“Polyurethane. Come,” Eudora said. “There are more rails up ahead.”
The path snaked through the trees, and they followed in silence, passing through the endangered species garden and over a small bridge with more cedar railings. Such a simple, organic idea, yet so beautiful—not unlike the earrings Ella used to make. As he walked, his mind drafted design ideas for a new bridge to their house. He imagined the joy of working with his hands again. Of creating beauty.
The ground was hilly but the slopes gentle. Ahead, nestled in the leaves and sitting on the brow of a slope, there was a cedar shelter shaped like a giant bird feeder with benches. Presumably for bird watching. How inventive. More cedar rails led up toward it, the end post richer and darker than the others. Felix stepped forward. He couldn’t help himself; he had to stroke the wood. For a moment, he thought of Harry. Always touching, unable to stop.
“This piece appears to have been burned at one time.” It was as smooth as he’d imagined.
“Such stories in this one rail, and the flaws make it beautiful. All the timber came from Durham. From an old moonshine distillery, unless I’m mistaken.” She touched his upper arm briefly. “Look,” she whispered. “On the bird feeder.”
“A woodpecker?” Felix said.
“A downy woodpecker. What a handsome fella.”
They continued along the woodland path and down another flight of steps, and Felix paused to stare at a pavilion that overlooked a small pond. A flash of sunlight broke through the trees, turning the water luminous. To their left, a mossy nook closed around a circular stone dais with two wooden benches flanking a round stone table.
“A hobbit’s grotto,” Felix said.
“Isn’t it just?” Eudora settled herself on one of the benches. Felix sat opposite.
“I think we’ve avoided the issue long enough,” she said. “Tell me about Harry.”
A squirrel shot through the leaves, and Felix raised his face to a flickering patch of sunlight. Harry was right; Felix always sat in the sun. And yet he’d talked Ella into a house that was tucked away in the shade. He lowered his head slowly and held Eudora’s gaze.
“He left his laptop open with a message to his girlfriend on the screen. A message in which he called me a rather unpleasant name. I doubt he intended for me to find it. Harry is scattered but not malicious.”
Eudora nodded. “I suspect his ADHD means he often leaves things undone.”
“Did I tell you about that?” He frowned at her.
“No need.”
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“At my age, I miss plenty.”
Water babbled down a small waterfall sculpted from mossy boulders.
“We had a pair of red-shouldered hawks in the garden once,” Eudora said. “Very protective of their nest, they were. One morning, we found them attacking a baby owl. Couldn’t adapt, you see. Couldn’t accept that little owl posed no threat, unlike his mama or his daddy.” Eudora raised her eyebrows. Again, he was aware of hidden meaning in her words, a lesson he couldn’t grasp.
Felix leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “My son hates me.”
“That’s not true, hon.”
“I haven’t been much of a father to him.”
“No.” She patted her perfectly pinned hair bun, or french roll, or whatever an updo was called these days. “You haven’t been.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad we had this conversation.”
“Mistakes are human. Learn from them, but leave regret where it belongs—in the past. It’s the future we need to pay heed to.”
Felix glanced at his signet ring with the Fitzwilliam family crest and motto. If only it were that easy—walking away from the past.
“When Dahlia died, I didn’t think I could go on. Son, I was sure I couldn’t. But then I thought about my remaining time on this precious earth. I haven’t visited China yet, or New Zealand.” Eudora paused. “I want my tombstone to read ‘She Lived Out Loud.’ You, hon, need to start living out loud.”