I know you cared for him. And his reaction proves to me he cared for you as well. No,he could not understand losing you, but how could he? Even as you explained thatyou had always loved me, and that it wouldn't be fair to him, he did not release yourhand. I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change yourmind, but when you stood firm and *sack, "I can't go back with you, I'm so sorry," heknew that your decision had been made. You said he simply nodded and the two ofyou sat together for a long time without speaking. I have always wondered what hewas thinking as he sat with you, but I'm sure it was the same way I felt only a fewhours before. And when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that Iwas a lucky man. He behaved as a gentleman would, and I understood then why yourchoice was so hard.
I remember that when I finished the story, the room was quiet until Kate finally stoodto embrace me.
"Oh,Daddy," she said with tears in her eyes, and though I expected to answer theirquestions,they did not ask any. Instead, they gave me something much more special.
For the next four hours, each of them told me how much we, the two of us, hadmeant to them growing up. One by one, they told stories about things ! had long sinceforgotten.
And by the end, I was crying because I realized how well we had done with raisingthem. I was so proud of them, and proud of you, and happy about the life we haveled. And nothing will ever take that away. Nothing. I only wish you would have beenhere to enjoy it with me.
After they left, I rocked in silence, thinking back on our life together. You are alwayshere with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me toremember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would havebecome had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I wouldhave lived and died with regrets that thankfully I'll never know.
I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, andevery dream I've ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, every daywe are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah I put the pages aside and remember sitting with Allie on our porch when sheread this letter for the first time. It was late afternoon, with red streaks cutting thesummer sky, and the last remnants of the day were fading. The sky was slowlychanging color, and as I was watching the sun go down, I remember thinking aboutthat brief, flickering moment when day suddenly turns into night.
Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon orbelow it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are;there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. Howwould it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?
Looking back, I find it ironic that she chose to read the letter at the exact momentthat question popped into my head. It is ironic, of course, because I know the answernow. I know what it's like to be day and night now; always together, forever apart.
There is beauty where we sit this afternoon, Allie and I. This is the pinnacle ofmy life ∙ They are here at the creek: the birds, the geese, my friends. Theirbodies float on the cool water, which reflects bits and pieces of their colors andmake them seem larger than they really are. Allie too is taken in by theirwonder, and little by little we get to know each other again.
"It's good to talk to you. I find that I miss it, even when it hasn't been that long."
I am sincere and she knows this, but she is still wary. I am a stranger.
"Is this something we do often?" she asks. "Do we sit here and watch the birds a lot?
I mean, do we know each other well?"
"Yes and no. I think everyone has secrets, but we have been acquainted foryears." She looks to her hands, then mine. She thinks about this for a moment,her face at such an angle that she looks young again. We do not wear our rings.
Again, there is a reason for this. She asks: "Were you ever married?" I nod.
“ Yes .”
"What was she like?"
I tell the truth.
"She was my dream. She made me who I am, and holding her in my arms was morenatural to me than my own heartbeat. I think about her all the time. Even now, whenI'm sitting here, I think about her. There could never have been another.'' She takesthis in. I don't know how she feels about this. Finally she speaks softly, her voiceangelic, sensual. I wonder if she knows I think these things. "Is she dead?"
What is death? I wonder, but I do not say this. Instead I answer, "My wife is alive inmy heart. And she always will be."
"You still love her, don't you?"
"Of course. But I love many things. I love to sit here with you. I love to share thebeauty of this place with someone I care about. I love to watch the osprey swooptoward the creek and find its dinner."
She is quiet for a moment. She looks away so I can't see her face. It has been her habitfor years.
"Why are you doing this?" No fear, just curiosity. This is good. I know what she Means,but I ask anyway.
"What?"
"Why are you spending the day with me?" I smile.
"I'm here because this is where I'm supposed to be. It's not complicated. Both youand I are enjoying ourselves. Don't dismiss my time with you‐‐it's not wasted. It'swhat I want. I sit here and we talk and I think to myself, What could be better thanwhat I am doing now?"
She looks me in the eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, her eyes twinkle.
A slight smile forms on her lips.
"I like being with you, but if getting me intrigued is what you're after, you'vesucceeded. I admit I enjoy your company, but I know nothing about you. I don'texpect you to tell me your life story, but why are you so mysterious?"
"I read once that women love mysterious strangers."
"See, you haven't really answered the question. You haven't answered most of my
questions. You didn't even tell me how the story ended this morning."
I shrug. We sit quietly for a while. Finally I ask: "Is it true?" "Is what true?"
"That women love mysterious strangers ?"
She thinks about this and laughs. Then she answers as I would:
"I think some women do."
"Do you?"
"Now don't go putting me on the spot. I don't know you well enough for that." Sheis teasing me, and I enjoy it.
We sit silently and watch the world around us. This has taken us a lifetime tolearn. It seems only the old are able to sit next to one another and not sayanything and still feel content. The young, brash and impatient, must alwaysbreak the silence. It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws peopletogether because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit withoutspeaking. This is the great paradox.
Time passes, and gradually our breathing begins to coincide just as it did thismorning.
Deep breaths, relaxed breaths, and there is a moment when she dozes off, like thosecomfortable with one another often do. I wonder if the young are capable of enjoyingthis. Finally, when she wakes, a miracle.
"Do you see that bird?" She points to it, and I strain my eyes. It is a wonder I cansee it, but I can because the sun is bright. I point, too.
"Caspian stern," I say softly, and we devote our attention to it and stare as itglides over Brices Creek. And, like an old habit rediscovered, when I lower my arm,I put my hand on her knee and she doesn't make me move it.
She is right about my evasiveness. On days like these, when only her memory is gone,I am vague in my answers because I've hurt my wife unintentionally with careless slipsof my tongue many times these past few years, and I am determinednot to let it happen again. So I limit myself and answer only what is asked, sometimesnot too well, and I volunteer nothing.
This is a split decision, both good and bad, but necessary, for with knowledge comespain. To limit the pain I limit my answers. There are days she never learns of herchildren or that we are married. I am sorry for this, but I will not change.
Does this make me dishonest? Perhaps, but I have seen her crushed by thewaterfall of information that is her life. Could I look myself in the mirror without
