Bono

I was drawn to a room where dozens of Buddha statues were displayed together. The space emanated such power it seemed to make time loop back on itself. A man sat in the corner meditating. Though I was tempted to join him, I wasn’t sure my knee would take kindly to the hard floor. I closed my eyes and tried to capture the energy of the room so I could report back to Lydia when we got home.

Afterward, it took a while to adjust to the change of pace on the street. We plunged into a shoal of shoppers and waited on a corner for the lights to change.

At first, I thought I imagined the voice calling my name. When I heard it again, louder this time, I ignored it thinking there must be a million Helens in New York.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. Startled, I turned to see Monique’s dazzling smile. I could hardly believe it.

“How’s Bono?” I asked, adjusting to the shock of seeing her.

“He’s great!” she said, slightly breathless from chasing after me.

“Is he eating? Is he taking his pill okay?” I asked, aware of the anxious note in my voice.

To my relief, she nodded.

“He’s not hiding all the time, is he?” I asked.

“No, he’s very friendly,” Monique said.

I felt a little crestfallen. It sounded like Bono wasn’t missing me. When relationships end, I’d heard women talk about flings they have with “Transitional Men,” who help them gain confidence so they can move on to Mr. Right. In Bono’s case, I was Transitional Woman and Monique was Mrs. Right. Though I felt a little sad, I knew it was how things needed to be.

Chances of our paths crossing like this were slimmer than a cat’s whisker. Perhaps the meeting had been arranged on a spiritual realm between Bono, Lydia, and the Buddha statues.

The crowd swirled around us as Monique and I embraced each other on the street corner. For a moment it seemed we were in some kind of movie.

“I thank you every hour,” Monique said.

The feeling was more than mutual. Monique was the saint Bono had been looking for. After the lights changed, Monique and I said good-bye.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Philip said, guiding me into a taxi and directing the driver to head uptown.

Central Park was decked out in her summer greens. His built-in compass led us to a silky pond where model yachts admired their reflections as they glided across the water. If we were vacationing in Hades, he’d still find a boat to look at. We sat on a bench while a young street performer carved out intricate strains of Bach on his violin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, squeezing my fingers.

People probably thought we were quaint holding hands after twenty-two years of marriage. But we didn’t do it for their benefit. I couldn’t imagine life without the weight of his hand in mine.

“Didn’t John and Yoko live somewhere around here?” I asked.

“I think you’ll find the Dakota building’s out of our range,” he said with a smile.

With Yoko being seven years older than John, their age difference was similar to ours. Except Yoko didn’t have two kids from a previous marriage in tow.

It takes a man of exceptional heart to embrace and raise stepchildren the way Philip had. He’d been equally tolerant and understanding about my two-thirds life crisis, if that’s what it was.

“I don’t need to live in the Dakota building,” I said.

“Are you thinking somewhere closer to Michaela?”

“No,” I said. “I love New York, but having you here has made me realize it’s time I gave up fantasizing about other people’s lives.”

“Really?”

“The one we’ve created together is precious enough,” I said. “It’s taken decades of painstaking work from both of us.”

The violinist was working himself into a Bach-induced frenzy. Philip stood and walked toward him.

“We’d be crazy to leave the kids,” I said.

The musician’s face lit up as Philip spoke to him and dropped a dollar in the open case lying on the ground.

“I want our granddaughters to know us, and for us to help them grow into teenagers, don’t you?”

Philip took my hand.

“And I need to say sorry.”

“What for?” he asked.

“I don’t know what happened after I was sick,” I said. “The walls pulled in around me and I froze up emotionally. Maybe I thought I was dying. Then I met Bono.”

Philip smiled.

“He’s sicker than I ever was,” I said, dabbing my eyes. “Bono taught me the whole point of being alive is to keep on loving no matter what.”

Philip rested his arms on my shoulders and drew me to his chest.

“I’ve been shallow and self-centered,” I said. “Please forgive me. There are so many layers to love. We haven’t explored half of them. I’d like to keep on doing that with you, if you’ll have me.”

“There’s nothing I want more,” he said, hugging me tight. “But there’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s make the next adventure a joint one,” he said.

“Sounds wonderful!”

After we kissed, he led me through a tunnel of willows.

Chapter Thirty-seven

MOVING TO THE GROOVE

Some cats would rather dance in the dark.