Author's Note: I struggled with whether this was a "First Time" or a "Mature" story. In the end, I suppose it's about love and coming of age. So here it is.
*****
I was there when Laura Hollander learned of the death of her husband. I was cleaning the Hollanders' pool, and Laura was sitting at the patio table reading a magazine when the doorbell rang. That was a quarter century ago. I am still certain today that had I not been there at that moment, events would not have unfolded the way they did, and I would not be the man I am today.
I was just a student back then, and cleaning pools after school was how I made my pocket money. I had about twelve regular customers in our gated community just north of Scottsdale. The Hollanders were my favorite customers because they didn't have any kids, so it was always peaceful in their backyard. It was professionally landscaped, too, and with its flowery hibiscus trees, billowing red bougainvilleas, and pungent gardenia bushes, it was a tranquil garden respite from an otherwise hectic, kid-infested neighborhood.
The Hollanders kept to themselves, and though Laura was usually at home when I was there, we didn't talk all that often (not before that day). She was always gracious, however. I would let myself into their backyard every Thursday at three, trying to be unobtrusive, but no matter where she was in the house or what she was doing, she would always come outside to say hello and offer me her hand and give mine a friendly squeeze. When I look back on it now, it was like the sun was always behind her at that moment, lighting up wayward strands of her curly sandy blonde hair. I remember her that way.
She always looked dressed up to me. Even in simple beach pants and a halter-top, I thought she was too elegant and attractive to be a housewife. She had long graceful limbs and a trim but womanly figure. There was a kindness in her hazel-green eyes that made me feel comfortable around her. She would occasionally bring out a pitcher of iced tea or fruit punch, and after about five exchanges of "Thank you Mrs. Hollander" and "You can call me Laura," I finally got used to calling her Laura.
On the day Laura's husband died it was unusually warm, a bright fall afternoon in the desert highlands. The air was dry without the faintest hint of a breeze. I was patiently skimming oily brown leaves from the pool. Laura was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't see her eyes, and as I often did, I imagined she was watching me, admiring my long, lean muscles and honey brown tan. I worked methodically that day, luxuriating in her presence and the calm of the garden. When the doorbell rang, she took off her sunglasses and looked at me. "Who could that be?" her eyes said.
I went back to work. Moments later I heard her muffled gasp.
"Oh God no!"
I could see her bright sundress against the black silhouette of two police officers at the front door. One of the officers stepped into the house, hat in hand, and led her by the arm to an overstuffed chair. Laura sat down and put her face in her hands. The officer had his back to me, and I couldn't hear what he was saying.
I put on my shirt and organized my equipment. I thought about leaving, but I couldn't. I knew something terrible had happened, and I felt like I shouldn't run from it. I learned later that evening that her husband, Dr. Peter Hollander, had died in a car accident while in L.A for a conference.
It seemed like the officer talked for a long time, but I suppose it was only a few minutes. He set some paperwork on the coffee table and noticed me. I think he asked Laura a question. I saw her shake her head no and say something. I guessed the question was, "Is that your son?"
After a few more minutes, he showed himself to the door.
I couldn't look away from her. Her face was still in her hands, elbows on her knees, and she looked like she wanted to melt into that big chair. The sun moved before either of us did. I thought to tiptoe away again, but it still didn't feel right.
I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to startle her, so I moved some of my equipment around to make some noise. I saw her look up. I took a deep breath and walked over to the back screen door. She was looking at me, and her face was wet with tears, but she was not crying.
"Mrs. Hollander," I said knowing the moment called for some formality, "is there someone I could call for you, something...anything I could do for you?"
"No, Kevin," she whispered, "there is nothing anyone can do for me right now." She kept looking at me, and the sadness seemed to radiate from her.
"I'm sorry," I whispered back. "I'll go." I hung my head and began to turn away.
"Could you..." she started and I turned back. "Could you sit on the patio for a few minutes, just so I know someone's there, until I can get myself together a little bit."
"Yes ma'am. I can do that."
So I sat at the patio table and looked at the pool. I watched the sun make its way over the glistening ripples of water. I had never experienced such quiet. Then I heard her soft voice."
"Thank you Kevin. I'm okay. You can go."
"Are you sure?"
"I am going to be fine. My sister is coming."
"I can stay until she gets her..."
She pursed her lips in a way that told me she thought I was unnecessarily concerned. "She'll be here any second," she said, "and I really will be fine, Kevin. Don't worry."
As I looked at her I could sense her already growing resolve. Her face was still streaked with salty tears and her hair was in tangles around her face, but she had clear eyes and a determined expression. I felt strangely connected to her just then, like we were truly seeing each other in that moment. I saw that she was beautiful and strong-willed. I wondered what she saw in me.
"Thank you," she whispered and turned away.
I went home and stretched out in my bed and I felt an unfamiliar pain in my heart.
Laura's sister came to live with her for a while after that. It was about ten days after the funeral when I when I first came to clean the pool again. I wondered, curiously, whether I should ask Laura if she still wanted me to clean the pool. I don't know what I expected β that she'd let the pool go to hell now that her husband was dead? I brought a bouquet of flowers for her. The neighbors had gone in on some flowers for the funeral, but I wanted her to have something from me.
Laura's sister answered the door. The flowers made her think I was a delivery boy and she asked me whether she needed to sign for them.
"I'm here to clean the pool," I said. "I brought these for Mrs. Hollander."
"Oh you sweet boy," she replied with a genuine smile. She looked very much like Laura and she had Laura's same easy gracefulness.
"And I wanted to make sure it was okay to clean the pool."
"Oh, I am sure it is, but let me ask Laura..." She turned her head. I heard Laura's voice approaching.
"It's okay, Doris, I'll get it." She sounded tired, but there was warmth in her voice.