Emily Janson was devastated when she got the call that Jonathan, the man she was to marry in two weeks, was just killed in a motorcycle accident. Holding the phone to her ear, her breath leaving her, she stood still, unable to speak, unable to comprehend the words she heard. The call came from Jonathan's mother, who had just been called by the police.
"Oh no," she gasped before the sobs broke loose and tears filled her eyes. Clutching her hair, she could hear his mother crying as she held the phone to her ear, "Oh no, Oh no," Emily repeated, tears rolling down her cheeks to her lips.
"The police just called," Jonathan's mother said through her sobs. "It just happened. They said he was killed instantly."
"Oh my God, I can't believe it," Emily said, her body trembling, her fingers gripping the phone. Where is he?" Emily asked.
"They took him to Memorial Hospital. They saw the tag he's an organ donor."
Emily remembered Jonathan signing up as a donor when he got his license and was not surprised when he mentioned that to her. It was just like him to want to donate his organs to someone who needed what he would no longer need. When she hung up, staring at the phone, she collapsed on the kitchen chair, her mouth open, her body numb.
Memories suddenly flashed through her mind like a kaleidoscope, images of their walks, the night he took her virginity in her bed, his sweetness, his gentleness, how he looked in the apron when he cooked her delicious meals, his smile when he brought her flowers from the garden, his eyes when he spoke about his poetry, seeing and feeling his intensity while she watched him drawing in his sketch book or painting on canvases or pieces of wood. She could see how tender he was taking care of his mother after his father died of cancer when he was fourteen driving her to her doctor's appointments, taking her shopping, making sure she took her medicine. He was the perfect son, the perfect lover and Emily knew she was the luckiest girl alive to have a man like Jonathan love her and want to spend the rest of his life with her and now he was suddenly gone. Dead, how could it be?
Later she found out from witnesses that a truck went through a stop sign and Jonathan crashed into its side and was thrown two hundred feet over the truck, landing on the sidewalk in front of Russell's Drug Store, ironically where he picked up his mother's prescriptions.
Emily worked as a waitress at Pete's Diner and she was suppose to be at work in an hour after she got the call at seven am that morning but knew she couldn't face the familiar customers she served breakfast and lunch to everyday. Emily took pride in her job as an efficient waitress who knew what most of the customers wanted before they ordered, how she knew their names. She had worked there since graduating high school and now at twenty two, liked how Pete valued her, depended on her to make his customers happy and he knew it was Emily who made his diner successful.
Even with the pain of realizing Jonathan had been killed, she worried about Pete and what he would do if she didn't come to work, but after she heard his shock, he told her not to worry, he would call Janice, the waitress who came into help with the busy lunch crowd. Emily was relieved and wanted to go over to Jonathan's house to be with his mother but couldn't budge from the kitchen table.
The invitations to the wedding had been sent out over a month ago. Everyone knew that Jonathan and Emily were the perfect couple and the thought of their marriage delighted everyone in Tomkinsville, the small Pennsylvania town on the Susquehanna River forty miles from Philadelphia. She knew what a shock it would be when people realized there would be no wedding. Not able to sit any longer, Emily walked around the house, past the couch where she and Jonathan made out, past the old 15 inch television where they watched basketball games and movies, into the dining room glancing at the chair where he sat when he came there for dinner then slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom, looking at the unmade bed, her jeans on the floor where she threw them the night before when Jonathan and she made mad passionate love and remembered the sound of his motorcycle when he left at one am to go home because he had to get up early for his first class at Montgomery County Community College.
She remembered him telling her how much he loved the art history class he was taking, how he loved painting and was determined to be the best artist he could be. That was how he did everything and it was one of the things she loved most about him--his passion, his energy, how much he loved life and how he loved riding his motorcycle, his pampered motorcycle, how she loved sitting behind him as they drove though the countryside, inevitably ending at their special spot to make love by Grover's Pond, taking the Indian style blanket from the leather saddlebag, laying it on the soft grass in a clearing, then kissing, touching and thrilling her in ways that made her scream his name and want to give herself completely to him. She thought how magical he was, how open and yet, mysterious, making her know it would take a lifetime of discovery to know the depth of his spirit.
Emily cringed when she saw her wedding dress hanging on her closet door then the picture of Jonathan and her after the prom on her bureau, how stiff he looked in the tuxedo but that smile, that radiant smile made her choke back tears. So many thoughts and feelings swirled through her as she stood in her room not sure what to do, how to tell her parents, how upset the whole town would be as the news spread. How would she hold up at the funeral, how could she survive without the love of her life. The thoughts and feelings were unbearable and she knew there was no way she would ever be the same. She knew he was special and it would take a miracle for her to find another man like him.
Months passed. Emily filled her days with work at Pete's Diner, spending as much time as possible with Jonathan's mother, knowing how impossibly difficult it must be to lose her only child and be alone in the world. Being with Jonathan's mother was a way of being as close to him as she could, but it was painful to see how lost she was, how desolate and noticed she began drinking wine every afternoon, sometimes finishing a bottle before the dinner she made but rarely finished. The house was often dark when Emily arrived and she always opened the curtains to let the sunlight in.
She spent as little time as possible at home and then a month or so after Jonathan's death, moved into a small apartment over Tony's Pizza Shop which was two blocks from the diner. She and her mother had never gotten along and her father was passive and distant. Her parents didn't seem to like each other so being around them was something she avoided. They grieved for her loss of Jonathan and worried about her, but the communication with her parents was superficial at best. She couldn't confide in her mother because she was so judgmental and already had opinions before Emily finished speaking. She felt her mother never really heard what she was saying so she decided it was best to keep things to herself rather than be lectured to with her mother's opinions, knowing she would never feel the compassion and acceptance she craved.
It felt right for her to move out and fix up her own place with furniture, dishes and a few appliances from the Good Will. Still grieving her loss of Jonathan, she imagined him with her, seeing him painting the walls, or sketching, but she would shake those painful thoughts away and try to read, or try out new recipes. She did have her favorite photo of him on the table next to her bed and several pictures of them on her refrigerator. It was hard for her to believe he wasn't in her life. His absence would come to her like a thump in her heart, bringing a burning ache to her throat from holding back the tears that wanted to burst out.
One day, six or so months after Jonathan's death, an older man walked into the diner. She noticed him lean his bicycle up against the railing on the steps to the entrance. She had never seen him before. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties she thought and always ordered the same thing, black coffee and a slice of apple pie. He always came in at one-thirty, just after the lunch crowd left when the diner was slow. Emily usually worked from eight in the morning until two or two thirty depending how much she needed to do to get ready for the next day. The diner closed at three but served dinner on the weekends. She made sure the sugar packets were on each table, the salt and pepper shakers refilled, ketchup bottles and syrup containers topped off, the knives, forks and spoons wrapped in napkins ready to put on the tables when customers sat down.
After seeing him come in every afternoon, she was curious about the stranger, knowing he wasn't from their town. He always wore a denim jacket and faded jeans. His long graying hair curled up at the collar, his blue eyes twinkled behind wire rimmed glasses. Sometimes he shaved but most days, she could see the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He sometimes read the newspaper or a book but mostly he wrote in a black covered notebook and she wondered what he was writing about so intently. He always had two or three cups of coffee while he wrote, shoving the empty apple pie plate aside. Emily chuckled when she noticed he wiped the pie crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand rather than a napkin and remembered Jonathan did that.
He was quiet and somewhat shy, but she asked his name so she could greet him when he came in. She liked how he smiled and looked at her when he ordered his pie and coffee, which he eventually didn't need to do because Emily just said, "Hi Walter. Let me guess--apple pie and coffee" which made him laugh.
After that she didn't pay much attention to him as she worked busily to finish her setting up for the next day. He would write in his journal, eat his pie, sip his coffee, occasionally glancing up at Emily and their eyes would meet, smiling then both would go back to what they were doing. The diner was usually empty at that time with an occasional customer coming in to take out coffee, but she was always delighted to see Walter riding his bicycle down the street then come in every afternoon and sit at the counter, always on the same stool, take out his journal to write, thanking Emily for serving him his mug of coffee and the apple pie. She noticed his shy smile as he looked at her then took a sip of the black coffee, opened his journal, picked up the pen and started writing.
Though she wasn't attracted to him physically, he must have been twenty or so years older than Emily, still there was something about him she liked, something in the way he smiled when she said, "Hi Walter," the warm twinkle in his eyes, how intensely he wrote, taking sips of coffee, running his hands through his graying long hair, how he looked up at her when she refilled his mug, but there was something in the way he said, "Thank you Emily," that touched her, made her curious about him but also reluctant to ask him any questions, sensing by his quiet shyness that he would not want to share much about his life.
Still, she wondered what he was writing so intensely about, how he filled pages, rarely looking up, except for his occasional glances at Emily. There was something in the way their eyes met, something strange that she couldn't articulate but liked. She found herself thinking about Walter when she was walking home or washing dishes in her small apartment and she wondered why she was so fascinated by him.
One summer day, several months after Walter started coming to the diner, while Emily poured him his second mug of coffee, he looked up at her and out of the blue said, "You seem sad. Even though you always smile, you seem sad."
Emily was stunned by the statement. They had never conversed, never said anything other than the trivial greetings, but his sudden words surprised her. She just looked at him, trying to swallow her surprise before responding. "What makes you think I'm sad? I'm not sad," she said.
Walter shrugged his shoulders, looking into Emily's eyes. "I don't know why I said that. I just feel your sadness."
"I don't know what to say," Emily answered. "No, I'm fine, really, I'm not sad."
"Sorry," Walter said. "I guess I shouldn't have said that. I mean, we never really speak and I know nothing about you, but when I look at you, I feel your sadness."
"Are you an empathic person?" Emily asked.
"I don't know," Walter answered, chuckling. "I never thought of myself like that but lately, I seem to feel things I've never felt before. I can't explain it."
