Geraldine's In Love

The crowded shopping center was unusually busy this morning, Geraldine noted, as she drove slowly around searching for a place to park. Her car window was down on this balmy day, and she caught the loud comment of a passer-by who said, "She doesn’t need a disability parking card—is she even sixty years old? I’ll bet she can out-run any of us." The voice was cut off by a huge SUV that squeezed past her.

Unfazed, she moved on. It’s a temporary permit. I’m getting over a broken back.

She landed a stall near the entry to the Thrifty Market where today they had produce bins out front on the walkway, and a boy was there weighing out your choices from a veritable sea of vegetables and fruits, especially apples that she so enjoyed. She parked, set the brake, pulled her keys from the ignition and got out. The trips to market were special events for her, not only because she had learned to walk again, but because he was always there. Wayne.

Geraldine was not too tall, nor was she too short, her height and weight were ideal for her age; she had once loved daily walks and looked forward to doing so again. She ate nothing but fresh food, for every package of food frightened her when she read the labels, such strange ingredients. She was down to one prescribed medication now, she was doing fine with her back after the accident. She hated being limited, but it would not be forever, they had told her. Now, she carefully made her way to the door, it opened with a whoosh, and she went in with a lovely smile for Wayne who was always at the checkout stands. The object of my affection —

She sang the old refrain under her breath.

Wayne was the owner/manager. He’d confided that he was about to retire at sixty-eight and take up golfing and fishing full-time. He’d planned it all his life, working hard to establish his chain of supermarkets over the years with that goal in mind. His wife had her own interests, but she had encouraged him to dream his dream until the day she died. Four years ago.

Geraldine thought he seemed to have come to terms with his loss, and was going on in an upbeat manner. What he was at home, or alone, she could not imagine.

His assistant manager had once joked about Wayne’s attraction to Geraldine while she was checking out. Wayne, overhearing, had blushed and shaken his head without comment. But Geraldine had hugged it to herself, and smiled, excited that someone else was aware of it, also.

"Hi, Wayne," Geraldine called out to him, as she went to get a cart. He smiled and waved, he was checking out a big order and had to concentrate. But that greeting distracted him, he almost forgot to check the four cans of diced tomatoes. So he discounted the price for his young mother customer, in order to get her out of the store and on her way with her little boy who was throwing everything out of the cart as quickly as the stock boy placed it in the cart.

Amused and very happy, Geraldine went on with her shopping.

From time to time as she came down to the end of the aisle from where she could see Wayne at work. She would pause before some display and covertly watch him, as she did today. He was wonderful with his customers, never fawning over them, always encouraging, offering discounts to the complainers. She never really understood her reaction to him at all. She blushed to think she could desire his arms around her at this age.

Geraldine looked up to see him gazing at her and flushed. She moved quickly into the next aisle and took a deep breath. "What’s with me?" she whispered to herself. "I am too old for this, surely. Been alone too long, since Hal died."

Suddenly Wayne was beside her, placing his hand over hers on the cart handle, "Geri, let me help you. I took a break from the register so I can visit with you a moment. I want you to tell you, my faithful customer and friend, that this is my last week here. My sons will take over. They already have in a way, which pleases me. But, let me ask you: would you consider letting me take you out to dinner some evening? It would be so special, the least I could do."

"Ah, oh me. Well, yes I would love it, Wayne." She put a jar of mayonnaise in her cart; he put it back on the shelf with a laugh.

"You don’t ever buy that stuff, love. Your homemade is the best there is and you have the ingredients already in your cart."

"Oh, no! Uh, thank you, yes, I do make my own. I suppose you startled me with the offer to have dinner with you. I really never gave thought to going to dinner with anyone since Hal died. I thought that his going put finished to friendships or—oh dear, I am getting out of hand here. It is just a dinner invitation, and I do accept. Thank you," she’d never been so flustered in her life. Did she dare hope?

He took over the cart, "Let’s get your list finished, and get you checked out. I suggest we dine at Wu’s Kitchen, if you like Chinese. You do? Fine. Then I will come for you about six, if that is acceptable. They say people our age always dine at four o’clock and go to bed before nine. Well I dine about six, and set eleven as my bedtime. You’ve mentioned that as your goal also, am I correct?"

"Why, yes, it is. You remembered..." She took a breath, "As I’ve mentioned before, I usually spend a quiet evening, catch some news, read, work puzzles. It relaxes me and I do sleep rather well then."

"We seem to like the same things," Wayne smiled, stopped and turned to her. He gazed into her dark blue eyes and suddenly placed his hands on her arms and pulled her close. He bent his shaggy grey head and gently kissed her on the forehead. "I have wanted to express my gratitude for the longest time," he whispered. "See you about six."

He left her there to finish her list, went to the back of the store, to his office, and closed the door. She stood gazing after him. What was she thinking of? Mrs. Silvester, her landlady and friend, would be appalled at such behavior. But she isn’t here, Geraldine concluded, and with a little giggle completed her chore and left for home. What in the world to wear to dinner? Perhaps slacks and that red blouse with the mandarin collar. And her pearls — no just the earrings would do nicely.

Absorbed in her thoughts, arriving home, she realized that her parking port was occupied by her son’s black SUV. "Oh, drat," she hissed, backed up and pulled instead into a guest parking. "Any other time, William, and I would welcome you, son. If you are here to repair something, I will just leave you to it. Oh, my."

She opened the car trunk and took out her little cart, placed the bags of groceries snugly into it and slammed the door shut. She hurried down the walk, arrived at her open doorway to see her son, Will, watching for her.

"Mom! Let me get that," called the big man in jeans and suit coat who was her son. She loved him dearly, his scraggly appearance was so like that of his father, always needing their brown hair barbered.

She relinquished the cart to him and gave him a hug. He smelled of spicy after-shave.

"Why are you here, darling? All dressed up. Where’s the family?"

"Mom, I told you I was coming tonight, it’s our date at the Symphony. Remember, they are doing their final concert now that summer is upon us? I’ve the tickets and everything. Oh, don’t tell me you forgot! Hah. You must be in love, or getting old, mother."

"Oh, dear, Will. It did slip my mind, and here I have it on the calendar, too. Oh, dear, what will I do?"

"What, Mother? Did you make another commitment? Come on, that is not like you at all. You love the Symphony!"

She almost said, but I also love Wayne and want to be with him. What she said was, "I did accept an invitation to dinner with a friend whom I wouldn’t want to let down, you know. Oh I am so sorry that you have gone to all this trouble. I did forget!" But she couldn’t tell him why, it wouldn’t do to reveal her feelings at this point. Soon, maybe, but not now.

Will finished unpacking her purchases, and turned to her, "Well would you two like to go on to the concert after dinner, then? No seating after seven-thirty, could you make that? I don’t have to go, if your friend would want to go."

In her mind she heard Wayne saying, We both seem to like the same things. It took only seconds for her to make her decision. "I’ll call and make sure . . .yes, we can do that. But I also love my dates with you. Oh I feel so badly, dear."

"Not to worry, Mom. I have the tickets in my wallet; here, you two should have a great time. Call her now. Have your meal a little earlier. This will free me up to catch Kev’s playoffs tonight. I’ll have a chance to eat afterward with the basketball team."

"Call her? Who, oh yes...thank you, Will. I think we can work out the time. So I will see you later in the week? Fine, love you, Will." And this last was almost said to a disappearing figure hurrying to his vehicle. "Well," she murmured, "he was glad to get out of that one." She went to call Wayne.

The dinner was the best. They shared the small dishes of variety prepared by the chefs whom they could watch in the open kitchen, with helpers. They were chopping, steaming, stir-frying and plating with great ease as flare-ups were doused, and it was all accompanied by a great deal of wiping. Everything was quite tasty, but in the days to come Geraldine would not remember the food so much as the company and her unbridled joy.

Wayne was the perfect companion for the Symphony. They had both dressed well, no jeans and suit coat for him but a dinner suit that made him even more handsome; Geraldine had worn her most alluring little deep blue suit which brought out the fairness of her skin. Huge blue sapphire earrings set off her white hair and she felt as a princess must feel, she thought. He could not have given her a more wonderful evening out, and as he presented her to her door, kissed her gently and said goodnight, Geraldine was helplessly in love.

Hopefully she waited for his call the next day, but when bedtime came she finally went to bed admonishing herself that he would call when he was ready. She was too shy to call him. Most baby-boomers are not old fashioned, she thought, we get it on quickly. But she waited. Of course, she justified on the third day, he was busy changing over management of the market to his sons. He would call soon, she must not be too timid, she reminded herself.

Geraldine needed to shop for the weekend. She dressed carefully, gathered her grocery list and drove up to the market. She parked near the door, in an available handicapped stall, hurried in and looked around. Everything was so different! They were modernizing, adding a bank where the bakery used to be, and oh, my goodness, she thought, the bakery is much larger, the produce is all indoors. "It’s so different," she whispered. "Where’s Wayne?"

From behind her a younger version of Wayne (his son, presumably) with a clipboard in hand, said delightedly, "Wayne’s no longer coming in; he is busy preparing for his wedding. Getting married next week. They have lived together for months," he laughed. "Once they made up their minds, he couldn’t wait to get this place turned over to us so he could go. Plans to honeymoon in Europe—" He broke off as Geraldine turned pale and slumped over the shopping cart.

"Ma’am! Here let me help you. Is someone with you? Come sit here at this Starbuck’s table, and I will get you a glass of water, or coffee."

"I’m fine," said Geraldine, straightening. "Just a little back pain from an old injury. I will come again another day. Thank you for being so kind...I really do have to go."

Geraldine went home to the comfort of her apartment. In a few hours, she called the home of Will and his family. There was always someone there, with five children she was never left alone, someone always called to see if she wanted to go here, and there, and everywhere.

"Hello, who is this?"

A voice she did not recognize at once had answered. "Hello?" she queried.

"Oh, hi, Geraldine. I’m their neighbor on the left— you know—Althea. I’m watering the plants and feeding the pets. William and family left for the mountains of Colorado for a week or more. Sorry you didn’t get your message. Yes, well they said your neighbor, Mrs. Sylvester, told them you had a gentleman friend and would not want to go away with them. Yes, she did! I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say, except to ask if you will be all right with this, I could come over and...well all right. Call me, though if you need me."

Geraldine sat staring at the phone in her hand. She replaced the cordless in the cradle, sat for a moment wanting to cry, feeling the pain of abandonment. "No pity party here, you fool," she said aloud to Pixie, her mini poodle. "But, what will I do, all alone? What will I do?"

Several days passed, and Geraldine did not go to the computer, or out to market. She didn’t open the blinds or phone or text anyone; her Kindle lay idle on the bedside table.

So it was that when her children returned home, Will rushed to see her, upset at not having contact with his mother— as well as what Mrs. Sylvester had to relate about the matter. He wondered, had his mother gone away to visit someone, then?

He arrived to find the blinds closed and the doors locked. Will got out his keys and flung open the door. The scent of a house closed for days met his senses and he almost reeled. No need to call out. He’d just check to see if she had left some message where he could reach her, ask about Pixie, her dog, and find out when they would be coming home.

On the couch in the living room, in her nightgown with the poodle in her arms, he found Geraldine. But it was only the remains of his mother, asleep, peaceful in death, hand resting on Pixie who stared up at him.

Will fell to his knees, touched her cold arm, "For God’s sake, mother what has happened? You didn’t tell me you were sick." He put his head on her chest then realized that the dog was also dead . . ."Oh, no mom, not that. You wouldn’t do that..."

But she had.

- THE END -