She smiled faintly, then looked back at the ceiling.
“I wasted a great deal of my life being afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of being rejected. Of making the wrong decision. Of telling the truth too late.”
I waited.
She sighed.
“When you’re young, you believe there’s always another day. Another opportunity. Another chance to say what you should have said yesterday.”
Her voice trembled.
“Then one day, the doctor tells you that you may not have another month.”
I reached for her hand.
“You can still make things right, Eleanor.”
She looked at me for a long time.
“Would you do something for me?”
“Anything I can.”
“Marry me.”
I blinked.
Then I blinked again.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself. I have limited energy.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Finally, I said, “Eleanor, you do realize I’m thirty-nine?”
“I noticed.”
“And you’re seventy.”
“Excellent. We agree on the numbers.”
