Never Too Late for Love by Warren Adler

Author:Warren Adler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Aged, Florida, Older People, Fiction, Retirees, General, Action and Adventure, Short Stories (Single Author), Social Science, Gerontology
Publisher: Stonehouse Press
Published: 1995-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

TYING UP LOOSE ENDS

When his persistent chest pains were diagnosed as angina, Arnold Gold realized that he was, indeed, approaching the outer edges of his mortality. He was frightened at first, then surprised. For at Sunset Village, death was commonplace, and the Sunset Village theme song--the ambulance siren--was as ubiquitous as lightening bugs on early tropical evenings.

The knowledge that his flesh was expiring wrought profound changes in Arnold Gold. The doctor said he could live another ten years if he watched himself carefully, rested, and took his medication as prescribed. But, then, they always said that. Having just passed his seventy-second birthday, reaching his eighties in a reasonably together state seemed too remote a possibility to contemplate, especially when the pains stabbed at his chest.

The idea of confessing must have surfaced in his subconscious during the night after his visit to the doctor, because when he awoke the following morning, there was no debate raging within him. The decision was made; he would confess. He would tie up those last loose ends of his life.

He put on his bathrobe and went into the kitchen, where his wife, Rachel, was busy making coffee. They shared most household chores, and it was Arnold's job to make the English muffins. He put them in the broiler and watched them brown, pats of butter melting and running over their ridged surfaces.

"I'm about to tell you something Rachel," he said, looking at the muffins as he lifted them from the broiler with a spatula. "I'm about to make a full confession." He sensed that his wife hesitated briefly as she poured the coffee, but it did not deter him.

"I've been unfaithful," he said, finally turning toward her as he put the muffins on the small Formica surface where they had their breakfast. She continued to fill the cups with steaming coffee, then sat down, busying her hands with mixing the cream and sugar into her cup. She kept her eyes averted, concentrating on her task at hand. He knew she wouldn't look at him now, not directly, until he finished what he had to say. That was her way. She was a pouter, and her anger smoldered rather than erupted. He sat beside her, sipped his coffee, and started on his muffins.

"Just don't say anything until I've finished," he said, biting off a tiny bit of muffin and washing it down with coffee.

"Jam?" she asked, moving the jar of blueberry jam toward him.

"It started when I worked in the Vogue Shoe Store on Kingston Avenue," he said. "We must have been married seven years. Believe me, Rachel, I never looked at another woman until then. But you were having those terrible headaches and, let's face it, I had certain needs." He looked up briefly. She was sipping her coffee quietly.

"We're different, you and I," he continued. "You could take it or leave it--mostly leave it--but I was going crazy. She was Charlie Weinstein's wife. They owned the store, and Sherry Weinstein was helping with the books and the stocks.

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