AT 69, I SOLD MY HOUSE TO TRAVEL AROUND THE WORLD DESPITE MY CHILDREN’S PROTESTS – IN AUSTRALIA, A MAN INVITED ME TO HIS HOME FOR COFFEE, BUT WHEN I WALKED INTO HIS LIVING ROOM, I FROZE

Selling the house.
Traveling alone.
Enjoying myself.
Part of me had wondered whether moving forward meant leaving him behind.

And there he was, in his own handwriting, telling me to go.

I’d carried a quiet guilt.

***

Arthur and I sat talking until the coffee grew cold.

He told me stories about Robert that I’d never heard.

Robert falling asleep during a jazz concert, getting lost while insisting he knew exactly where he was, and trying to cook fish over a campfire before dropping it in the dirt.

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“That sounds like him,” I said, giggling.

He told me stories about Robert.

Arthur smiled.

“Your husband talked about you constantly near the end.”

That surprised me. Then something dawned on me.

“You knew I existed before we met.”

“Of course.”

“Then, when we met at the bookstore…”

“I didn’t know it was you.”

That surprised me.

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My married name wasn’t unusual, and Arthur hadn’t seen recent photos of me.

Only after our second afternoon together, when I mentioned Robert and where we’d lived, did Arthur begin to wonder.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”

“Because imagine you’re traveling alone in Australia and some strange man says, ‘By the way, I knew your dead husband and have been storing his letters for 12 years.'”

Arthur hadn’t seen recent photos of me.

I smiled.

“That would’ve been memorable.”

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“I thought coffee was safer.”

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“So you invited me here on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the painting.”

“Partly.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“That would’ve been memorable.”

Arthur looked almost embarrassed.

“And partly because I wanted to see my best friend’s wife. The one he loved with all his heart.”

That changed the air between us.