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sixty-seven f

Lunch and Dinner

W arren had recently lost his wife of fifty years. Sadness covered him like a shroud, but he always came to life when we sat together on my breaks.

He tipped me fairly but not extravagantly, which I appreciated. I had no desire to be beholden to an older man, or any man, at that point in my life. As summer progressed, Warren brought me tomatoes and other vegetables from his garden. His sincere offerings meant more to me than all the jewelry and gifts I’d received from Mike.

One afternoon in late August, Warren asked me if I had any children.

“They’re hardly children. My oldest will be twenty-two this November. My youngest is starting college next month.”

“You’re lucky. Me ’n the wife never had no kids.”

“Not so lucky. They live with their father, my ex—” I stopped before I dumped my life story on this kind, older man.

Warren mumbled something.

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Say, would ya like to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

“I can’t stop to eat while I’m working.”

“Ya got me wrong. How ’bout I take ya someplace nice fer lunch?”

“Um-m, thanks but no thanks. I don’t date the customers.”

“Ava, it ain’t a date. Heck, I’m old enough to be your dad, granddad even.”

“I don’t know—”

“I won’t pester ya, but I’d sure enjoy your comp’ny. Tell ya what. I’ll meet ya at Alfonso’s. No strings attached. I promise.”

I almost didn’t recognize the well-dressed man waiting in Alfonso’s vestibule. Warren had gotten a haircut, shaved his stubble, and dressed in a navy sport jacket and khaki pants.

“Warren, you look so nice!” I hoped he wouldn’t take my compliment the wrong way.

“So do you, Ava. C’mon, I reserved a table on the patio.”

Warren may have been rough around the edges, but he was a gentleman. He made no advances and asked nothing personal. By the end of the meal, I felt I’d made a new friend.

We both reached for the check. “Lunch’s on me.”

“Thank you, Warren.”

“I’d sure like to see ya again. Are ya busy next Tuesday?”

Warren and I met for lunch every Tuesday for the next few months. I opened up about my two marriages, my boys, and how I got into dancing.

“I’ve seen a big change in you,” Warren said one day in October. “Ya seem happier. Them tension lines are gone from yer face.”

I laughed. “I could say the same for you. I was thinking you look lighter and happier.”

“I’m startin’ to think o’ you as the daughter I never had.”

“You are the sweetest man I know, Warren.”

“Now that we got that outta the way, maybe you could tell me what you plan to do fer the rest o’ yer life.”

“I wish I knew. I can’t dance forever.”

“Don’t put yerself down, young lady. You got a lot goin’ fer ya.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t. You don’t know the half of it.”

“I know a lot more ’n ya think. How ’bout we meet fer dinner next week?”

Dinner would mean a date. I had no interest in dating a man I’d come to think of as my surrogate father.

Warren sensed my hesitation. “Same rules, Ava. We’ll take separate cars. Dinner’ll give us more time to talk. You’ve made a huge dif’rence in my life, and I wanna think I can do the same fer you.”

“You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Could Warren be my guardian angel?

Dinners brought us closer. Warren shared intimate details of his life and persuaded me to do the same. I rarely shared confidences with anyone, but a voice inside me told me this time I’d be safe.

“I lived through some bad times back in the late ’70s,” I began.

“Ya told me ’bout yer marriages and losin’ yer kids. How much worse could it be?”

“You may not want to see me anymore.”

“What happens to us ain’t always our fault. Ev’rybody makes mistakes, but it don’t change who ya are inside.”

“How did you get to be so wise?”

“Fought in WWII, seen a lotta changes in the world. I’m an old man. Like to think I learned somethin’ over the years.”

“I got involved with the wrong people in Florida—”

Once I began my story I couldn’t stop. I told Warren about Mike, Ben, Kenya, and prison.

“I promised myself I’d get sober once I got back to the States. I failed.”

“You didn’t fail.” Warren consoled me. “You been up against a whole lotta obstacles. Yer only human.”

Nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. All the self-help books I’d read over the years—none had the impact of Warren’s simple words.

“Are you saying none of this was my fault?”

“Didn’t say that. What I’m sayin’ is ya ain’t perfect. Nobody is. Own yer responsibility and move on.”

One minute Warren had absolved me, the next he’d blamed me. Which was it?

“’Member, Ava, ya can’t change what happened. All ya can do is change yer way o’ thinkin’ and move on.”

I put my fork down and stared into space.

“You don’t hafta say nothin’. Another thing ya learn with age is the value of silence. You just sit there, darlin’, and do yer thinkin’.”

Warren’s words brought back thoughts of my mother. I needed to take responsibility for my life. But until this moment, I realized I never had. I still blamed my mother for the disaster otherwise known as my life.

If my mother hadn’t disowned me, I wouldn’t have stayed with Tom and suffered his abuse. I wouldn’t have left him for Jack, the polar opposite of Tom. I would have gone back to school and found a real career . . . and never met Mike. Florida and Kenya never would have happened.

I could have raised Tommy as a single parent with the help of loving grandparents. And Lee would never have been born.

“Lee!” I snapped back to the present.

“What’s that?” Warren looked at me quizzically.

I decided to level with Warren. “I realized my mother’s actions set my downhill slide in motion. I thought about the mistakes I wouldn’t have made if she’d allowed me to come back home. And then I thought of Lee—”

“Your little one?”

“Not so little anymore. If she’d taken me back, Lee wouldn’t exist. Even though he wants nothing to do with me, I can’t imagine a world without him.”

“There ya go. Look at the good that’s come outta your life.”