Adelaide Reid must choose between living in the past and moving on when she returns to her hometown and meets a charming restaurateur.
It's been seven months since Adelaide Reid's husband of five years, Alex Orwell, walked out and left her. She retu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
At exactly one and a half hours later, I arrived at Mrs. Jeffrey's place, with Ma and Pa. I parked beside the road and we emerged soon afterward. An old man sat underneath a tent at the side of the house with a few other guests. It was just as Mrs. Jeffrey had said—only a tiny gathering. Suddenly I remembered the many children who frequented her place in the old days, and now, seeing the place almost empty made me realize that those children were perhaps all grown and had moved on with their lives. The thought evoked sadness within me, and as I stood there I couldn't help but feel a little pity for the old woman I was about to visit.
She soon came out to greet us. "Hi—welcome," she said, her voice trailing off. "Nice that you have come." She looked tired and sad, as expected since it was only one week since Mr. Jeffrey had passed.
"Glad to be here," Pa said, his tone dropping at the end.
Ma hugged Mrs. Jeffrey and released her. "So, how have you been keeping?"
"I getting by little by little," she said, as I thought I saw sadness sweep her face. "You see that rose over there—those red roses? He was pruning those when he took ill with chest pains. Now, every time I see my roses I think of him, and I expect that every red rose from now on, would in fact carry the same sentiment. That day I remember him complaining of pain, like a needling sensation in his arms, and I told him to rest, but he insisted on pruning the roses." With all her grief, Mrs. Jeffrey seemed to love talking about her deceased husband, and I admired her for that. Maybe that's what makes her able to cope better. I wished I could try that too! But I couldn't. You see, Mrs. Jeffrey had good things to say about her husband because he didn't abandon her for another woman.
"Well, it's great that you got something as fine as a rose to remember him by. Still, it must be hard, but I have no words that can take your pain away," Pa said.
"Yes," Mrs. Jeffrey said. "Anyway, come on inside." As she began to lead us inside, she turned to me. "So, Adelaide, how have you been keeping?"
"Okay," I said, wondering how she had the courage to enquire about someone else with all the pain she carried.
She nodded, as she led us to the shed where a few people were already seated—an old man, and a young couple. Ma and Pa took a seat next to the old man and soon struck up a conversation. I realized they knew each other. Perhaps, I did too, for he looked familiar, only I couldn't place him.
I took a seat next to Ma, which was beside the doorway, and observed Mrs. Jeffrey as she set about rearranging the chairs around a small table. She looked less wobbly today, I thought, as I reflected on her earlier ease in discussing her late husband. What a strong fine old lady! Even inviting people to her home so soon after her loss took great courage, half of which I couldn't imagine myself having. Of course, it was a prayer service, a customary event after a funeral—but still, to be able to tolerate others' company, as Mrs. Jeffrey did, was most commendable. And so, I silently decided that I was going to make today a better day—my pedestal to the healing process. If Mrs. Jeffrey can live through her pain, discuss it, and be around people, then so can I. I must try!
