By Angie Schlauch

John Marley lived in a grand home in an affluent suburb of Chicago. His grandfather, a wealthy factory owner, had it built in 1899, an exciting spectacle of a home for an exciting new century. John was the third generation to grow up in the home, and inherited it from his parents. 

John was always a gentle, quiet man, but he only became quieter after the death of his wife. Their only son, Tom, was in elementary school at the time, and John raised him alone. He made sure to instill in him an understanding of the value of hard work, and that when you no longer need a helping hand, it’s your turn to become the helping hand.

Tom went to college, fell in love, and created his own life. He bought a house nearby, and he and his wife frequently visited. When John learned he was going to be a grandfather, he felt a joy that he hadn’t in years. His time with his family made his home a warmer place. But he still spend most of his time alone. The cavernous home felt haunted. During the warmer months, he spent his days gardening, and during the long winters, he salted the roads for his neighbors.

One afternoon in late March, 1982, John was driving home from the hardware store when he noticed a woman carrying a large instrument case on her back, walking along the sidewalk. In the very instant that she caught his eye, she slipped on some ice. He immediately stopped and ran to her aid. 

“Are you all right, Ma’am?” He asked, concerned. 

“Oh goodness, yes, thank you,” she replied in a soft Irish accent. 

He stifled a laugh. She had landed on her back, with the instrument case beneath her, and she was, at that moment, the very image of an overturned turtle. 

She gasped. “Oh no, Charlie!”

He helped her to her feet, and she quickly took the case off her back, and knelt to inspect the instrument. “Oh, thank God. He’s intact.” 

John was amused, and in spite of himself, curious.

“Is Charlie..”

“My cello,” she laughed. “I know, it’s silly, but I’ve had him since I was 17, so at some point it just seemed right to give him a name. Besides, whenever someone asks if I’m single, I like to say, ‘My only fellow’s a cello.’ Her eyes twinkled as she laughed again, and John found himself laughing a little, too.  

“Well, I know your cello’s name, but I’ve yet to be introduced to his owner.” 

“I’m Bernadette, “ she replied.

“I’m John. Where are you headed to? Can I give you a lift?” 

At that moment, a bus arrived at the corner bus stop, but, seeing no one waiting, quickly passed. 

“Well, that was my bus. The next one will be by in an hour. Have you ever been to the diner across the street? They’ve got great coffee.” 

“Once or twice,” he replied.

“Do you want to get a cup of coffee with me? I’ll even buy you a slice of cobbler for coming to my rescue!” 

John felt his cheeks flush. He hadn’t been out with any woman but his wife in more than 30 years. 

Bernadette clocked his conflicted expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose..”

“Oh! No, not at all. In fact, I could go for a cup of coffee.”

“Great! I’ll meet you over there; I’d like to walk off the fall, and make a quick payphone call.“

“I’ll meet you there then!” John said. (2/19)

At the diner, John, Bernadette, and the cello were seated in a booth. 

“Where were you headed before the ice got in your way?” asked John. 

“Downtown, I live in Chicago. I come here on weekends to visit my parents. I also play for the choir at St. Martin’s Saturday evening Mass.” 

“Do you play professionally?” John asked.

”Ah, that’s the dream. No, I work in a bookshop. What do you do?”

“Oh, I was a mechanical engineer, but I retired a year ago.” 

It was at this moment that John began to feel his age. He hadn’t thought about how much younger this woman was. She looked to be in her mid 30s. John was 51, and the natural strain of raising a child alone, enhanced by the grief of widowerhood, had aged him prematurely. She saw the self-reproach in his face, and, mistaking its meaning, asked, “Are you married?” 

“Widowed,” John replied, softly. 

“I’m very sorry. Was it- was it recent?”

“17 years ago.”

“Still tough. Any kids?”

“A son. He’s 25. And,”

He colored slightly.

“I’m about to become a grandfather.” 

“You? You don’t look old enough to be a grandfather!” she said.

John laughed. “That’s a little too kind, but thank you. What about you?” 

“Oh, no. I just haven’t found the right man yet. And I’m a little afraid I’m running out of time. I’ll be 37 this year.” 

John was disarmed by her frankness. 

“I’m sure there’s hope for you yet. I’ve known you for less than an hour, and I can already tell you’re something special.” 

A rose flush came to Bernadette’s cheeks, and her eyes sparkled in the amber light of the diner. It was dawning on John just how becoming she was. 

He tossed Bernadette’s number in the waste basket as he walked into the house. He showered and settled down to bed with a book. He was beginning to doze off when the telephone rang. It couldn’t be. He let the answering machine pick up. 

Usually a man of sparse speech, John found it remarkably easy to open up to this woman. They proved to be such pleasant company to one another that Bernadette missed the next 3 busses; eventually, they had to cede to the bus schedule, and John and Bernadette exchanged numbers before she made her way back to the city. (3/19)

John felt a prickling brightness just beneath his skin. Familiar, yet uncanny all the same. Something ancient; something that had died with Nora.

Don’t be stupid, he told himself. This is a passing thing. She’s not for you.

“Hi John! It was lovely meeting you. I just wanted to let you know I got home in one piece. Thanks again for coming to my rescue today! Well, have a good night..”

 

He didn’t dare pick up the phone. He did, however, retrieve the crumpled phone number from the waste paper basket.

John went about his week and mulled over calling Bernadette. Finally, on Saturday, he resolved to go to the evening Mass at St. Martin’s. John wasn’t exactly a churchgoer, but he felt this was a good opportunity to see Bernadette again. After all, she’d be up in the choir loft, and if he came to his senses, he could sneak out after Communion. 

When he was seated in what he thought to be an inconspicuous pew, he listened. Beneath the warble of the choir, and the ethereal notes of the organ, he heard it: the cello, deep, warm, comforting. He looked behind him and saw her. With the stained glass behind her, and the lamps illuminating her curls, and her blue eyes gazing intently at her sheet music, she looked otherworldly; somehow fierce and soft in equal measures. His mouth felt dry and he cleared his throat. Suddenly, her eyes caught his, and she smiled. There was no escaping her now.

After Mass, John waited in the lobby by the choir loft door. An older couple was waiting nearby. Bernadette appeared, with her cello case on her back. 

“John! I didn’t expect to see you here. After I left you that message I figured you’d written me off as batty,” she motioned to the older couple, “Mom, Dad, this is the man that came to my rescue last Sunday!!” 

The older couple walked up. 

“Oh, you’re the Marley boy. I thought it might’ve been you when Bernie said she’d met a nice widower.

“MOM! John, I’m so sorry.” Interjected Bernadette.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. You’re Mrs. Rea, right?” asked John,

“Yes! I knew your mother from the Ladies’s Auxiliary. My Michael is about your age.”

“Well it’s nice to make your acquaintance,” he paused. “So, are you all going to dinner now, or-“ 

“No! Mr. Rea and I were actually going to pick up a pizza. But, you know Bernie, I can save you a few slices if you aren’t coming home directly.”

“Oh, I..” she paused.

“Uh.. well, in that case, would you like to go to dinner with me?” John asked. 

“I’d love to.” she replied. 

“We’ll bring Charlie home with us,” said Mr. Rea, lifting the cello from Bernadette’s back. 

“It was nice meeting you both,” said John. He turned to Bernadette, “Well.. where would you like to go?”

“Surprise me!” She replied.

John had leapt. Whatever this was, he was now an active participant.

The night ended with a kiss on his cheek on her parents’ porch. 

“Can I see you again?” He asked. 

“I think you can,” replied Bernadette coyly. “Are you free during the week? I’d love to show you my apartment. It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

“How about Thursday?

“Perfect. I get out of the bookstore at about 5:30. Do you like Italian? I know a lovely spot.”

John took the bus downtown on an unusually balmy April evening, and waited outside the half-lit, locked bookstore for a few minutes before the door jingled open, and Bernadette emerged, leaving the bookstore in full darkness as she made her exit. “Hello, John!” She said with a brilliant smile. “Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and led him around a corner to a side entrance, to an elevator. On the 15th floor, she unlocked the door to a studio apartment with high ceilings, wreathed in an ornate crown molding, coated in a thick layer of white paint. From the doorway, he could see a kitchenette, a record player, and a framed picture of the NYC skyline hung above a red velvet Victorian couch.

“Have you been to New York?” John asked. 

“Once, I’ve always wanted to go back!” she motioned to the couch. “Have a seat! Do you like Penne Alla Vodka?”

“I’ve never had it. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it!” He replied honestly.

“It’s new!” She said brightly. “I got the recipe from a friend. They serve it at the discotheques.” 

“Do you go to discotheques?” 

“Goodness, no. I’m a little old for disco, don’t you think?” 

John had no idea what the cutoff age was for disco, but he felt a little better knowing he wouldn’t have to experience it. 

“Would you like some wine?” She asked.

“Yes please.” 

“So John, are you musical at all?” She asked. 

“Well,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “I played a bit of accordion in college.”

“The accordion! I’d love to hear you play some time.”

“Well, if I ever get over my embarrassment, I’ll dig it out of the attic.”

“Wonderful! I won’t let you forget about it. But tell me, what do you do for fun?” She asked as she stirred a small saucepan.

“Well, I suppose I like to garden. I like puzzles. I’ve gotten into painting a little since I retired.” 

“I’d love to see some of your art! Do you like art? We could go to the Art Institute together one day. “

“That’d be nice. What do you like to do when you’re not selling books and playing cello for the angels?” 

“Well, I like to read, I like to cook. I like to go out dancing-” she looked at him pointedly. “And I like to watch the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I actually put in an application this year for an audition. I hope they call me.”

“I think they’d be very lucky to have you,” he replied. 

“Maybe. Wait here!” she opened a large window and stepped onto a fire escape balcony. Beyond the curtains, he could see her lighting a candle. (9/19)

“It’s nice out tonight, so I thought we could dine al fresco!” She led him to the balcony, where a small folding table and 2 folding chairs were set up. Despite the alley and the distinct scent of a lit cigarette from a lower balcony, or perhaps because of it, it was decidedly romantic. Bernadette went back inside and returned with two steaming plates. 

“It’s.. pink!” John observed uneasily.

“It’s a blush sauce. Try it, you’ll love it!” she insisted.

It was, to John’s surprise, delicious. They finished dinner, and as the evening grew cooler, they collected the pieces of their tiny restaurant and climbed back into the apartment.

 Bernadette refilled their glasses, and put a record on the turntable. It was an older jazz record, from the 50s, he thought. John, feeling a little less shy, stood up. 

“Would you like to dance?” He asked.

“I’d love to.” Replied Bernadette.

They danced slowly and closely. It had been decades since John had danced. Bernadette looked at him, and seemed to understand. 

“John,” she asked. “Would you mind if I kissed you?”
He felt himself go pale and red in quick succession. “I.. don’t mind.” 

He hadn’t been kissed in 17 years. 

“John,” she said. “You can stay if you want to.”

In the morning, he was startled to wake up to the smell of coffee, in a small, bohemian apartment. When he got up, he saw that Bernadette was out on the fire escape.

“Good morning,” he said, climbing out to join her. To his surprise, a small bird was eating seeds from her outstretched palm. It took flight at the sight of John.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare off your friend.”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’d had plenty. If you hadn’t showed up I’d have wondered if she’d have been able to fly.” 

She placed the pile on the railing, and 3 pigeons landed almost immediately. 

“What can I say? I like anyone I can befriend by feeding.” She said with a smirk. 

John chuckled.

“I have to go to work in a bit, but I made some toast and coffee if you’d like some.”
“Thanks, I should probably head out. Bernadette… can I see you again?” 

“You can see as much of me as you like,” she grinned. 

He kissed her goodbye and walked to the bus stop. For the first time in perhaps his entire life, he didn’t feel older than he was. He felt, if anything, younger. When he arrived home, it no longer felt cold and haunted. John Marley was in love.

The year was a joyful blur. He and Bernadette were inseparable, and their inner circles began to blend. Bernadette got her audition, and made it into the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. John welcomed a beautiful granddaughter, Sarah. Bernadette became close with Tom and his wife, Laura, and John became close with the Reas. 

One evening after a Sunday dinner, Bernadette was helping Laura calm a fussy Sarah. John was walking down the hallway when he overheard them talking.
“You’re so good with her, Bernie. You’d be a great mom.”
“Oh, thank you, that’s sweet.”

“Do you want kids?” 

“Well, I mean.. I always wanted to be a mother, but honestly, John has already raised a son to adulthood. I couldn’t make him do it all over again just because I’m late to the game. It’s fine.”

John’s heart sank. He’d had passing thoughts of this, but he hadn’t dared to think of them fully. Now he was doomed to face it. He was holding Bernadette back. He’d found happiness that he never thought he could know again, and now, knowing he was keeping the woman he loved from living the life she wanted, how could he ever really be happy?

When John and Laura took Sarah home, Bernadette sat down beside him. “You know, my lease will be up in December. I have to decide whether I want to stay there or not. What would you think about moving in together?” 

John was silent, his face ashen. 

“Are you alright?” Bernadette asked. “You’re pale.”

“I need to talk to you.” He said. “Sooner than later.”

“John, what is it?”

“I..” His voice thickened as a lump formed in his throat. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You’re too young for me.” 

“What? Stop it, no I’m not. “
“You are.”
“John, I’m hardly a child, I’m nearly 40.”

“Bernadette. I can’t keep you. You could have so much more than I can give, and you’re wasting your life on me. I can’t take up any more of your time. You deserve to find somebody to give you children. You deserve more.”

“John, what has gotten into you? I don’t want a child, I want you. I’m lucky to have found you. I’d be happy to just be a grandmother to Sarah one day.”

“I can’t live with myself knowing I’ve narrowed your choices. I can’t see you anymore. For your own sake.”

“John Marley, you’re a fool.” Bernadette hissed through tears. 

“I’ll take you to the bus stop.”

“I’d rather call a cab.” She replied coldly. 

“Bernie. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh John.” She hid her tear-streaked face in her hand as she walked out the door. 

A few hours later, a car pulled into the driveway. Tom stormed in. 

“DAD. What the hell are you thinking?” He cried. “How could you dump Bernie?”

“Tom, it’s none of your concern.” John replied, holding back tears.

“Dad, I’ve never seen you as happy as you’ve been with Bernie. What are you doing? We all love Bernie. This is insane.”

“Tom, it just isn’t right. She deserves more.”

“Dad, just because she’s younger than you doesn’t mean she can’t make up her own mind! How could you treat her like that?”

“You don’t know what it is to sacrifice, Tom, and until you do, I don’t want to hear your opinion on the matter.”

“GOD DAMNIT, DAD, you’re never satisfied until everybody sees you as some kind of martyr.” Tom shouted

This cut a little too true for John to bear. 

“Get out. You’re not welcome in this house,” John growled. 

“If that’s what you want, fine. Stay here all alone in your big, stupid house, with your ridiculous martyr complex.” Said Tom, and he slammed the door. 

In the course of an evening, John had gone from perfect familial joy to a solitary tomb of his own creation. He threw himself onto the bed, bitterly weeping.

The next day, Bernie called him. “I’m leaving Chicago,” she said. “I’m going to New York. If I can’t be with you, I’m going to try to get into the New York Philharmonic. 

John sincerely wished her the best.

🌲

On December 25th, 1992, John Marley was preparing Christmas dinner for his family. He and his son had reconciled two years prior, and he had made up for lost time in every way that he could. He was the most doting grandfather Sarah could have ever hoped for. 

The neighborhood was relatively quiet this Christmas. The neighbor family with too many kids had gone on vacation.. Florida, he thought. And he was pretty sure they hadn’t left their youngest behind this time. 

Ten years had passed, and yet, he still thought about Bernadette. He wondered where she was, and hoped, wherever she may be, that she was happy. 

John was placing the gifts under the tree when the phone rang. When he picked up, he was greeted by a soft Irish accent. 

“Oh John… I know it’s been ages, but you wouldn’t believe the Christmas Eve I just had.”

Epilogue:

After Bernadette told John the daring tale of saving a child from 2 criminals, she admitted that she had been squatting in a theater loft for some time. (Her pride kept her from reaching out to her family for help.) John booked her a hotel room, and flew out the next day to bring her home. The years had not altered their feelings, and the gloom of 10 years melted quickly away. Bernadette moved into John’s house, and they married 6 months later, the Reas and Marleys all in attendance.

Their ring bearer was their mutual friend and neighbor, Kevin McCallister.