she said, trying to make it a joke. But the truth was that she was often lonely. She knew she did it to herself, but that didn’t change the fact that she was missing something extra in her life.
“You need a nice young man to talk to instead,” he told her. “My Martha and I talked every single day for fifty-three years. Sometimes I still talk to her, and I can hear her voice just as clear as day with a reply. I replay her voice on our answering machine when I truly need some healing.” He stopped talking as tears shown in his eyes.
“I don’t know, Mr. Melville, seeing the heartbreak of losing someone you love so much sort of scares me to look for that. It hurts too much when it’s over.”
He gave her a kind smile. “I wouldn’t give up a single minute I had with Martha, not one single second, hour, or day, not even in those early years when we’d fight over the silliest of things. That allowed me to get to know her better and appreciate all she did for me, our children, and then our grandchildren. I’d do it all over again, even knowing how much my heart aches now.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” she told him. He was holding a red piece of his puzzle and looking all over. He set it down and grabbed another. She picked it up and placed it in the correct place. He smiled at her, a secret smile that told her he was in a good place in his mind and heart.
“You always help me with the hard ones,” he said. “You truly are a good woman, Erin. I believe my Martha led me here to help me heal.” He placed his piece and picked another up before looking at her again. “I’ll miss you a lot. Will you allow this old man to write to you?”
Erin felt unbearable sadness at his words. “Where are you going?”
He was quiet for several moments and she waited, giving him time to form words. When he looked up again, there were tears falling down his cheeks. She handed him a Kleenex box she kept beneath her counter, and he gratefully took a few of them, wiped his cheeks, then tucked them in his pocket.
“When Martha was going through her cancer treatments she made me promise I’d move into the retirement place that’s three blocks from our oldest son’s home. I told her I didn’t want to leave the house we’d built together, raised our children in, and made our memories in. She told me I had to promise to move there, to be with others, and to live my life. I finally said I would, but I haven’t been able to keep that promise until now. My son took me there last month and there were wonderful people who shared stories with me, saying it was just as hard for them, but with others around who loved to share stories of their lost loved ones, they said it was the smartest thing they’d ever done. My grandkids can walk over and spend time with me. Of course, all four of my children begged me to move in with them. We raised good kids who are all successful, and offered to build me a suite of my own. But I’ve been independent my entire life, and I want to feel that I still am. I might be moving a little slower these days, but I still move good,” he said. He patted the cane next to him. “I like this more as a prop than a real need. I can knock someone’s knees if they get too frisky with me.”
His final sentence made Erin laugh. “I’m sure you’ve knocked a lot of knees, especially in your years in the Air Force.”
“I had a lot of adventures in the Air Force. Many of the men I served with are now gone, but a few of us are left. They were great men.”
“I bet they were and are,” Erin told him. “I’ll miss you a lot. Maybe I can come by and have lunch with you sometime.”
He beamed at her. “I’d truly love that.”
The door dinged, and both of them turned to see a large man walk inside. It only took a couple of heartbeats for Erin’s eyes to widen in shock at who was walking through her front door.
Joseph Anderson — in her diner — in the middle of nowhere — at