O.Henr y Ending

The Happy Hour

On the balcony, overlooking the water’s edge, hope and friendship grow

By Cy nthi a

a

dams On recent

coastal trips, we’ve noticed a complete turnover of residents in our community, which is populated by an older demographic.

Among first f riends here, Chuck and Judy were our “balcony buddies.” We loved to sit on our adjacent balcony, batting away no -see-ums and hoping a dolphin might breach in the “Ditch,” — Chuck ’s name for the Intracoastal Water way.

We chatted across the small distance, swapping stories and admiring the blooms that would spill f rom Chuck ’s planters and pots. Chuck used to own a nurser y. W hereas he was understated and reser ved, Judy was spunk y, joyf ul — a vivid petunia. Yet her memor y was slipping.

So Chuck had become her memor y-keeper.

L ast year, as the plants on their balcony began to vanish, we realized we hadn’t seen the couple for months.

We sent a message to their son, who told us that Judy was in a facilit y, and that Chuck was usually there with her.

Not long af ter this, we witnessed Chuck total his sedan while park ing, a lapse in judgment that shook him to the core. I kept an arm around his shoulder as we waited for the medics. Deeply embarrassed by the accident and his injuries, Chuck could barely speak.

“Judy,” he whispered tremulously, “has dementia.”

His body began to shake.

“I don’t wa nt to lose my l ic ense,” he adde d. “I go to v isit Judy, you se e.”

Soon af ter his accident, Chuck suf fered additional issues requiring long term care.

We were thrilled to discover he was back home by summer, even riding out hurricane Isaias with a shr ug. He made daily rounds at the condo, using a walker to tread the walk ways, determined to regain his strength.

And one day, he reappeared on his balcony with a glass of wine, silently staring at the water as a lonely sailboat clipped by.

I called over, suggesting we grab our wine glasses and share a COV ID -era happy hour.

Chuck shook himself out of a reverie and nodded. T he wind whipped our voices.

His, which had grown fainter, was sometimes indiscernible.

No matter. We raised our glasses, and I managed an awk ward toast:

“To f riends we will always remember and times we’d like to forget.”

Chuck of fered a wan smile, and we talked about sundr y things as the sun dropped, the muddled corals on the horizon growing fantastical over the marshlands. A white egret grew visible in the transformative contrast of darkness and light.

He talked about Judy and his intro to FaceTime. We commented on the new set of wheels in his park ing space. “An old man’s car,” Chuck said with a grin. But at least he can drive to see Judy once a week. During the pandemic, he told us, they’re only allowed half-hour visits.

As we chatted over the wind, dusk falling, the white egret grew nearly impossible to follow in the marsh grasses.

Tomorrow again?

At this, Chuck smiled broadly.

T he next af ternoon, despite Chuck ’s hardships, a single green plant appeared on his wrought iron table. Would more follow? I wondered, draining my glass.

With flickering hopef ulness, I scanned the water’s edge as the light dimmed, searching for a talisman in the darkening space. T he egret, always alone, would no doubt reappear. OH