Frank Dollar shuffled slowly along the sidewalk, squinting in the springtime sun. Arriving at his destination, his eyes were drawn to something white through the plate glass front of the coffee shop. He realized after some moments that it was the reflection of his own head. His hair had been mostly white for at least twenty years, but he sighed, admitting to himself that after so many years of looking old, he now felt old. Margie had kept him feeling young beyond reason, beyond all his expectations. Margie, now gone.

He still often caught himself turning to speak to her, to ask her where his black socks were or to comment on the weather, knowing as he spoke the first word that she was no longer there. Would never be there again. That’s when the pain was sharpest, when his mind had slipped back into habits of nearly fifty years of marriage, telling him that things were as they should be, as they had been for so long. Then his heart would clench in his chest and he would mutter at himself. Old fool. Pathetic, that’s what you are. This had not changed in the eight months since the hospital, the funeral, and his return to the deep quiet of the house they had shared for so long.

He stirred himself and entered the coffee shop. It was not clear to him whether he should order at the counter or take a seat at a table and wait for service. There was no one else standing at the counter, and since he was tired from the walk there, he sat. He squinted at the menu board behind the counter. There were too many choices—latte, mocha, cappuccino, on and on. He pulled a napkin out of the dispenser on the table and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Glancing around, he noticed that all of the other patrons looked much younger, like college students, early thirties at most. They sat staring at laptop computers or smartphones, most with headphones on or in their ears.

He had sat for some time, catching his breath and wiping his brow. Customers had come in and gotten their orders at the counter, so he realized he would need to get up, but he was tired and a bit short of breath still, so he sat a while longer. Margie would have known how the place worked, and they would have had their coffee by now. But she was not here any more. He felt like a child at times, not knowing how to navigate basic tasks without her help.

He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. She was beautiful in an unthreatening way. Her eyes looked at him always with kindness, or sweet laughter, or genuine affection. He said “We could have a nice life together. How about it?” The war was over, he had come home safely from the Pacific, with just a touch of malaria and some dark memories that often woke him up at night. He had a decent job, and things were looking up for him. A couple of promotions, a new car. He was ready to settle into the life of peace and prosperity they had all fought for. She squeezed his hand. “All right, how about it! Let’s have a nice life.” It was the laughing eyes then, not laughing at him but laughing with joy at how life could turn from drab to golden in a heartbeat. What a funny old world!

He realized someone had spoken to him, but he had not caught what was said. He blinked and looked up at the waitress. No, not a waitress, that’s not what they’re called. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You were pretty far away there, sir!”

“I’m sorry, I was just daydreaming. I do that quite a bit, these days.”

“Good dreams, I hope.”

“Well, yes, mostly. I was thinking about my wife. My late wife. I proposed to her in a coffee shop, a long time ago. She said yes, and it sure surprised me.”

“You didn’t think she’d say yes?”

“I had hope, I guess, or I wouldn’t have asked. But I thought it was a long shot, that’s for sure.”

“Can I get you a coffee, maybe a cookie?”

His eyes narrowed. A thumb and forefinger slid into his shirt pocket and he slowly pulled out a small card, the size of a credit card, frayed around the edges. He sheepishly extended it toward her, said “I’m afraid I’m not a big spender. I’ve got this card for a free coffee. I got it from the senior center a while back.”

She took it, looked at it carefully, handed it back. “I’m sorry, but that’s been expired for a while.”

“Oh? How long?”

“Well, it expired at the end of last year. Four months ago.”

He looked confused, asked “What’s today?”

“Today’s the first day of May.”

“Oh, I guess it has expired, then.” He still looked confused, as if something did not add up. “Huh. First of May. What year?”

She put her hand on his shoulder, told him the year. “Are you alright, sir?”

He put the free-coffee card down on the table, thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I’d better have a coffee anyway, then. Don’t worry, I can pay.” He looked at her with moist eyes. “Just a black coffee. Please.”

He patted Margie’s hand, carefully avoiding the IV taped there, feeling the fragility in her skin and her bones. “We sure had some good times, didn’t we?” Her mouth could not smile, but her eyes were laughing. “Some hard times, too, but I didn’t mind a bit as long as we had each other. Me and my gal!” He turned away to wipe a tear. “I don’t know how I would’ve got along without you.” No response, the laughing eyes now closed.

The waitress (no, not “waitress”) was back. He noticed her now; twenty-something years old, a kind face and laughing eyes. A name tag on her apron said she was Emily. She placed his black coffee on the table, along with a small plate holding a large chocolate chip cookie. A cloth napkin, a spoon. “Black coffee and a cookie. Oh, and the manager said we could accept that card, just this once!” She winked at him, said “I though you could use a little break today.”

“Thank you, you’re kind. I’m sorry I was so confused about that card. And then I realized what day it is. I suppose it doesn’t really count, not now. Margie passed last September, but this would have been our fiftieth anniversary.” He looked down at his hands, swallowed, said no more.

Emily reached down and took the expired free-coffee card from the table, scribbled something on the back. She handed it back to him, said “Next time you come in, you look for me, alright? Ask for me, if you don’t see me. Don’t forget to bring this card. If I’m not working that day, give them this card, tell them Emily says it’s okay!”

Frank finished the cookie, and the last of the coffee, stood and shuffled to the door. He held it open, standing aside for Margie. Then, slowly realizing she was not with him, he shook his head, and raised his hand in a wave to Emily. He turned and walked slowly into the spring sunshine.