‘Look what the wind blew in’

We’re back at our table in Grace Manor: Douwe the horseman. Broekie (Kees) from Broek op Langedijk. Jan who struggles with remembering the day. Pete who has recently found love, again. And me – the Young People of long ago, still meeting over coffee. There is one empty chair.

When Douwe first walked in, we sensed something off. As he came closer, we saw it: the last fringe of grey hair at the back of his head was gone.

Broekie whispered, “Look at that bald noggin – don’t say a word!”

Douwe clapped his hands and raised an eyebrow as he got closer. When no one said a word, he glanced at the table. Seeing no thermos, he said, “No coffee yet? I’ll check with Mary.”

As he turned to leave, Pete said, “He must have fallen down the stairs.” He paused, then added, “Better down the stairs than off his rocker!”

Now Douwe returns, carrying the thermos of coffee with a lightness to his step, as if he were dancing – well, almost. He swings the thermos in one hand and balances a plate of gemberkoek with the other.

“Gentlemen of leisure,” he says, setting the plate down. He unscrews the top of the thermos. “Who’s in for some comfort in a mug?”

We try not to look at him as we hold out our mugs. He puts the thermos on his chair, turns around, and we keep our eyes on the mugs. Jan has both hands around Douwe’s orange mug.

When Broekie holds out his mug, Douwe waves him off.

“You’re last,” he says.

He fills our mugs, but when he reaches Broekie, he pulls the thermos away.

“What do we say?”

“Please,” Broekie replies.

Douwe glances around the table, pauses, and says,

“Brothers, notice anything different this morning?”

Broekie grins and leans forward.

“You got a haircut. Looks good. Makes you look younger.”

We all nod. Douwe bows dramatically, and we all clap.

“You don’t look a day over ninety,” Broekie adds.

“Thanks,” Douwe replies. “That makes me ten years younger than you.”

We laugh, starting our coffee hour in good spirits.

For a while, we chat without settling on any particular topic. Jan looks around the table, then points at the empty chair.

“Where’s the pastor?” he says.

Broekie uncrosses his knees and leans back slightly.

“Bill’s seeing his doctor today. He’s got plumbing problems,” he says.

No one speaks.

Douwe coughs, then mutters, “That pisses me off.”

Broekie shakes his head, trying not to smile. We lift our mugs.

The dining-room door swings shut with a soft click. Trynie walks in with a fresh pot of coffee. She smiles at Jan, then at us.

“I’m helping Mary in the kitchen,” she says, swaying the thermos. As she pours Pete’s mug, she adds, “I stay close to Jan now. I’m dating my husband.”

She turns to Douwe. “I hope you don’t mind, Jan just loves your mug. He keeps saying he found it.”

Jan lifts the orange mug.

Douwe looks at it, then at Jan, and laughs. “That one’s special. But you can keep it – as long as you like.”

Jan tightens his grip.

Trynie pours the last of the coffee, sets the pot down, and gives Jan’s shoulder a brief squeeze before returning to the kitchen.

New love, different loss

We settle again, mugs refilled, hands wrapped around the warmth. Kees holds out the plate with six slices of gemberkoek.

Pete clears his throat. He reaches for the back of Bill’s chair. A faint smile crosses his face.

“I got a call from my daughter a few days ago . . .”

He looks at the ceiling, avoiding our eyes.

“She’s upset. And, well . . . I should have called her. She found out I’ve been seeing Grace.”

He pauses. He presses his lips together, and continues, “Grace and I were going to visit my daughter last Saturday. Then Friday night, Sharon called and said she had no interest in meeting her.” He leans forward. “I asked her if she wasn’t ready. She didn’t answer. She hung up on me.” He clenches his hands. “I called her back on Sunday, but she didn’t pick up. I’m worried. And I’m hurt.”

I put my mug on the table and nod at him.

“This week I called her, and after a few tries, she picked up. I asked if I could come to see her, and she said that would be fine.” He hunches his shoulders. He points to the empty chair. “Pastor Bill suggested I just listen to her. So I did . . . Sharon said she misses having her mom at all those special occasions with her kids, you know, birthdays, school concerts. My granddaughter’s high school graduation was so bittersweet, she said. She’s still . . .” He lifts his empty coffee mug, holds it, and stares at the wall behind us.

Pete looks at us now. “As I left Sharon . . . I told her I think of Mom every day and . . .”

We wait.

“It’s stuffy in here,” he says. He walks to the window. The latch sticks, then it gives.

Douwe turns his mug a quarter turn on the table. “These things take time,” he says.

Broekie doesn’t look at Douwe. He keeps his eyes on Pete.

“Hard when your own child keeps the door closed,” he says. He hesitates. “Have you spoken to Grace since?”

Pete nods. “Yes . . . she says she understands.”

A longer silence.

Jan points at the table.

“Lieveheersbeestje,” he says. A small red ladybug crawls across the table towards some crumbs of gemberkoek.

Douwe leans back in his chair. “Look what the wind blew in,” he says.

We watch it move to the edge of the table. Then Douwe reaches out. He lowers his big finger against the side of the table. The ladybug pauses, then climbs on it. He lifts his hand, walks toward the open window where the ladybug opens its wings and disappears.

Now Jan stares at Pete. He picks up his mug, and turns his eyes on the empty chair.

“Sharon . . . Pete loves Sharon,” he says.

No one speaks.

Broekie leans forward, resting a hand lightly on Pete’s elbow. He nods.

He pours a fresh cup for Pete, pushing it toward him. Douwe reaches for the plate and slides the last slice of gemberkoek toward Pete.

Pete takes the slice and lifts his mug.

We lift our mugs.

After a pause, Douwe rubs his bald head.

“Gone,” he says. His hand lingers over the shaved part. “Still feels . . . diff –”

“Difficult,” Pete says. Douwe shakes his head.

“No. Different.”

He looks around the table, then back at Jan, who is still holding the orange mug. Jan’s eyes move from the mug to the empty chair.

“Where’s Bill?” he says.

Find Part 1-6 in the Grace Manor series here.