“I’m not joking, Greta.”
“Dorothy, what do you mean you fell in love?”
She straightened her shoulders. “Exactly what I said.”
“How old is he?”
“Old enough.”
That answer made something tighten in my stomach.
Before I could ask anything else, she reached for the grocery bag.
“Thank you, Greta. Alex will help me put these away.”
The door closed before I could respond.
I stood on the porch for several seconds, confused and slightly embarrassed. Part of me wondered whether I had insulted her by questioning her. Dorothy was elderly, but she was not helpless. She had every right to make her own decisions.
Still, something about the conversation bothered me.
Two days later, I saw Alex for the first time.
I was leaving for work when Dorothy’s front door opened. A young man stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
He looked about 20 years old.
He wore faded jeans, a plain gray sweatshirt, and worn sneakers. His dark hair was messy, and his thin frame made him look even younger. He did not resemble a charming con man from some crime show. He looked like an ordinary young man barely making a living.
When he noticed me watching, he paused.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
His eyes moved toward my house, then back to me.
“You must be Greta.”
The fact that he knew my name unsettled me.
“And you’re Alex.”
He nodded.
“How is Dorothy?” I asked.
“She’s good.”
“I haven’t seen her outside lately.”
“She’s been tired.”
His tone remained polite, but there was something guarded about him. Before I could continue, he walked toward an old car parked near the curb and drove away.
Over the next two weeks, I never saw Dorothy outside.
Not once.
I saw Alex coming and going almost every day.
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