If You Only Knew(123)

I go down the hallway. The patients’ names are written outside their doors in childish handwriting with drawings of flowers and animals. There’s probably some kind of adopt-a-grandparent program going on here. I bet Rachel would know.

I stop outside Room 227. Elizabeth Walker, the sign reads, and there’s a picture of a cat and a tree with two branches and a giant crow. I peek in, then jerk back.

Leo’s in there.

“Jenny?”

Shit, I’m busted. Feeling my face burn with heat, I show myself. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. It’s Saturday, and you usually come on... Well. I just thought I’d stop by.”

He stands up. I forgot how tall he is. Two weeks without seeing him, and I forgot that.

“Who is this?” Mrs. Walker asks. “I don’t know this person! What do you want? Don’t steal from me! The last people took everything!”

I guess coming to visit her wasn’t a great idea.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Leo says, and his voice is so gentle and kind I can feel it in my chest. “She’s my friend. Her name is Jenny.”

“Hi, Mrs. Walker.” Leo’s mother-in-law seems far too young to be here. Her skin is beautiful, her hair thick and blond-gray, but she’s very thin, and her eyes have a lost, frightened look.

“I don’t know you,” she says, her eyes flicking toward Leo.

“She’s nice,” Leo says. “Sit down, Jenny.”

“Don’t steal my things,” Mrs. Walker says.

“I won’t,” I tell her, trying to look responsible and caring, though fearing I look guilty as hell.

“How are you?” Leo asks me.

“Fine. Good.” I glance at Mrs. Walker and lower my voice. “I’m sorry. I was visiting my father’s grave and I thought of... I thought maybe Mrs. Walker could use some company.”

He stares at me for a second, his eyes achingly sad. “That was very nice of you.” He sits back down. “You look very pretty, by the way.”

“Oh. Right. It was Kimber’s wedding. One of my brides, remember?”

“Bride?” Mrs. Walker asks, looking at Leo. “Is this your wife?”

Oh, God. The words scrape my heart. I can’t imagine how Leo must feel. This poor woman, who can’t remember her daughter, her only child, the baby she raised and loved.

And yet, this lucky woman, who can’t remember that her daughter is gone.

“No,” Leo says, clearing his throat. “I’m afraid my wife died.”

Something flickers across Mrs. Walker’s face, like an autumn leaf blowing across a field. Then it’s gone.

“Well,” she says. “I’m sure she loved you very much.”

The words fill the room, and I have to bow my head under the leaden weight of sadness.

“Yes,” Leo says.

I stand up. I can’t cry in front of Leo, will not add my tears to all the grief he carries every day. That would not be the act of a friend. That would not be a gift. “I should go. It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Walker,” I say. I stick out my hand, but she just looks at it as if she’s not sure what it’s for. I end up putting my hand on her shoulder, very briefly.

Then I look at Leo. “Take care of yourself,” I say. “It was good to see you.”

“You, too.”

I go out the door, walking briskly but not running, down the hallway, into the lobby, out onto the sidewalk, tears dripping off my cheeks. Why did I walk here? Why didn’t I drive over?

I’ll walk back to the church, then drive to the country club. Mom and I will have a good time, and I’ll dance with my nieces, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even meet a nice guy.

But I really don’t want to. There’s only one guy I want.

“Jenny.”

I lurch to a stop and wipe my eyes hastily.

“You’re faster than you look,” Leo says.

“Hey.”

“Thank you for visiting her.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“No. She’s always like that.”

I nod. The breeze whispers past, drying the tear streaks on my cheeks. “How are you?”

“Fine. Good.” He smiles, and I realize he’s echoing me from earlier. Then his smile falls away. “Actually, I’m kind of a mess.” He takes a deep breath. “Ever since Evander’s audition, I’ve been playing. Badly. It...brings a lot up, you know?”

I nod. After seeing him play with his entire heart, yes, I would guess it does.

“The thing is, Jenny...I guess I wasn’t really for recreation only. And I don’t really want to keep on being...tormented. So I’m working on forgiving myself. They asked me to teach at Juilliard in the fall. I’ve been playing a lot, because something shook loose that day, and it’s pretty much like hitting the keys with wooden mallets, but at least I’m doing something, and I can see that I’m rambling now, because I’m kind of terrified.”

“Why?”

“Just living can be pretty terrifying. I don’t know how you do it. You’re always so damn optimistic.”

“Sorry.” I feel the start of a smile. “I’ll work on that.”