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It takes Elijah a moment to answer, and he smiles to himself like he has a private joke but isn’t going to share it. "She's good, Dad. Great girl."
"Mmmm," Cobb says, trying to sound noncommittal. "Well, from my own personal experience, I can tell you that great girls don't come along every day."
"I can confirm that.” Elijah nods. "I've known a fair amount of women, and getting the perfect combination of beauty and brains and personality in a girl who also doesn’t find you at least mildly repulsive is more challenging than you'd think.”
Cobb laughs appreciatively at his son’s display of self-deprecating humor.
"So, can I ask what's going on there, or is that too Dad-like to inquire about your intentions with this girl?" Cobb lets his fingers brush against the guitar strings softly as the lyrics he's been toying with dance through his head.
"You can ask, but I'm not sure I have an answer. So far I think we've decided on being friends, which suits us both. Living as far apart as we do makes it hard to commit to anything more. And frankly, I think Athena's coming off of some sort of break-up or bad situation, because she's a bit guarded with me." He shrugs. “I do get that. People can hurt you and leave scars, and sometimes it takes a while to get over it."
"True," Cobb agrees mildly. "And maybe she'll visit you in London at some point."
"I've invited her," Elijah says. "As soon as she sorts through the stuff with her dad, and starts to feel like putting herself out there again romantically, I'd be open to it."
"She still hung up on the stuff that crystal ball lady said on New Year's Eve?” Cobb doesn’t put a ton of credence in the supernatural, but he also can’t write it off entirely. In his mind, just because you can’t see things doesn’t mean that they don’t exist, but it’s never happened to him, so he’s not sure whether it’s real.
"I think she took it to heart," Elijah admits, pushing himself up and standing. "And that's another big part of her healing, figuring out what to do about her half-brother."
Elijah told his parents about their encounter with Ella on the beach, along with her premonitions and feelings about Athena's family. Surely a girl with so much on her plate emotionally is someone who needs to work through her stuff before getting into any type of relationship, so Cobb has to admit that he's glad his son isn't rushing into anything.
"What are you working on?" Elijah asks his dad. He has the face and body of a grown man, but sometimes his mannerisms still remind Cobb of his little boy, and it makes him smile.
"I've had some songs in my head since I got here, and they won't leave me alone until I get them written down." Cobb puts his fingers on the frets and then starts to strum. "It's all knocking around in my brain, and I need to get it worked out."
"Number one hits, are they?” Elijah’s eyes dance. He's always been Cobb's biggest fan, and Cobb knows that his son has gotten into music purely because of him. And he's a damn fine guitarist, his kid. Cobb is incredibly proud of Elijah and his work, and while the boy could have become anything he wanted to--a chef, a writer, a session musician who works with other artists and just makes a steady income doing something he enjoys--he loves watching Elijah live the life of an artist, sharing a flat in London with a couple of other guys, writing his own music, and working odd jobs as he fits in studio time and tries to make something of himself on his own talent.
"I'm not sure if we're talking Grammys and millions of dollars here," Cobb admits, "but I'm having fun. It's been a long time since I really felt the music in my soul and couldn't rest until I got it out."
"That's awesome, Dad.” Elijah says. "I'll let you get on with it while I check on Mum, and then I’ll try to whip something up for dinner to feed you two before I leave you to your own devices." It's a running joke between them that Marigold and Cobb would subsist entirely on toast and jam and coffee without Elijah there to prepare full gourmet meals, and while Marigold is a solid cook in her own right, she doesn't relish the process like Elijah does. And now that they're in their fifties, she and Cobb both prefer to keep things simple and focus their energies on other things. So theywillmiss him; they'll miss his company, and they'll definitely miss his cooking.
"We won't starve, buddy," Cobb says, turning his head to watch as Elijah walks through the open doorway and into the house. He shakes his head, charmed as always by this little family that he and Marigold created together.
And things between him and Marigold have been reasonably good, he thinks. Her book club friends have been in and out, keeping her company as she tends to him. And he's grown to love Ruby and Sunday in particular. He appreciates Ruby's levelheaded, practical kindness; in all ways except the literal way, she seems to still be a First Lady. And Sunday Bond--what a minx that one is! He's heard all the gossip coming from the kitchen as the women sit in there and talk about her and the Secret Service agent, and he's enjoyed teasing her whenever she comes in to have a cup of tea with him in the front room. She's the only one he's talked to about the songs he's writing, and she's been sworn to secrecy, which is fun. Cobb loves having the women come and go, each bringing her own brand of humor and care into the house, and leaving behind the scents of their perfume and the ringing of their laughter.
But Sunday—she gets him. One day while they sipped their respective cups of cinnamon-orange tea, she’d shot him a knowing look. “You still love her, don’t you?”
Cobb had finished swallowing his tea before answering. “She’s the light of my life. I mean, look at her: she’s gorgeous, her heart is as big as the moon, and she took in an old codger like me in my time of need. There’s no woman on the planet like Marigold Pim.”
“Indeed,” Sunday said then, smirking at him over the edge of her mug. “They broke the mold after they made her.”
“It’s wrong of me to ask, Sunday, but do you think there’s any chance she’d ever take me back?” he’d ventured, looking out the window instead of at Sunday.
She took a beat to think it through before answering. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I think she’d be a fool not to. I was married for thirty years, and not once did I catch my husband gazing at me with love and adoration the way you do to her—and you two have been divorced for a decade. However, in my situation, therewasthe added factor of my husband being attracted to men,” she said with a smirk, “but still.” Sunday held her mug of tea with both hands as she assessed him coolly. “She can have her complaints about the way your marriage went, and those are valid feelings, for sure. But now that I’m a woman of a certain age, I know how rare it is to find someone who loves you wholly. And I believe that you are a man who has loved Marigold—all of her, entirely—since the day you said ‘I do.’”
"I have," Cobb said without hesitation. "I have. And if I could go back and undo any of the things I've done wrong, I would. In a heartbeat. Hurting her or Elijah in any way would go at the top of my list of regrets. But all I can do is get things right going forward."
"I hear you," Sunday said. "And I think that with time, Marigold will hear you, too." At that point, Sunday had set her mug down on the coffee table and stood up, wiping her hands on the front of her jeans. "But now, if you don't mind, I think I'll bring the laundry in that she's hung in the garden. I know she can do all these things with her eyes closed, but it feels good for us to pitch in and find ways to be useful. You know how women are." Sunday winked at him and let a hand rest on his shoulder as she stopped next to him.
"I am well acquainted with the intricacies of women," Cobb agreed, looking up at her. "But I have to say, the novelty of having the First and Second Ladies swing by to bring in my laundry or fix me a cup of tea never wears off."
This made Sunday laugh uproariously. “It keeps us humble," she’d said, patting his shoulder and walking through the house and out into the garden.
But today Marigold and Heather are working together in the kitchen while Elijah cooks. They’re talking through something that Marigold wants to do on her Instagram page—at least as far as he can tell. Cobb admires Marigold deeply for what she's doing at the moment; he's always admired her, but seeing her roll up her sleeves and resist being pigeonholed based on her age is beautiful to watch. He doesn't care if no one ever hires her to model again--he never cared whether or not she was a famous model in the first place, though he has always admired her beauty--but what he doesn't like is the way that people see fit to tear her down over her looks. That's not right.
From the kitchen comes Heather's laughter as she and Marigold kick around ideas. He can hear the lilt of their voices, but not their words, which is okay. It makes working on his music easier. With his guitar in hand again, Cobb goes back to his strumming, singing the words he's working on quietly to himself as the women chatter excitedly in the kitchen.
Marigold
