“I was afraid of disrupting your family.”
“You could have written!”
“I know.”
“You could have let me know you were alive!”
“I know that too.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
You decided that for me?
Then he whispered, “I was wrong.”
“And why involve my granddaughter instead of contacting me?”
“I only had your old Chicago address. When I found Emma’s photograph online, I hoped she could help me reach you.”
“You could have simply asked her.”
“I know. Apparently, growing old hasn’t made me any braver.”
You could have written!
“You crossed an ocean to find me, then decided what was best for me without asking.”
“I know. I was wrong.”
“Funny. My family does the same thing.”
He lowered his eyes.
“But there’s something else I don’t understand.”
I hoped she could help me reach you.
“What?”
“Why send me the ring after all these years? Were you expecting me to marry you?”
He laughed. “Zofia, we’re a little old for that particular arrangement.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Besides, you’re remembering the wrong promise.”
My family does the same thing.
I frowned. “What other promise?”
“Remember the evening my grandfather died?”
“We sat by your bedroom window.”
“I was terrified of growing old alone. You told me we’d both be old someday.”
Something stirred in my memory.
You’re remembering the wrong promise.
“And?”
“You promised that if either of us ended up completely alone, the other wouldn’t let them stay that way.”
“You remembered that all these years?”
“Every word.”
“I’d forgotten, Stanislaw.”
Something stirred in my memory.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My wife died four years ago. We never had children.”
“She must have meant a lot to you.”
“She was wonderful. Her name was Helena.”
The other wouldn’t let them stay that way.
“Michael died five years ago.”
“I know.”
He smiled sadly. “We finally became the two old people we used to joke about.”
My eyes filled.
“I don’t want a wedding, Zofia. I just hoped we might have coffee again.”
My wife died four years ago.
I reached across the table. “Then you should have asked for coffee.”
“I wasn’t certain you’d remember me.”
“Next time, try using your name.”
We laughed.
I thought I’d finally understood why he’d returned. But my daughter was about to ask a question I couldn’t answer.
I just hoped we might have coffee again.
***
When I told Margaret and Emma everything, Emma wiped her eyes.
“Grandma, that’s beautiful.”
Margaret remained silent.
Then she asked, “Why now?”
“Because we’re old, darling.”
My daughter was about to ask a question.
