Cold Hands, Warm Heart?

Harry walked into the room, a gray portfolio under his arm. Leave it to him to try and look important, I thought. He sat across the wood-grain conference table and glared at me. Soon, a bubbly, curly-haired woman bounced into the room. “I’m Agatha, your mediator,” she said. As she lowered herself into a seat at the head of the table, her demeanor calmed. “I know this isn’t easy,” she assured. “Let’s begin.”

_______

Let’s begin: Ok, I guess I’d romanticized the whole club idea. My dad had been a member for God knows how many years, and I recalled sitting on my parents’ bed, watching my mom rub makeup on her cheeks, flick her lashes with mascara, and smile at herself in the winged, lighted makeup mirror on her vanity before she and Dad headed out for a club dance. How long ago was that? It had been years.

______

It had been years since my divorce, and my friends were trying to cheer me up on what would have been my wedding anniversary by taking me out for a drink—during Covid, of all things. The club was outdated, to be sure: Wood paneling, “faux” stone lining one room, all the trappings of a sad place that old men visit to waste time and get a buzz on. My friends led me to the bar and I took a seat next to….who? I wasn’t in the mood to look. I felt it was a faceless giant. “Damn, don’t you know anything about Covid?” the giant said, getting up and moving to the next stool around the bar’s corner. “Do you have to sit right next to me?” “I’m vaccinated,” I began, and finally peered at him. He was big, no question about that. His face seemed to be made up of folds—in a happier time, dimples might have made their home there, but frown lines had taken their place. He turned to his bar buddy and ignored me. As the night went on, I couldn’t help but glance in his direction. He was tall, nearly six and half feet tall, to be exact. But his polo shirt, jeans, trimmed hair, and clean-shaven face showed he cared about his looks. His bar buddy introduced himself: “I’m Dennis,” he said, “and this big lug is Harry.”

Over time, the club grew on me (like, say, a fungus? But I digress). I started helping out where I could. Wherever I was, though, my ears perked at the sound of a booming voice, and I could feel the energy change in the room when Harry entered. When I ran burgers and fries out to the bar, I lingered at that corner to chat with him. Sarcasm was our language, and we exchanged jabs constantly. But one night, as I nursed a Jack Honey on the rocks, I felt big fingers twine around my hand.

I looked over to see Harry smiling at me, his huge grip gently enfolding my fingers. Ignoring the skip in my heartbeat, I folded my other hand around their clasp, then, untangling my fingers, I carefully laid Harry’s hand palm-up on top of mine. “I can read your palm,” I told him, and his grin didn’t stop.

As I traced my fingers along the lines on his hand, I could swear sparks flew in their wake. Thankful that the dim lighting hid my blush, I interpreted what I’d “read.”

“You’ve had a fun life so far,” I said, “with a lot of good times, some heartbreak, but you have a full life ahead of you. And one more thing,” I added, closing his warm hand into a loose fist and enveloping it with mine. “You’re gullible. I can’t read palms to save my life.”

________

“You act like you can read my mind,” Harry said across the table.

“Well, maybe I can,” I answered, pressing my fingers to my temples and squinting.

“Stop that!” he yelled.

Agatha intervened. “Enough,” she said. “We’re here to iron out the finer details, not to joke around.”

________

Not to joke around, but the lodge was more of a bar than a civic organization. Harry took full advantage: He drank too much, that was certain. And rather than volunteer, Harry was more likely to warm a bar stool and complain about the core group—the clique, as he put it—who devoted countless hours to running the lodge. I heard the tittle-tattle about him: He was a nice guy until his divorce, when he became bitter and detached; his family had a long legacy of helping, until he pretty much put the brakes on that.

But still…When he walked in, I felt the air change. If I caught him sneaking a glance at me (and I did, often), a flutter started in my chest. And whenever we talked, it was like we’d known each other forever.

After a particularly harrowing day at work, I spent a couple hours managing admission for bingo at the lodge. A relative newbie, I apparently didn’t measure up in the eyes of the elderly veterans who knew their way around a bingo card. By the end of the night, I shakily drank my Jack Honey, trying to forget how flustered I’d been. Having joked with Harry over his height, I’d often asked him to stand up so I could really see how very tall he was. That night, he noticed I was frazzled. “Want me to stand up?” he offered. But as he stood, instead of jauntily comparing my height to his, I wrapped my arms around his waist in a hug that I never wanted to end. He laughed it off, as did I. But I think we both felt the start of something.

Finally, one night, I was nursing my usual drink when I felt his warm grip on my hand. I looked up to his blue eyes, appreciating how they crinkled at the edges to match his warm smile. As I felt my blush deepen, I was shocked to hear him say the words I’d longed to hear: “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

_______

“Let’s continue this tomorrow,” Agatha said, as she closed her notebook. We’d gone over finances, belongings, the house—oh, the house. Sure, it was drafty, empty, a money pit, really. But neither of us really wanted to give it up.

It had been hard to maintain the big old thing after my ex took off. Built in the ‘80s, it was neither well-constructed nor charming. But from the cedar shakes to its gambrel roof, the barn-like house was home to me. So after our first date, when Harry walked me to the front door, I was hesitant to invite him inside.

“Thank you for coming to dinner,” he said, his blue eyes crinkled and sparkling down at me.  “Well, thank you, it was delicious,” I said, pausing to drink in his gaze. Once again, I couldn’t stop myself from stepping forward and just wrapping myself around him. His arms encircled me, too, and I felt his warmth rush throughout my body. The energy between us was incredible. Then I felt his mouth on my neck, my jawline, my cheek. My lips…

____

“Don’t give me any lip,” Harry said with a snarl, as we left Agatha’s office.

“I didn’t say anything!” I pointed out.

“You don’t have to. I know what you’re thinking,” he continued.

“Now who’s reading minds?” I pressured.

___________

Not wanting to pressure him, I played it cool. But I was a goner. And I soon found out that so, too, was he. We began spending nearly all our free time together: dinners, coffee in the middle of the day when we could manage it, long walks along the local trail. It was during those long walks that we learned the most about each other—although he was still tight-lipped about his divorce.

We’d walk side by side, down the crumbly dirt trail that once couched train tracks. My favorite path spurred off to the left and led down to an old reservoir. We’d scoop up the flattest stones we could find and see who could skip them the farthest across its glassy surface  Then we’d sit on a metal bench on the reservoir’s banks, not needing to say anything to each other—just holding hands like teenagers and watching birds skim over the water.

One day, I turned to him. “Why did you hold my hand at the bar?”

“Because I wanted so much to kiss you, but I couldn’t kiss you at the bar.”

I thought about that awhile, then looked up at him. “We’re not at the bar now.” The sun sparkled on the water and reflected in his eyes as he leaned his lips down to mine.

It was a quick ceremony at the courthouse. Only his brother Dan and my sister Chris witnessed our marriage; our “friends” at the club were dumbstruck enough that we were dating, and more so when they’d learned of our wedding plans. That night, we celebrated with dinner in a small restaurant overlooking the Hudson River. After dessert, we bade goodbye to Dan and Chris, then strolled along the waterfront. Clouds shifted around a half-moon, and stars sparkled in a velvet blanket of sky.

“It’s just beautiful,” I said.

I felt a familiar grip in my hand, and Harry looked down at me. I swore the stars were reflected in his eyes. “You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he said, wrapping me in an embrace.

_____

“Well, that’s just beautiful,” he said. “How can you lock your keys in the car?”

We stood outside the mediator’s office. I stood dejectedly by the door of my car, having dug fruitlessly through my purse before seeing my car keys on the driver’s seat.

“Oh, it’s easy,” I answered sarcastically. “Wanna see me do it again? I’m good at doing stupid things.”

His gaze softened. “I don’t like seeing you like this,” he offered.

My eyes met his, full of dismay and self-loathing. “Then don’t look.”

_______

“Look, you knew I drank when we met,” Harry said, after a particularly long night at the lodge.

“I know that. But I guess I thought you were filling gaps in your life. I didn’t know all of that WAS your life,” I pleaded, as we stood in the parking lot.

He looked at me a moment, then slowly turned to head to our car. “Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, snatching his keys before he could stop me. “I’m driving.”

_______

“You’re driving me crazy,” he said.

“You don’t have to stick around; the locksmith’s on his way,” I reminded him.

“It’s not this,” he said. “It’s all of it. I thought my life was fine before I met you. I was getting over Deirdre, hanging out at the club each night…I thought I was complete, and then I met you.”

“Don’t go all ‘Jerry Maguire’ on me, cowboy,” I warned.

His eyes grew cold. “You’re the one who always says you want to talk; now I’m talking, and you want me to shut up?”

“No, we can talk—with a witness present,” I said, reminding him of the reason why we were in the parking lot in the first place.

He looked down at me, then reached out and gently grabbed my hands. Gazing at them, he raised his glance to me. Our eyes communicated the days, months, and years we’d spent together, and foresaw no future.

Without a word, he turned and lumbered away.