Роберт Паркер - All Our Yesterdays

“This is my beloved son,” Grace said, “in whom I am well pleased.”

Grace’s face was tired. It was almost shocking to see. She never got tired. She never looked tired. The strain of the night had been for her one of restraint, of listening, of containing herself while I ran free.

“And what about us?” Grace said.

“Ah,” I said, “the overwhelming question.”

“The other man is gone,” Grace said.

I held on. Don’t spill it now.

“That’s a start,” I said.

I could hear the clatter of the plow, softened by snow, as it forced its way along Grace’s street.

“You’re alone now.”

“Yes.”

“I would like to marry you,” I said.

Grace was quiet.

“Or I want to say good-bye.”

Grace stayed quiet. I was quiet with her.

“You can do that?” Grace said.

“Yes. I told you when I came in. I’ll miss you for a while. I’ll be sad for a while. And I’ll find someone else in a while and be happy with her.”

“There’s Gus,” Grace said.

“Gus?”

“In your eyes, in your voice,” Grace said. “I don’t know the word for it. A benign craziness, maybe. ‘Here I come and the hell with you.’”

“Remember the puppies,” I said.

“Yes.”

There was no sun, the clouds were still too thick. But the faint luminosity of the morning became a little pinkish as the sun came up behind them.

“When you said you would like to marry me,” Grace said, “what were the conditions?”

“Monogamy,” I said.

“No others?”

“None.”

“Seems a reasonable condition.”

I waited. The morning was entirely quiet. The street outside Grace’s place was cleared and the plow had moved on.

“When you said you wanted to marry me,” Grace said, “was that a formal proposal?”

“You may consider it such,” I said.

“Then I accept,” Grace said.

The morning was slowly warming and the wet snow that had piled up during the night had already begun to melt. I could hear in the silence the slow, wet sound of its melting as it dripped from the window ledge and the eaves.

“Are you too tired to make love?” Grace said.

“No,” I said, and the opening in my throat seemed very narrow.

“Then I think we should each shower,” Grace said, “and brush our teeth, and go upstairs, and lie down, and start over.”

“Yes,” I said. And we did.