I looked at my phone on the coffee table.
“No. One foolish man doesn’t get to decide whether I ever have dinner with another.”
Three days later, Richard’s handwritten apology arrived.
He admitted that he had treated me like a prop and frightened me when he grabbed my wrist.
Richard’s handwritten apology arrived.
He did not ask for forgiveness or another date.
A week later, Eleanor called with my permission.
She explained that after she began using a wheelchair, Richard often confused protecting her with controlling her.
He did not ask for forgiveness or another date.
He canceled plans before asking what she wanted and called restaurants about access without including her.
He canceled plans before asking what she wanted.
“And had it been cleared?”
“Before his own street.”
Her laugh held affection as well as frustration.
Richard was not a scheming stranger who had invented every kind message.
“And had it been cleared?”
He was a lonely man who cared about people and then pushed their choices aside whenever fear took over.
Understanding that did not excuse what he had done to me.
But it explained why Eleanor had looked tired rather than shocked.
He was a lonely man who cared about people.
“Mom could make him listen,” she said. “Since she died, he keeps deciding what everyone needs.”
“He decided I needed to feel admired.”
“And decided I needed proof he was happy,” she added.
“He keeps deciding what everyone needs.”
Before hanging up, Eleanor told me her father had asked where she wanted to meet the following week.
“Is that unusual?”
“Very.”
Two weeks later, I agreed to coffee with Richard.
“Is that unusual?”
I chose the café and the time.
I wore flats.
He stood when I arrived and wisely said nothing about my shoes.
On the table lay a small paper bag.
I chose the café and the time.
He pushed it toward me only after I sat down.
“Tea biscuits,” he explained. “You mentioned Thomas used to buy them for your road trips. If bringing them was presumptuous, I’ll take them home.”
That was different from deciding I needed them.
“You mentioned Thomas used to buy them for your road trips.”
He had remembered, offered, and left the answer with me.
I opened the bag and placed one beside each cup.
After we ordered, I rested both hands around my cup.
“Do you know why I wore those heels?”
He had remembered, offered, and left the answer with me.
He shook his head.
“Because you asked. Most men spent years wishing I were shorter. I thought you wanted me to be proud of taking up space.”
Richard turned his cup until its handle faced away from him.
“Most men spent years wishing I were shorter.”
“Instead, I discovered you wanted your daughter to notice you standing beside me,” I finished.
“I’m sorry, Marilyn.”
“I believe you. But believing an apology isn’t the same as trusting you again.”
“I understand.”
“You wanted your daughter to notice you standing beside me.”
He told me Eleanor had chosen the location for their next visit and that he had not argued.
“That’s a start, Richie.”
When coffee ended, he asked whether I might see him again.
“Perhaps. Slowly, and without surprises.”
“Agreed.”
He asked whether I might see him again.
At home, I placed the navy heels beside my flats instead of returning them to the back of the closet.
My granddaughter called to ask how coffee had gone.
“Pleasant,” I told her.
“Will there be another date?”
I looked at the shoes. Richard had not ruined them.
“Will there be another date?”
They still belonged to the woman who had chosen to wear them.
“Possibly. But next time, darling, I choose the height.”
My granddaughter laughed. “Deal. But I’m still taking the picture.”
I laughed too, already imagining the next photograph with whatever shoes I chose.
They still belonged to the woman who had chosen to wear them.
