Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [96]
For the next two months, Henry visited Lulu every day. He wheeled her around the halls, cut up her food, changed the channels, read books, played music, kept silent company while she slept. But most important, he entertained her with stories about his life. After a few weeks, Henry felt brave enough to show her the cherished photo and Lulu blushed with coy embarrassment over his devotion. It was that afternoon he also mustered the courage to say, “I love you, Lulu,” as he had so many times before, alone in the dark. But this was the first time those worshipped lips responded in kind. “And I love you, Henry.”
They talked of marriage, but only in the abstract way one talks about things that will never come to fruition. They both knew what would come next, but never talked about it, choosing instead to spend their limited time together in happiness. And they did, until the morning that Lulu Livingstone died in Henry McGlinchy's arms, barely two months after they had finally met, and eighty years after Henry had first pledged his love.
When he was done with his story, all of us, Henry, Bastian, and I, had lumps in our throats and tears in our eyes. Finally, after a few moments of reverential silence, this ornery old man took off his crumpled hat, held it to his heart, and spoke.
“Love,” he said, “has the longest arms.” And then he walked downtown.
My tears turned to sobs. Heavy, heaving, heaping sobs. I wish I could say it was because I was so moved by this man and the certainty with which he pursued this pure, devoted love, but I'd be lying.
Henry and Lulu made me start thinking about my grandmother Gladdie and Moe, her “beau” from the nursing home where she spent the last year of her life. They too met and fell in love in their nineties after a lifetime spent with someone else. Were they fortunate enough to find true love twice? Or were Henry and Lulu, Gladdie and Moe, passing the decades with someone merely good enough before they found the brief but true love they were always meant to have? I'll never know the answer. Even if I had been brave enough to ask Moe, he died less than six months after my grandmother. Both Gladdie and Moe are buried next to their spouses, separated for eternity.
Love may have the longest arms, but it can still fall short of an embrace. So I wasn't crying for Henry and Lulu. I was crying for Marcus and me.
And that's when I decided to fuck Bastian.
“I want to go to your place,” I said, wondering if Bastian could read my real message.
“Let's go now,” Bastian said in a tone that let me know he knew exactly what I had in mind.
Despite the sidewalk-scorching heat, we ran the ten blocks to his apartment, lugging our beach chairs and camcorder and TELL US A STORY board the whole way. When we first took off, I felt reckless and romantic. I'm going to fuck Bastian! I'm going to fuck Bastian! But sprinting past mountains of wilting garbage and hurdling curdled rain puddles did little to enhance the mood. By the time we trudged up the five stifling flights to his front door we were both dripping in a manner that is sexy in the movies, but rank in real life. Bastian's shirt was translucent with sweat, sticking to clumps of chest hair in a way that was more vile than virile. And he smelled . . . meaty. Like chorizo.
I don't think I presented such an olfactory offense to Bastian, however, as he practically attacked me as soon as we shut the door behind us. I instinctively swerved away.
“I'm sorry!” we both said.
“I just feel so . . . gross right now,” I said as I stretched out the front of my T-shirt to fan myself. “Can I use your bathroom to, you know, freshen up?”
“Of course! No problems!” These were the words he spoke, but his contracted center frontralis said otherwise.
As I made my way to the bathroom, I noted that Bastian's apartment was not unlike other grad students' apartments: dark, cramped, and crammed with thick, academic books. I noticed that there were framed photos throughout, but I made a concerted effort not to take a closer look. His wife and