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After a cold shower and a rest on a teak bench wrapped in a towel, I at least feel like I have enough energy to collapse in my car.When did I get this old?Even after trying to wake up with the cool spray of the water, my body still feels overheated and exhausted. I think I might have to get an iced coffee before my art class. I’ll never tolerate anything hot.
Is this what I have to look forward to? Am I perimenopausal?Don’t think about it, Poppy.A ‘me day’ is supposed to be a good thing. Contemplating my fertility is definitely not on that list.
Walking into my favorite café, I order my drink and take a seat at a corner table by the window. Thankfully, I still have an hour before my pottery class begins, and it’s not far from here. I’m excited to push myself today.
A small triangular crack had developed in my last piece after it was heated in the kiln. I was so disappointed as I’d worked diligently on it before that. But then my mind drifted to the Kintsugi exhibit at the museum the night of that incredible date with Broadie. I’d learned that Kintsugi was the Japanese term for golden joinery. The art of repairing broken pottery by mending the area with a powder mixed with gold, silver, or sometimes platinum. Maybe I could try something like that this afternoon. Create something beautiful to highlight that crack versus painstakingly cover it.
Taking a sip of my drink, I can’t help but reflect on this. The Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, I’d read, embraces the flaws. It regards cracks or imperfections as valuable moments in history. It accepts change as fate. And isn’t that how we should approach life? The things with which we have no control.
My mind’s reverie is suddenly halted as my eyes flick across the street to a familiar figure.It’s him.
As if I’m on autopilot, I rise from my seat, grab my drink and my purse, and make haste for my car, all the while keeping my eyes trained on him. Maybe that Barre Yoga class fried my brain. Why I’m chasing this young man is beyond me. Yet, it feels necessary, as if this third time seeing him is the charm. I want answers.
Starting my car, I idle as I watch him on his phone in his vehicle. He definitely looks more like a boy than a man. Before I can contemplate this further, his car pulls out from where it’s parallel parked along the curb.
Trying to keep my distance, I follow along behind him. I feel like there should be theme music from an oldStarsky & Hutchpolice show. Those two were always trailing someone. But what sense is there in a thirty-eight-year-old pharmacist turning private eye? I have no idea.
I haven’t been able to shake why seeing this young man in the cemetery has rattled me. Why does he keep coming there? Who is he visiting? A grandparent? I’ve noticed some family members leave trinkets, note cards, and such by their loved ones’ graves. But there would be nothing of value to pillage from Dan’s. I shudder even contemplating that’s why he might be there. Is it simple curiosity? Why someone as young as Dan may have died?
As I continue following along behind him, I try to let other cars slip between us, so he doesn’t realize he’s being tailed. Okay, so maybe I have been watching too many crime shows. But now that I’ve finally decided to know more, it no longer feels optional. I want some answers.
It only takes a few more blocks before I realize he’s leading me right to Dan. Does he know I’m behind him? Is this some sort of trick? Working on my hunch that he’s headed to my husband’s grave, I pull back. Losing sight of him momentarily, I park under a large oak tree to the far right of Dan’s headstone. Carefully stepping out of my car, I slowly make my way in that direction when I see him. I guess I’ll be saving my broken vase until next week. I’ll never make it to art class now.
Coming closer, he appears to be over six feet tall with dark hair. He’s wearing jeans and a beat-up cotton T-shirt. Standing motionless in front of Dan’s headstone with his hands in his pockets, I take a few steps more when I step on a branch.
The young man’s head snaps in my direction, his bright blue gaze locked on mine. His face is expressionless.
“Hi.” My voice is low. The crack a telltale sign of my nervousness.
“Hi.” His voice sounds much more relaxed, in control.
“I’ve seen you here before.”
The young man doesn’t answer, just continues to watch me as I approach.
“I’m Poppy. Dan’s wife.”
“I thought you might be,” he responds.
What?I have to swallow down the lump in my throat.
“I’m Gavin.” He turns back to look at the headstone, and my head spins.That’s it?
I take a few steps closer. “Nice to meet you, Gavin.” Why am I so nervous? He’s just a boy. “Did you know my husband?”
“Yes.”
Wow. And here I thought Dan and I shared everything. Had he mentored him somehow, and I hadn’t retained the information as being important? Or perhaps Gavin was an avid rock climber and had met him at the store where Daniel worked before he became so weak.
“I feel bad,” I say. Gavin’s head turns back, giving me his full attention. “I don’t recall him mentioning you.”
Gavin’s eyes drop, and there’s the slightest change in his expression. As if these words have somehow offended him, but he doesn’t want to let on.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. I’m sure he didn’t tell me everything.” I try to laugh, but it comes out half-hearted.For I really thought he did tell me everything.
“It’s okay. I’m not upset.”
Taking in a fortifying breath, I decide to go all in. “If you don’t mind my asking, who was Dan to you?”
