John Temple lived across the street with his wife, May. They had no children, but they both loved each other more than I’ve seen anybody love before. John was really shy, and May was really outgoing, so they complimented each other. “Like two peas in a pod”, Mom would say.
And then May got cancer. John would drive her to the doctor’s twice a week, and the neighbors would come over and bring them meals almost every night. John never made a big deal about it, but you could tell he was really grateful for the support.
May died in the middle of the month she was named for. John had her funeral a few days later, and most of his neighbors showed up for it. John didn’t have much family, and Mom said no one from May’s was alive, so we did most of the sitting and crying with him. I even got to go up and say I was sorry and hug him real tight. He didn’t cry, but his nose was all red, and he sniffed every once in a while. He thanked me, and hugged me back, and then he walked to his car and drove off.
We have no idea where he went, because we didn’t see him for about three months. His lawn got long, and his mailbox filled up with junk mail. Mom was kind of worried, and called to check that he was still living here. The town said he was, so we went over and did some work on the house. When I sorted the mail, I only found three letters in there that weren’t bills or magazines. I felt bad for him, and wrote a few cards myself, to cheer him up when he got back.
Well, when John did get back, he didn’t come out of the house for a week. We knew, because the pizza got delivered there almost every night. So on Thursday, Mom put some soup together in a crock-pot, and we carried it over to him. When he opened the door and saw us, he looked pretty sad, but then he smiled a little and let us in. The house was very clean, but the windows were closed, so it was dark. He asked us to sit, and offered us water. But Mom got up and set the table for him, and served him the soup, and we ate with him that night. He was very polite, even though he barely said anything. He just watched his soup, and wiped his chin every once in a while. When we were finished, he thanked us for coming over and then excused himself. We cleaned up the kitchen for him and left.
We started going over every Thursday after that. We’d bring him all kinds of food, and desserts, and we even went strawberry picking one day and left a whole bag in his fridge. After the second or third week, he’d talk to us over dinner, and a while later, he was chatting and laughing as normal as anybody. He would tell us all kinds of stories about his life, and his adventures when he was young. But he never talked about May. Mom said it was because he missed her so much, but I think it’s because he needed to sort it all out in his mind first.
A few weeks after we started taking John meals, my mom’s sister Abby came to visit for a couple days, and went over with us that Thursday to meet John and eat with us. When we walked in, and John shook her hand and seated her next to him and asked her questions, mom and I were pretty surprised. And when he asked us about her the next week we went over, we started worrying that he’d sorta snapped. My brother snickered and said it was “love at first sight”, and that they’d be hitched in no time. Mom told him to hush and finish eating his meatloaf.
The next time Aunt Abby came to visit, she and John talked after dinner for about two hours, and then she went over to his house the next day and they ate and chatted for most of the day. I walked over at noon and had lunch with them, and then sat and listened. They talked about everything: when they were kids, their favorite bands growing up, where they’d lived- even how many pets they’d had. I knew most of Aunt Abby’s stories, because they were the same as my mom’s. But John’s were completely new for both of us. He told us about how he’d grown up in Virginia, and had worked on a fishing boat with his dad, and had gone to college for law. There, he’d met May, and they’d gotten married and lived all over the world. He talked about Switzerland, and India, and South Africa, and a dozen other places he’d travelled with May, ending with here, near her hometown.
We sat very quiet for a couple of minutes, and just kinda stared at the ground. John looked pretty uncomfortable, so Aunt Abby went and knelt down next to him and hugged him real tight. And then John started crying. He didn’t squirm around or bawl or do anything. He just sat there, with Aunt Abby holding him, and sobbed in her neck. I didn’t really know grown men cried until then, but there he was, eyes squeezed close, crying. I went over and hugged him, too, and we stayed there for about a half-hour, holding John while he cried the hurt away.
From that day on, Aunt Abby came to visit about once a month, and sometimes she’d stay for two weeks at a time, just doing all kinds of fun stuff with John. They went to the beach a few times, and the county fair, and the shops on Main Street, and all over the trails by the lake a few miles away. We were pretty excited, because we knew what was coming, and so we weren’t surprised one bit when John proposed to Aunt Abby late in February.
They set the date for three months ahead, and then Aunt Abby went home to prepare. John was so happy, he went home and pulled back the shades from all his windows, and left the front door wide open. If you stood at our front stoop, you could hear record music drifting from his house. We brought him dinner that Thursday, and congratulated him again, and he thanked us and sat us all down, then hummed throughout the entire meal. We could hardly keep from laughing.
When mom answered the phone on Saturday, and I saw her eyes go wide and watched her fall on the floor, I knew right away something had happened to Aunt Abby. Dad told us a few hours later that she’d died in a car accident coming back from quitting her job. I was crying in my room when I heard Mom talking about going over to tell John. I came out and went with her across the street. John saw us out the window and came to the door, but his smile dropped when he saw our faces. Mom started to talk, and right after she said “John” with that voice that means something’s wrong, he walked onto the little porch, grabbed hold of both railings, and stared at us with fear in his eyes. I went forward and hugged him around the waist as Mom explained what had happened. I was crying, but John didn’t say anything. He just picked me up and held me, and I could hear him trying to keep his breathing steady. When Mom was done, he held me for a little longer, then set me back on the porch and hugged Mom. She was crying too, but he still didn’t show any emotion, and after a minute, he thanked us quietly and turned to go back inside.
The funeral was on Wednesday. John came and sat in the front, but he didn’t say a word to anyone, and only touched the casket lightly before suddenly leaving. We were afraid, and Dad went out to follow him home, but he was already gone. We called the neighbors a few minutes later, and they still hadn’t seen him. After the service, we drove home, and John still wasn’t there. We were really worried, and Dad jumped back in the car with my brother and drove around town the rest of the night, looking for him. I fell asleep crying, and praying for John.
* * * *
We were sitting at the dinner table on Thursday when I heard someone knock on the door. Mom got up to open it, and came back into the dining room, followed by John Temple holding a crock-pot of steaming rice. They were both smiling, and John’s eyes were wet as he sniffed and said, “Thought you might like something to eat.”
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