The One In My Heart

Mr. Somerset looked down for a moment at his hands. “I can’t tell you how many times I walked past his hospital. A couple of times I even went inside the lobby, pretending that I had a friend who was recovering from something. I never came across him. Then we started seeing the two of you everywhere. But he was so chill that I couldn’t read him one way or the other.

“Good thing you convinced me to go to the MoMA exhibit, which I’d thought to avoid like the plague.”

My brows shot up. So I hadn’t messed things up after all? “I did see you there the Thursday after Zelda’s party.”

“That was probably my third time at the exhibit. You were right about it being a treasure trove of what we’d been missing all these years.”

I exhaled. “Did you see the chickens?”

“There were chickens?” He laughed softly. “No, I didn’t see any chickens, but I saw so much else. I saw a full, vibrant life—not a minute wasted. And I can’t tell you how much I wished now that we’d been part of it, Ms. McAllister or no Ms. McAllister.

“At the lunch a couple of days later, I wanted to say something to him, but I couldn’t in front of everybody. It was frustrating. And I was too…abashed, I guess, to ask my wife or anyone else for his number. So I went to see my lawyer instead, the Wednesday before my heart attack. I thought that if I never managed to say anything to him in person, at least he would learn, when my will was read, what he meant to me—little did I know that would almost happen right away.”

“Thank goodness it didn’t.” Sometimes, thinking back to those moments before we learned of the surgery’s success, I still got a little scared.

“Thank goodness,” he echoed my sentiment fervently. “But I want to thank you all the same. Because of you, had things gone the other way, he’d still have known it. And that was very important to me.”

I smiled at him. “You are very welcome. And I’m really happy for you and Mrs. Somerset. And Bennett too, of course. Everybody.”

I half expected him to ask something about Bennett and me, but he didn’t. We both had our attention snagged by the next image that scrolled onto the digital photo frame, a young Bennett, seventeen or eighteen, in his Eton uniform—an old-fashioned black tailcoat worn over a black vest and dark grey striped trousers, an outfit one might see in a costume drama set in the Victorian era. He leaned against a brick wall, his arms crossed before his chest, his head turned to his left, his gaze beyond the frame.

There was an impatient look on his face, one not of petulance, but rather a wistful urgency, as if he wished he were anywhere but leaning against that brick wall, next to a rosebush in furious bloom.

“That’s the last picture he sent us, when he was still at Eton,” said Mr. Somerset. “It’s kind of etched on my brain—I used to look at it so much.”

“Sorry I’m late,” came Bennett’s voice. “There was a jam in the subway and—”

I turned around. He stood in the doorway in a slate blue three-piece pin-striped suit, staring at me. My heart thudded painfully.

Into the silence Mr. Somerset joked, “You’ve become a lawyer now?”

“I was at the free clinic—folks there appreciate it when their doctor puts in some sartorial effort,” Bennett answered, his eyes never leaving me. “Hi, Evangeline.”

“Hi.” Did I sound normal—or did I sound out of breath? “You missed lunch.”

“I’ll find something in the kitchen.”

I rose. “I was just about to leave.” I shook Mr. Somerset’s hand again. “Thank you for lunch. And I’m so glad to see you’re recovering well.”

“I’ll walk you out,” said Bennett.

He waited until we were out of earshot of his father before he added, “I see that he’s learned a thing or two about guerrilla tactics from us. If it weren’t for the jam I’d have been here twenty minutes earlier.”

I’d suspected as much. I’d suspected all along that Mr. Somerset might be trying his hand at matchmaking. It would have been awkward had his plan not been foiled by the subway jam. All the same…

“You didn’t miss anything,” I said as I shrugged into my coat. “He was just telling me things he must have already told you.”

“But it never gets old to hear him admit he was wrong about me.” Bennett ran a finger lightly over the piping on the lapel of my coat.

My heart might have stopped briefly. “So they call you Ben. When were you going to tell me?”

“When you told me you’re called Eva.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Exactly.” He played with the top button on my coat. “How are you?”

“Fine. Busy. You?”

“Fine. Busy. Reading The Fellowship of the Ring. They’ve made it through Moria.”

“But they’ve lost Gandalf,” I reminded him.

“Ten bucks says the old wizard comes back more badass than ever.”

My lips curved a little, since he was right on target about that. “Anyway, I’m really happy for you. Your dad told me how proud he is of you—and I’m sure he’s told you the same thing. It’s everything you hoped for.”

“Not everything,” he said, his gaze as green as the return of spring. “I still hope for you.”