about you?"
He leaned back in his chair.
"I'd like to finish fixing up this place."
"You've nearly done that."
"I know. I mean the little things. The garden. The fence. A few things inside."
He paused.
"I'd like to have somebody over for supper without worrying about whether the house is ready."
I smiled.
"That sounds reasonable."
He looked at me.
"And I'd like to keep seeing you."
The words were simple.
They still made my heart beat faster.
"I'd like that, too."
He took my hand across the table.
We sat there for a while without talking.
I thought about the question Zach had asked.
Whether I intended to marry Wendell.
I still didn't know.
But I understood something important.
Wendell wasn't asking me to promise him the rest of my life.
He was asking whether I wanted to keep sharing the days we had.
That felt manageable.
It also felt honest.
I squeezed his hand.
"We ought to talk about practical things sometime."
He nodded.
"Like what?"
"Money. Our houses. What happens if one of us gets sick."
He didn't look offended.
"Those are sensible things to talk about."
"I don't want either of us making decisions because we feel guilty."
"Neither do I."
I looked at him.
"And I don't want to lose my independence."
He nodded again.
"I wouldn't ask you to."
We agreed that we'd talk more when the time came.
There was no deadline.
No demand.
Just an understanding that if our relationship continued to grow, we'd need to be honest about what that meant.
Before I left, Wendell showed me the garden patch again.
He'd marked out the rows for spring planting.
I stood beside him and looked at the dark soil.
"Tomatoes?"
"Tomatoes."
"You'll need stakes."
"I've got some in the shed."
"Then you're ahead of the game."
He smiled.
I touched his arm.
"You know, I spent a long time thinking that if I loved somebody again, it would mean I was forgetting Dwight."
Wendell became quiet.
I hadn't planned to say it.
But now that the words were out, I didn't want to take them back.
"I don't feel that way anymore," I continued. "Not exactly."
He waited.
"I can miss my husband and still want to see you on Sunday."
Wendell nodded slowly.
"I think Marjorie would have understood that."
I looked at him.
"Do you ever feel guilty?"
"Sometimes."
He glanced toward the house.
"But I don't think loving somebody who died means you have to stop loving everybody else."
I looked at the ramp leading to the doorway.
It had begun as a project he wanted to finish before I saw his house.
Now it stood there as an ordinary part of the place.
Something useful.
Something carefully made.
I realized that our relationship was becoming much the same.
We were learning what worked.
We were correcting what didn't.
We were finding ways to make room for each other without pretending the past had never happened.
When I drove home, I didn't feel as though I needed to decide anything immediately.
I could let the relationship grow at its own pace.
That evening, I called Megan.
I told her about breakfast and the conversation at Wendell's house.
She listened quietly.
Then she said, "I'm glad you're asking yourself what you want."
I smiled.
"So am I."
After we hung up, I put the kettle on.
I carried my tea into the living room and sat in Dwight's recliner.
I thought about the life I'd shared with him.
I thought about the life I might still build.
For the first time, those two things didn't feel like enemies.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Zach Asked to See Wendell’s House for Himself, and I Had to Decide Whether I Was Ready to Let Them Meet Without Me Between Them
My Husband Had Been Gone Two Years, but the First Man Who Made Me Feel Alive Again Had Something He Wouldn’t Explain
Part 14 of 24
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