The ward at St.Marys was drenched in the blinding lateafternoon sun. Ethel blinked against the glare, and when she opened her eyes her heart seemed to halt, then race like a startled horse.
There he was, walking toward herher husband, the very man whose smile she could recall down to the tiniest crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Yet that could not be, for three long years he had been gone from this world.
Ah, now the spectres are playing tricks on me, she thought, and clutched the strap of her bag as if it might pull her back to reality.
The man drew nearer, unmistakably resembling her late Edward in height, gait, and features, though his gaze was steadier, more restrained. He stared directly at her, unblinking, as if he too had caught sight of a phantom.
A hot flush rose to Ethels cheeks. She lowered her eyes shyly and slipped past him into the room where her aunt lay. It so happened that Aunt Margaret had no one else but Ethel, and after her operation she required special care.
Their next encounter unfolded in the dressing room. Ethel wheeled an empty trolley down the corridor when she saw him again, a white coat draped over his shoulders, murmuring soft words to a nurse. The squeak of her wheels caught his attention; he lifted his head and froze, his eyes as direct and inquisitive as the day before.
Dr. Turner, the nurse called brightly, breaking the uneasy silence. All set?
Thanks, he replied with a nod, though his gaze lingered on Ethel.
Flushed with a rosecoloured embarrassment, she hurried past with the trolley, feeling as foolish as a schoolgirl.
Days at the hospital passed slowly. Their eyes met repeatedly in the halls, each sighting filling Ethel with a childlike delight. Dr. Turner would occasionally visit Aunt Margarets ward, always courteous and professional, yet his glance would linger on Ethel a fraction longer than necessary.
One evening, just as her son Tommy was due for his night shift, Ethel slipped into the lobby for a drink of water. By the window stood Dr. Turner, watching the city darken.
Your son? he asked quietly, turning toward her. The young man who looks after Mrs. Margaret?
Yes, Ethel answered, surprised that he knew the aunts name. Tommy. Hes a bit of a fool, but a golden onecaring through and through.
A smile tugged at the doctors lips, a smile that was achingly familiar.
He loves you deeply, he said. You can see it.
Something stirred in Ethels chesta tremor she had long forgotten. The body ages, yet the sensations remain fresh and sharp as in youth.
Yes, indeed, she murmured, blushing. Just dont tell him Im flattered; hell get a big head.
He laughed, a warm, lively sound.
My name is Alex, he introduced himself. Alex Turner.
Ethel, she replied.
At that moment, Tommy burst into the lobby, waving a bag of pastries.
Mum, hi! Doctor! I brought a little treat, as promisedsorry about the cabbage left over.
Alex took a pastry gratefully, and Ethel caught Tommys quick, assessing glance.
The following day, chatty nurses whispered that Dr. Turner had fallen ill and was on sick leave. A hollow feeling settled over Ethel. It wasnt meant to be, she thought with a bittersweet resignation. Perhaps its for the bestno awkward goodbyes, no phantom regrets, only pleasant memories. Still, those memories were many, and she realized that grief would not last forever; tomorrow would bring brighter days.
Aunt Margaret was discharged after three days. As Ethel packed her belongings, she tried not to dwell on the emptiness that waited beyond the hospital walls. She was saying goodbye not only to the place but also to the ghost of a possibility that never materialised.
While loading the car, Tommy remarked, You know, Dr. Turners a widower. His wife died in a crash three years ago.
Ethel froze, as if rooted to the spot. Three yearscoincidence? Fate?
How do you know? she asked softly.
We chatted over those pastries, Tommy shrugged. He asked about my dad, very politely. You could tell he was lonely. And the way he looks at you not like a doctor.
Silently, Ethel slipped into the passenger seat, hope fluttering anew in her heart.
At home, the house was quiet. She brewed tea and settled by the window, watching the familiar courtyard. Then her eyes fell on an envelope lying on the tableone she did not remember placing there. Perhaps Tommy had left it.
Inside was a card depicting an old hospital, strikingly similar to the one they had just left. With trembling fingers, Ethel opened it.
Ethel,
I realise this may sound insane, and Im truly sorry I fell ill and could not say goodbye. Yet I cannot let you simply vanish from my thoughts. Three years ago I lost my love. When I saw you in the corridor, it felt as if the sun rose twice in one day.
I am not your husband. I am another man, with my own sorrows and story. Yet perhaps our stories could share a continuation?
If the notion does not appear utterly absurd, I shall be at the Edge café opposite the park tomorrow at fivepastfour.
With hope,
Alex
Tears streamed from Ethels eyes, but they were tears of happiness. She was not alone in this strange feeling; he felt it too, and he had the courage to take the step she had scarcely dared to imagine.
The next morning, at half past four, she stood before the mirror, adjusting her dress nervously.
Mum, you look wonderful! Tommy shouted from the kitchen. Just dont overquestion the past, alright? The future matters more.
She smiled.
The Edge café was snug, scented with fresh pastries. Alex was already there, seated by the window, studying the menu with a tense expression. When he saw her enter, he rose, and the same familiar yet new smile blossomed on his face.
I feared you wouldnt come, he said, pulling out a chair.
I feared youd regret sending that letter, Ethel confessed as she sat.
Not a moment, Alex shook his head, his eyes earnest. You know, the first time I saw you it felt like a miracle, a reminder that life does not end.
I felt the same, Ethel whispered. It was as if a warm wind from the past blew through, yet it was not the pastsomething new.
He reached across the table, and she took his hand. His palm was warm.
Lets try, Ethel, he said. Take it slow. Just lets try to be happy.
She looked into his eyeseyes of a man who had walked through the same sorrow as she had, yet who had not lost hopeand nodded. For the first time in three long years, she felt not grief for what was gone, but a bright, trembling anticipation of what might come. That was her happy ending, which in truth was only the beginning of a new story.
