that the restless spirit always longed for home.
Someone knocked on my front door, and I ran to it, thinking it must be him, but it was only Emma come for our morning chitchat.
“Where was Donnie going?” she asked me. “I just now saw him walking up Scripture.” I couldn’t bear to tell her I didn’t know. I wantedto brush past her, run up the street barefoot and in my panties and T-shirt if that’s what it took to catch up to Donnie and bring him back. “I called his name, but he didn’t even look my way.” She held out her hands, palms up, and shrugged her shoulders. “It was like he didn’t know me at all.”
That’s when it hit me, how wrong this all was. He wasn’t mine to keep. He belonged somewhere else. Maybe he had a woman who was crazy with worry because she didn’t know where he was, and I was partly to blame. I’d been keeping him from being where he truly needed to be, all for my own selfish ends. I was a woman who thought she’d missed her best chances at love, but what right did that give me to make this man, this Lester Stipp, believe that we were a couple?
But then, we were, weren’t we? Hadn’t everything been so fine between us, and not just because I suggested it had always been so, but also because the two of us clicked, because we were good for each other, because there was something between us that we both needed?
So there I was, torn in two, part of me saying it’s only right that he go—what a fool I was to think my crazy scheme would work—and part of me missing him so much I couldn’t live with the thought that I might never see him again.
“Oh, you know men,” I said, all la-di-da, like this was nothing at all, just a little hen talk between the gals. “They always think they’ve got someplace they need to go.”
“That’s the truth, Miss Baby.” Emma clucked her tongue. “Yes, ma’am, that’s the God’s honest truth.”
IT WAS THE MIDDLE of the afternoon when Donnie came into the shop. I was in my studio with a customer, a little old man who wanted an olive wreath tattooed on his bald head.
“You know,” he said. “Like Julius Caesar.”
“It’ll hurt like fire,” I told him.
“Honey,” he said, “I can take it.”
I heard the bell on the front door jangle, and when I looked out through the window into the waiting area, there was Donnie.
“Oh, I know you can.” I patted the old man on his slick head. “You just hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Donnie was standing in the middle of the waiting room, his hands stuck into his pants pockets, his head down, as if he didn’t know whether he should stay or go. I was afraid to touch him, afraid he’d spook, so I just went up to him and didn’t say a word. When some time had gone by and he was still there, I said to him, my voice a whisper so the old man in the room behind us wouldn’t hear, “Hey, stranger.”
“Were you worried?” Donnie edged his foot forward and bumped it up against my toe.
“Sick,” I said.
“I had some thinking to do.”
He leaned down until his forehead was resting on mine. Then we talked our quiet talk, words not meant for anyone else to hear.
“Sometimes I get sad,” he said. “I can’t remember meeting you. I can’t remember how it was when we were falling in love. It’s like there’s this whole part of us that I can’t get at.”
“It was like it is now.” I tilted my head and put my lips to his forehead. I kissed him, once, twice. “It was holding hands and keeping each other company and feeling like it was decided a long way back that one day we’d be together. That’s what it was like when we fell in love.”
“Like the way I feel now?”
“Just like it.”
“And you remember?”
“I’ll always remember,” I said. “I’ll remember for both of us.”
He nodded. “Then we’re lucky.”
His hands found mine, and we laced our fingers together. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I told him.
“I will if you say it’s
Someone knocked on my front door, and I ran to it, thinking it must be him, but it was only Emma come for our morning chitchat.
“Where was Donnie going?” she asked me. “I just now saw him walking up Scripture.” I couldn’t bear to tell her I didn’t know. I wantedto brush past her, run up the street barefoot and in my panties and T-shirt if that’s what it took to catch up to Donnie and bring him back. “I called his name, but he didn’t even look my way.” She held out her hands, palms up, and shrugged her shoulders. “It was like he didn’t know me at all.”
That’s when it hit me, how wrong this all was. He wasn’t mine to keep. He belonged somewhere else. Maybe he had a woman who was crazy with worry because she didn’t know where he was, and I was partly to blame. I’d been keeping him from being where he truly needed to be, all for my own selfish ends. I was a woman who thought she’d missed her best chances at love, but what right did that give me to make this man, this Lester Stipp, believe that we were a couple?
But then, we were, weren’t we? Hadn’t everything been so fine between us, and not just because I suggested it had always been so, but also because the two of us clicked, because we were good for each other, because there was something between us that we both needed?
So there I was, torn in two, part of me saying it’s only right that he go—what a fool I was to think my crazy scheme would work—and part of me missing him so much I couldn’t live with the thought that I might never see him again.
“Oh, you know men,” I said, all la-di-da, like this was nothing at all, just a little hen talk between the gals. “They always think they’ve got someplace they need to go.”
“That’s the truth, Miss Baby.” Emma clucked her tongue. “Yes, ma’am, that’s the God’s honest truth.”
IT WAS THE MIDDLE of the afternoon when Donnie came into the shop. I was in my studio with a customer, a little old man who wanted an olive wreath tattooed on his bald head.
“You know,” he said. “Like Julius Caesar.”
“It’ll hurt like fire,” I told him.
“Honey,” he said, “I can take it.”
I heard the bell on the front door jangle, and when I looked out through the window into the waiting area, there was Donnie.
“Oh, I know you can.” I patted the old man on his slick head. “You just hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Donnie was standing in the middle of the waiting room, his hands stuck into his pants pockets, his head down, as if he didn’t know whether he should stay or go. I was afraid to touch him, afraid he’d spook, so I just went up to him and didn’t say a word. When some time had gone by and he was still there, I said to him, my voice a whisper so the old man in the room behind us wouldn’t hear, “Hey, stranger.”
“Were you worried?” Donnie edged his foot forward and bumped it up against my toe.
“Sick,” I said.
“I had some thinking to do.”
He leaned down until his forehead was resting on mine. Then we talked our quiet talk, words not meant for anyone else to hear.
“Sometimes I get sad,” he said. “I can’t remember meeting you. I can’t remember how it was when we were falling in love. It’s like there’s this whole part of us that I can’t get at.”
“It was like it is now.” I tilted my head and put my lips to his forehead. I kissed him, once, twice. “It was holding hands and keeping each other company and feeling like it was decided a long way back that one day we’d be together. That’s what it was like when we fell in love.”
“Like the way I feel now?”
“Just like it.”
“And you remember?”
“I’ll always remember,” I said. “I’ll remember for both of us.”
He nodded. “Then we’re lucky.”
His hands found mine, and we laced our fingers together. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” I told him.
“I will if you say it’s
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