He remembered everything.
One afternoon, I asked him,
“How do you keep track of all these people?”
Edward smiled.
“Obviously you do.”
“No.” He looked out the hospital window. “I’m just trying to listen in while they talk.”
Back then, I laughed.
Now… I understand.
Giving attention is Edward’s way of loving people.
—
Three days later, I saw his lawyer again.
The small office upstairs. The bookstore smells faintly of old paper and coffee.
The green backpack is next to my seat.
“I’ve read the notebook,” I said.
He nodded. “I thought so.”
“But I still don’t understand why he married me.”
The lawyer was silent for a long time.
Then he asked, “What did Edward ask you to do?”
I blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“Think carefully.”
So I did.
He didn’t ask me for money.
He didn’t ask me to stay longer.
He didn’t ask me to cancel anything.
I wasn’t even asked to promise anything after he left.
Finally, I whispered, “Nothing.”
The lawyer smiled sadly.
He opened a folder that was sitting on his desk.
Inside was a newspaper clipping.
A photo of Edward standing outside a community counseling center.
The title of the article is: Local Grief Counselor Retires After 40 Years of Service.
I stared at the picture.
“A grief counselor?”
“Yes. Edward spent most of his life helping families after the loss.”
I looked at the article again.
“He didn’t tell me.”
“He hardly told anyone.”
The lawyer folded the cut paper again.
“He believes people listen better when they don’t feel like they’re being manipulated.”
I smiled while crying.
That sounds like Edward.
The lawyer then reached into his desk drawer.
“I almost forgot.”
He placed one last envelope on the table.
On the front, in Edward’s handwriting, are two words.
“After Tuesday…”
“He asked me not to give it to you until after his funeral.”
I didn’t open it there.
—
That night, I took the envelope to the small park across from my apartment.
I opened it slowly.
There is no letter inside.
Just a folded piece of paper in a notebook.
A list.
Botanical Garden
Farmers Market
Ice cream from Oakridge Street
Feed the ducks even if they ignore you.
I laughed before I realized my tears were already flowing.
At the very bottom, he wrote: “Ordinary Tuesdays are where life quietly hides.”
I looked around the park.
The children are chasing pigeons.
Someone walked like a sleepy golden retriever.
An elderly couple happily argue over a crossword puzzle.
Life doesn’t stop.
I’m the only one who has.
The day after Tuesday, I went to the botanical garden.
After that, I walked to the farmers market. I bought peaches that I didn’t really need.
Then I drove to the little ice cream stand on Oakridge Street.
Banila.
Edward guessed correctly.
This is my favorite.
On my way home, I stopped by the lake.
The ducks completely ignored me.
I laughed out loud.
People are staring.
For the first time, I didn’t care.
Months passed.
