Authors: Don Sloan
Nathan read the articles with interest about the doings from 70-plus years ago. But, even in the dim, dusty confines of the attic, he could not muster up any fear or connection with the house in which he now spent his vacation. These were stories from another time, and he dismissed them, bundling the papers together and carrying them over to the narrow doorway leading to the stairwell. “They’ll make good fire starter,” he said, as he dropped them with a thud onto the floorboards.
He straightened up and glanced over to the dormer window through which he could see straight out to sea. The sun was now up high in the February sky, hidden behind a high-flying wrack of clouds on its way in from the south with the weather change. The wind whistled and whooped around the eaves as Nathan walked over and looked out. A beautiful morning had turned quickly into a gray winter’s day with the promise of snow and dropping temperatures.
Well, he thought, not a big deal―I’ve got plenty of firewood and fire starter. But, as he turned to go downstairs, he noticed something strangely out of place: a tapered candle in the center of the windowsill. It had been burned, but the dust that lay thick as fungus on the heavy pewter candle holder showed that the taper had been there a very long time. And for what purpose? Nathan thought. Someone long ago had sat beside this window in a nearby straight backed chair with a candle, perhaps reading during a long, dreary day and using the candle as additional light. The view from the dormer was a good one, and Nathan could imagine himself passing some time himself up here in the cozy nook. So he left the candle, making a mental note to bring matches and a book with him next time he visited the attic.
At 5 p.m. Sarah decided to go out to eat. It had been a busy day for her around the house, but a productive one. She had gone straight through and removed every sheet and blanket from every stick of furniture, scrubbed the kitchen free from years of half-hearted cleanings and otherwise tidied up in a hundred ways, so the house now felt as though it had her imprint.
She no longer felt the dark lingerings of the night whispers, and it was as though she had exorcised the house somehow through sheer sweat and hard work. The idea of a nap had not crossed her mind again since the morning and now, as she glanced at her watch and saw the time, she realized she had gone through the day without eating―something she often did and about which Rob had often chided her. Indeed, it was not an illness―just absent-mindedness that bordered on clinical single-mindedness.
Some people would call it task-intensive behavior, Sarah thought, but Rob had always referred to it as a mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. This from a man who could not have organized a sack lunch, much less his own life, she thought. And it was over just such a minor, personal issue that the final argument had come―the one that had sent Sarah from their apartment in tears and, a few days later, to the shore and to this day, with the sky darkening outside.
“Looks like snow,” she said, as she bundled on the down jacket and wrapped a colorful woolen scarf around her neck. “Guess I’ll need this, too,” she said and pulled a light blue woolen cap, with tiny interwoven violets, down over her ears. Glancing at her reflection in the hall tree mirror, she saw a young woman somehow changed from just last week, somehow older.
For the first time she saw wrinkles creeping into the corners of the skin beside her eyes and she drew a wry face, imagining how she might look in 40 years. “Well, at least I’ll wear nice hats,” she said finally and smiled, banishing the image of old age to its proper place―that holding area of the mind reserved for unpleasant thoughts and memories, to float and bump against other images and strands of past happenings until they become hard to recall and therefore less painful.
She opened the door and went out into the gathering gloom of a pending nor’easter.
Nathan had also planned to go out to eat. His day had been much like Sarah’s, puttering around the house and outbuildings, looking for projects that might keep him busy during his two-week stay. He had found several, but had decided in the end to just pace himself and do one per day, leaving the rest of the day open for aimless meandering up and down the beach or lounging with a good book in front of the fire.
Unlike Sarah, he had no issues with inactivity, or breaking off a project in the middle to do something completely worthless. He had learned long ago that life should be enjoyed rather than just gotten through. “You’re going to be dead a long time, Nathan,” a friend had told him once during a period when he had been working for many hours straight. “You need to remember that the work will always be here, but you may not be.”
Nathan had taken this advice to heart and it had given him a wonderful perspective on living and dying. Now, neither work nor any other task seemed to be as important in his priority-setting as they once had been.
He threw on his Lands-End jacket and went out bare-headed onto the wide front porch. He looked to his left and was pleased to see the Adirondack chairs sitting patiently waiting for him. He had brought them around from the outbuilding and promptly crossed that task off the list he had made at breakfast.
He looked up and noted that the clouds had gathered into a seamless, dark blanket that floated only a thousand feet or so above the crashing waves. To Nathan, they looked bloated and bruised, as though something needed to be disgorged. That would be a heavy snowfall, Nathan thought, and none too far away at that. “I’d better get going,” he said, and walked out the front gate.
Snowflakes began to fall as tiny granules, covering Sarah’s jacket and hat with a layer of white. The temperature was dropping and the wind had whipped up as she turned the corner from Jefferson onto Kearney Avenue. The wind gusted across the almost deserted streets and twisted the fine snow pellets into pale sheets that skimmed across the pavement and skidded against the curbs.
There was very little traffic and Sarah crossed in mid-block to reach the door of the Italian restaurant that was her favorite. A rising wind took the front door out of her hand as she opened it, banging it back against the brick front of the restaurant.
With some effort, she retrieved it and pulled it shut behind her as she entered the familiar interior, warmed by a friendly blaze in the propane fireplace off to her right. There were several people dining, but one table for two sat empty near the fireplace and without hesitation she crossed to it and began taking off her jacket and hat.
A young man in his early twenties, wearing a short white apron over his jeans, came quickly to her table and handed her a menu.
“Good evening,” he said. His features spoke of a Middle Eastern heritage, but his voice had no trace of accent.
“Hi,” Sarah said. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot to start, I guess, and order dinner in a little while.”
“OK. My name is George, and our specials are on the board behind the bar there. I’ll be right back with your wine.”
“Thanks, George,” Sarah said and smiled back. As he departed, she turned her gaze toward the bar and the whiteboard containing the day’s specials. Framing the board was an ornate mirror that reflected the cozy interior of the restaurant. The other patrons were couples, and one large party of six that apparently was there for a special occasion―a birthday, perhaps, judging from the mound of gift packages stacked on a nearby table. Indeed, the party was already well underway and the six at the table―an older couple and four younger people―were laughing and occasionally singing snatches of songs, which brought on more hilarity. Two bottles of wine sat open on the table along with large dinner plates brimming with fresh pasta dishes.
Sarah did not even think about self-pity at being left out of the throng, for she was not unaccustomed to dining alone. Her work as a mortgage banking loan officer often took her into other parts of Philadelphia and to bordering states where she found herself in similar settings. At such times her routine varied little, ordering red wine and a Chicken Caesar Salad with a side order of rolls, unless she was especially hungry. Even at those times, however, she only ate a small portion of the main entrée and took the remainder back to the hotel or home in a take-out container.
Her daily routine also included a brisk aerobic workout at a downtown gym near her office, so she rarely gained any weight, even when on the road. Rob used to tease her about having the metabolism of a tapeworm, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was all part of being Sarah, and, for the most part, she felt she was as good a person as anyone, with only a few quirks, like any other.
And, if anything, she only wondered at times like these whether she would ever be married, like the older couple seemed to be, or even if she wanted to be.
Being married seemed to be such a miasma of give and take―but mostly give on the part of either one or the other in the relationship. She shook her head quickly to banish the thought before it could spoil her good mood, and thus was smiling again when George reappeared with her wine.
“I think I’ll just have some rolls right now to go with the wine and order dinner in a little bit,” she said. George bowed his assent and departed for the kitchen. Sarah watched him go and admired his derriere, then laughed quietly to herself, remembering a line from Dolly Parton. Look out, young man, she thought. I’m old enough to be your lover. And she raised the glass in toast to the flickering fire.
As she took the first sip, she looked into the mirror and saw the front door open to admit another man, whom she recognized as the one who had fixed her furnace the night before. A flush came over her expressive face and she turned her head away quickly, hoping he had not seen her.
Come on, Sarah, she thought. You can at least be polite after he’s seated someplace and go thank him again for helping you. And for God’s sake get his name this time. These thoughts intermingled with the first rush of warmth from the wine to make her a little light-headed, and by the time she looked up into the mirror again, he was gone from sight.
“Hello,” she heard a voice say and realized that the man had slipped up on her right side. In confusion, she smiled hesitantly but could find no answer right away. “I’m the guy from last night―furnace repair, fireman, CPA―remember?” Now at last, Sarah found her voice and extended her hand.
“I remember. How are you?”
“Hungry. Cold. Wind-blown. But better now, thanks,” Nathan spoke easily, but he was now noticing for the first time how pretty this young lady was, with her high cheekbones framed by a boyish hairstyle. Her large brown eyes were smiling, but her lips seemed to be having a little trouble finding the right expression. He misunderstood and thought she was trying to overcome the awkward situation of having to explain that her boyfriend was about to return. Yet he noticed there was only a place setting for one.
“And how are you?” he asked. “Finally get warmed up?”
Sarah had finally found her smile as she dropped her hand and said, “Yes, thanks to you. The furnace works perfectly and I went through the rest of the house today, cleaning it up.” She wasn’t sure why she added this bit of unnecessary intelligence, but she was proud of it. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked your name last night, and I’m so sorry.”
“Nathan Forrest,” he said, “and no apologies are needed. Rescuing damsels in distress is kind of a new line of work for me, but I was glad you didn’t have a plumbing problem. I couldn’t have helped you there, except with the most basic stuff.” He still stood by her table and George reappeared.
“And will you be joining the young lady?” he asked.
“Only if she asks,” Nathan said, keeping his eyes on Sarah. He really hoped she would say yes, though he could not say why. This was not his style on first meeting someone and he wondered later what in the world ever possessed him to be so bold.
Sarah blinked as though she had been away for a moment, lost in thought, but said, “Of course. Please join me.” And she smiled again, this one coming from deep down, and Nathan was glad. He wasn’t sure what he would have done had she said no.
He removed his coat, brushed off the snow carefully and hooked it over the back of his chair.
“So it’s still snowing outside?” Sarah asked.
“Getting heavier,” Nathan replied. “I was hoping I could get a weather report here.” Both she and Sarah looked inquiringly at George, who replied that the weather reports he heard in the kitchen were not encouraging and that the area could be in for as much as a foot of snow by morning.
“But by then you will both be warm in your homes and it will be no problem,” he said. “Will you also have some wine, sir?”
Nathan thought a moment and said, “Why not? A glass of Chardonnay for me, and a menu.”
“Very good, sir, I’ll be back with your wine.”
Nathan fluffed out his napkin and placed it on his lap, while Sarah spoke. “Did you say you also are here on vacation?”
“I am,” said Nathan. “My house is about a block and a half away from yours, between Jefferson Street and Howard. It’s also facing the shore. I inherited it from my aunt. She died this past fall.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said.
“Well, she lived to a very ripe old age and seemed to have no regrets. She went in her sleep at a rest home nearby―about the way I would choose to go, I guess.”
Sarah did not reply right away. Nathan’s wine had come, along with the rolls, and George was hovering, waiting for the dinner order. She fished her menu out from under the rolls and ordered quickly, a Chicken Caesar Salad. Nathan also made his choice from the specials menu: Chicken Alfredo, with a side salad of spinach. He lifted his glass of Chardonnay and tinked Sarah’s upraised glass. “To chance meetings,” he said, though he could not remember who in the world he was quoting. The line seemed appropriate, though, and he wanted the evening to go well. Sarah smiled at the toast and replied, “To chance meetings,” and took a longer sip this time.