Page 11 of Grown-Up Second Chance

But if you just held your nose

And wiggled your toes

The bottom was loaded with cash.”

I had to laugh, bad as it was. “That was really horrible,” I told him. “You haven’t improved since high school.” At least once a week Joe would come up with a really bad limerick that he’d recite in the middle of class or torment me with on the bus ride home.

“My students thought they were funny.”

“Funny? Or did they just groan?” I asked.

“Groan? Diane, you cut me to the quick!” He pounded his fist against his chest and opened his mouth in dramatic excess.

I reverted to being a teenager and rolled my eyes.

“Yeah. You’re right. They groaned.” He grinned again.

I looked at him for a few moments, taking in the sight of him, comparing him to the young man who’d sat next to me in senior year history. The guy who’d taken me to senior prom. The guy I’d never looked at again after that night.

The line of his jaw was softer, but the planes of his face were still strong. In spite of his undeniable Irish roots, something about the profile of his face resembled the visage of Alexander the Great on old Roman coins.

He’d been kind, smart, and in love with me. Or at least I had thought so.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Joe said and tugged the trash from my hand. He tossed it to the top of the heap. “It’s really good to see you. How are you?”

“Good,” I said. “Fine.”

“I’m glad.” He started walking away from the dumpster. Then he stopped. “You coming? Or do you need to spend your own meditative time with the trash?”

“I’m coming,” I said with a laugh and caught up with him.

“Want some tea?” he asked. “I’ve got some sun tea back at the site. We could sit and catch up.”

“I really should—” I stopped abruptly as I spotted a bunny from the corner of my eye. Yanking my phone from my back pocket, I prayed it would stay put until I pulled up the camera on my phone and took the picture.

It was a cooperative rabbit.

After a few snaps, I put it back in my pocket.

“You still like to take pictures,” he said as we ambled away from the dumpster. “I always thought you’d become a great photographer someday. You had a really good eye.”

“I owned my own accounting firm,” I said.

“Accounting’s good, too. We need someone to figure out taxes. Lord knows I never could. Thankfully, Patti did. She was good with investments, too.”

“She’s your wife?” I wasn’t sure which tense to use.

“Was. She passed away about ten years ago. Cancer.” His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

He waved it away. “It was a long time ago.”

“You must have loved her very much.”

“I did. I still do in a way.” He glanced at me. “Not in a way that keeps me from living my life, but you can’t forget someone you spent decades with, no matter what happened.”

I nodded, although I didn’t really understand.

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