Page 94 of Theo of Golden

Shortly after his return to Golden, he purchased a dozen portraits and began writing letters to the intended recipients. Though he would not be bestowing those portraits for a while, he began to compile a calendar of when, and to whom, they would be given in the coming months.

His days were quiet, but they were not wasted as he awaited the blossoms of springtime.

CHAPTER 52

Theo looked at his calendar. The date in March was circled.

“It’s been a year? Already, a year?” And so it had.

One full year he had been living on floor number three, Ponder House.

His plan for the day? A walk of celebration.

He put on his hat and a sweater and inspected himself in the mirror. His was an undeniably old face, but even to him, it lost decades of age when he smiled. And so he did.

“Don’t fool yourself, Mr. Theo,” he teased himself as he looked at his reflection. “You are an old man. But you look quite dapper today, if I say so myself. Happy anniversary, idoso.”

He opened the back door, greeted the morning, bowed slightly to the river, and headed for the street. The Promenade was brimming with students and business folk.

As he walked, Theo stopped at every familiar face to express his gratitude for the year that Golden had given him. Simone the cellist. Shep the barista. Derrick the prosecutor. Katherine the journalist. The gaggle at the Verbivore.

“Top o’ the mornin,’ Mr. Theo.”

“Tony, it is a glorious day indeed! I am on an anniversary walk. Today I have been in Ponder House for exactly one year. Tony, my boy, at this very spot, you told me about Ponder House. So, I came to thank you, for being my friend and neighbor. It has been a good, good year, and I hope you can remain open for at least one more week.”

“Wishful thinking, Theo, wishful thinking.”

He bumped into Minnette at the Chalice. He had not yet seen her since his return from the holidays. They hugged and then stood facing each other, holding hands.

“Hello, my dear. How is Asher’s favorite niece?”

She smirked playfully. “His only niece is doing just fine. And I’m glad to see you again. I was afraid you would never return to Golden after the way my father behaved at Thanksgiving.”

Theo waved it off. “Nonsense. That was an unmistakably wonderful evening. So, so good. And Minnette, I will continue to believe that even your difficult dad is capable of saintliness.”

Minnette raised her eyebrows and snickered incredulously. “Well, if he gets there, it will belong in the ‘miracle’ column.”

Theo nodded. “Indeed, that is the only column there is, my dear, for any of us. So, Minnette, I’m on my way to the Boughery. Do you know if your Uncle Asher is at his studio today?”

She nodded. “He is. I went by there just a little while ago to deliver his tax return. He could probably use a bit of friendly company about now.”

Theo leaned toward Minnette. “Strong,” he whispered. “Brave. Kind.

It’s all still there. I see it even more clearly.”

She smiled. “A miracle?”

He grinned.

Leaving the Promenade and walking south, he continued past Symphony Hall and into the Boughery. He would make the loop, walking down the east side of the street, crossing the median to the west side, and stopping by Asher’s on the way back to Ponder House.

To stroll through the Boughery on a spring day like this one was to walk through a gauntlet of azalea blossoms — ten thousand mouths opened wide in laughter or song.

Theo had once assumed that these abundant blooms would be a gift to local beekeepers, until he learned that their nectar, and that of other flowers in the genus rhododendron, was toxic and unsuitable for honey. So toxic, in fact, that, once upon a time, receipt of a black vase filled with azaleas was to receive a well-known death threat.

Had Theo known of that practice earlier — on the awful afternoon when the jealous boyfriend destroyed the portrait of Mia — he might well have sent a very black vase filled with a large number of azalea blooms to Cleave Torber. But no longer. That venom had diluted by now, and Theo felt more pity than anger toward the young man.

Life was too short for azaleas in black vases.