\nShe now walks alone to the market, where she used to kiss him through the car window.\n
I sat at the same caf\u00e9 every Thursday morning with a notepad that I hardly ever filled and my barely warm espresso. Since relocating to this tranquil Oregon seaside town\u2014my haven from the bustle of Seattle\u2014it had settled into a peaceful routine. The air here smelled of salt and new bread, the streets moved more slowly, and the silence surrounded me like a blanket I didn\u2019t realize I needed.\n
However, despite my best efforts to concentrate on my journal, my gaze kept wandering across the street at precisely nine o\u2019clock.\n
The silver Ford Crown Victoria would arrive at that moment. An older man with white hair that was well brushed back was inside, always wearing a tweed jacket. He didn\u2019t escape. With his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the pavement, he simply waited.\n
Then she would show up.\n
Wearing a black tote bag and her typical pink cardigan, she moved slowly while leaning on a cane. She always had a lovely rose tint on her lips. As if he were harboring a secret for her, he would always smile when she leaned near the window, kissed him on the lips or cheek, and whispered something. Then, as if nothing remarkable had just occurred, she would straighten her bag and enter the market.\n
However, it was the highlight of my day each week.\n
Their names escaped me. Never gave a wave. I just silently cheered for something I didn\u2019t completely grasp while watching from a distance.\n
The car didn\u2019t arrive until a certain Thursday.\n
I saw right away. No glitz and glamour. There isn\u2019t a man waiting. I clutched my coffee as if it would explain his absence as I glanced across the street. They might have been late. He might have been ill. Then I caught sight of her.\n
Her cane was wobbly on the bricks, and she traveled more slowly than usual. Where the automobile normally waited, she came to a stop. surveyed the area. She pursed her lips. Her eyes strayed, looking.\n
She remained still.\n
\n
Before I could reconsider, I crossed the street. \u201cMadam?\u201d I asked quietly. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d\n
Her eyes were more watery than colored when she turned to face me. With hardly more than a breath in her voice, she stated, \u201cHe passed on Monday.\u201d Though practiced, the sentence was nevertheless brittle.\n
That day, I walked her to the market.\n
Lillian was her name. She was 86 years old. Fifteen years ago, she met Frank\u2014yes, that Frank\u2014at a library event after having already been widowed. They never got hitched. She smiled slightly and continued, \u201cDidn\u2019t see the point.\u201d However, dad picked me up for the market every Thursday. waited in a gentlemanly manner.\n
What did she used to whisper, I asked?\n
Yes, I would let him know what I planned to purchase. Every time, he made an absurd assumption. similar to fireworks. or caviar.\n
I didn\u2019t understand I was reading the last chapter of a love story until that first walk. However, on Thursday of the next week, I parked where Frank always did. There are risks. Just instinct, no plan.\n
Lillian giggled when she saw me. She remarked, \u201cYou even parked crookedly.\u201d \u201cLike him.\u201d\n
Suddenly, a new custom was established.\n
Every week, we strolled together to the market. I learned how to choose the best fruit from her. She informed me that the butcher always referred to her as \u201cdarlin\u201d but never remembered her name. I began to tell her about myself, including how I had left a relationship that made me forget who I was and a job that was draining.\n
One Thursday, she grasped a bunch of daisies and told me, \u201cYou\u2019re grounded now.\u201d \u201cYou simply weren\u2019t aware of it yet.\u201d\n
She started referring to me as a \u201ckid,\u201d even though I was thirty-three. She would say, \u201cI have a grandson who is older than you.\u201d \u201cBut if it hits him in the head, he doesn\u2019t know what a good plum is.\u201d\n
I eventually took her to other locations as well. book club. The antique jukebox at the diner that was still functional if you struck it correctly. I had no intention of replacing Frank. I was unable to. However, I might be present.\n
She gave me a folded note one day.\n
\u201cIf I forget. or if I take the lead. Give him this.\n
\u201cTo whom?\u201d I inquired.\n
The man who parks for you, to whom\n
Uncertain, I laughed. \u201cI don\u2019t believe\u2014\u201d\n
She tapped my palm with her cane and said, \u201cYou don\u2019t get to decide when someone parks for you.\u201d \u201cBut be sure to leave the hazards on when they do.\u201d\n
It has now been a year. I continue to park there every Thursday, danger lights glowing. I go even if Lillian isn\u2019t always interested in the market. I deliver groceries for her. We converse. Grant, her grandson, is someone I\u2019ve met. When she chastises him for missing her birthday, he blushes, works in technology, and once told me, \u201cI haven\u2019t seen her this happy in a long time.\u201d\n
We\u2019ve made a few outings.\n
Actually, though, I just waited at the curb.\n
She now waits for me every Thursday.\n
Please share this tale if it touched you, brought a smile to your face, or brought to memory a loved one. Perhaps someone else needs to know that love endures. It simply finds a new parking spot sometimes.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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