Nine Women by Shirley Ann Grau

none of that would do. He insisted on beginning all over again, with new equipment. He started this time with half a dozen books on fly-fishing and surf casting. He even bought a copy of The Compleat Angler, but he didn’t finish it. I guess it wasn’t practical enough for him. He joined some sort of club and went on a fishing vacation in eastern Canada. When he came back, he took down all his chessboards and set up a long neat workbench. With the help of a book or two, he began tying his own flies. And he spent hours of every day practicing his cast. Over and over, making notes about the equipment and his progress. He was always very thorough.
    The time came when I had to tell him I would be leaving. I hated to do it. I knew just how upset he would be. At first you could see that he didn’t believe me, then he looked shocked, and finally angry.
    “Why? Is it a question of money? Am I so difficult?”
    “No,” I told him, “I’m going to get married.”
    “You are going to do what?”
    “I am going to be married in November.”
    “What does this gentleman do—or what did he do?”
    It was my turn to be surprised. Dr. Hollisher had never been curious about anything before.
    “He’s a retired electrical engineer, his name is Alfred Morton, and he spends the winter at the Riviera Hotel. I’ve known him for four years.”
    “You are in no hurry to marry? At your age how much time is there left?”
    “Quite enough.”
    He seemed puzzled by the sharpness of my tone; he frowned and hesitated. I was annoyed at myself; he was a very eccentric man but he certainly didn’t mean any harm. Trying to be polite, I said, “I met Alfred when he backed into the side of my car at the Sungate Shopping Mall. He lent me his car while mine was being fixed.”
    “I met my wife in a hospital emergency room,” Dr. Hollisher said abruptly. “Her father had just died in a car accident.”
    I didn’t know whether to congratulate him on the marriage or commiserate with him on the funeral. So I didn’t say anything. After all, I remembered, the marriage had died too.
    As things turned out, I was able to find a wonderful housekeeper for him: Enid Waterson, her husband had a navy disability pension so she needed extra money and Dr. Hollisher paid very well. I went with her the first few times, to show her exactly how things were done, so that there wouldn’t be the slightest change to upset him.
    I got married. My children were there and Alfred’s and all the grandchildren, every one.
    Truth is, I’d never liked living alone, I was used to having a man to take care of. Alfred and I got on very well together, our new life seemed to suit both of us. We visited his daughter in Chicago for a month or so in May, then we’d take a long summer vacation somewhere, and by September we’d be back here in my house for the winter. I’d see Enid Waterson at church now and then, and she’d tell me how fine everything was with Dr. Hollisher. And occasionally, more often than I would have expected, I’d see Dr. Hollisher himself—most often in the Sungate Mall, where I’d met Alfred. (We always parked in the exact same spot: a silly old people’s joke.) Sometimes Dr. Hollisher would see me and wave, and sometimes he’d be walking along, so busy he wouldn’t see me at all. Once I saw him looking at the cars in the Ford dealer’s lot and once I saw him coming out of the Main Street Bank, which wasn’t the bank where he had his account. And once Alfred and I saw him at a movie. I was just getting up to say hello to him when the lights went off and the film started. When it was over, he was gone. He hadn’t stayed for the whole show.
    I didn’t think of him very much. I was busy. We always seemed to have company coming, people who needed to be fed and entertained.
    That last April morning was sunny and beautiful; the first magnolias were blooming, the ones at the very top of the trees. I’d just invited Alfred’s youngest daughter to