The Summer Proposal

I heard a chuckle behind me and turned to find Otto’s wife standing at the door.

She had two coffee cups in her hands. “Thank you. I can see why you two are friends now. That sounded just like something he would say.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

She smiled. “It’s fine. That’s exactly what Otto would want—people being real.” She walked into the room and handed me a coffee. “I know you said you didn’t want one, but you always brought him coffee, so it felt right to return the favor.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Over the next two hours, Mrs. Wolfman and I shared funny stories about Otto. She told me the only person who ever got the soft side of her husband was their daughter. Apparently, she had him wrapped around her finger and could get him to do anything. Like the time in seventh grade she was struggling in algebra, and Mrs. Wolfman told Otto their daughter couldn’t go out and play until she did all her homework. He got home earlier than his wife and had to enforce the rules. It had seemed like he was, until one day when the teacher called with concerns because their daughter’s homework had gone downhill in quality. Even her handwriting had become sloppier. Turned out, Otto was doing her math homework, while she went out to play. And he was even worse at algebra than their daughter.

I was really glad I’d come. Mrs. Wolfman seemed to enjoy sharing stories. But when the nurse asked if we would step out so she could wash Otto, I figured it was time for me to get going.

“Would you mind if I gave you my number so you can let me know if anything changes?” I asked her. “I’m moving in a few days, but I’ll pop back in again before then, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’d love that. Thank you, Max.”

After I entered my number in her phone, I said goodbye, but then turned back. “Mrs. Wolfman?”

“Yes?”

“The other day when he told me he was leaving the Garden to drive cross country with you, he told me his life always felt full because he was with the person he loved. It wasn’t only your daughter Otto had that soft spot for.”

She smiled. “I think there may have been a certain hockey player in that category, too. He just would never let you know it.”

• • •

Two days later, Mrs. Wolfman called to tell me Otto had passed.

CHAPTER 27

* * *

Georgia

Friday night, Maggie made me go out. It had been at least three weeks since I’d seen Max, and I still had zero desire to do anything. But my best friend was not a person who took no for an answer. She’d told me we were going to an art exhibit, which was far better than a singles bar in my mind, but when we arrived at The Gallery, I realized I’d been duped.

There was art on the walls, but the place was also a bar—one filled with wall-to-wall people. “I thought you said this was an art gallery.”

Maggie held her hands out. “It is. They rotate the exhibition every month. Now what do you want to drink?”

I frowned. “Just a water.”

“One lemon drop martini coming up. Good choice.” She winked and disappeared.

I sighed. Since there was actual art around the perimeter of the room, I stepped closer to the piece right in front of me. It was an abstract painting of a woman. While I studied it, a guy walked up next to me.

He tilted a beer toward the canvas. “So…what do you think?”

“I’m not very good with art.”

He smiled. “Well, how does looking at that make you feel?”

I stared at it some more. “Sad, I guess.”

He nodded and pointed to the one next to it. “How about that one?”

“The same.”

“Damn.” He chuckled. “That one is titled Happiness.” He extended his hand. “I’m Scott Sheridan, and those are my paintings.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your work. It’s probably just my mood. I’ve been sort of down lately.”

He laughed. “I’m not insulted. Art makes people feel different things. As long as I made you feel something, I’ve done my job.” He thumbed toward the bar. “Can I buy you a drink? Full disclosure, one of the perks of showing your art here is that all the alcohol is free, so I won’t have to pay for it.”

I smiled. “No, thanks. My friend actually just went to get me one.”

“So, let’s see. So far I’ve asked you if you like my art and offered to buy you a drink. Should I go for the cliché trifecta and ask you if you’re from around here?”

“I live here in the city. How about you?”

“LA. I’m just in town visiting.”

My face dropped. LA. I’d managed to not think about Max for two or three whole minutes at least. Luckily, Maggie came back carrying our drinks, and I didn’t have to continue the conversation unassisted.