followed a shuffleboard match with Eugene whispering critical comments in her ear; they watched a little television, which was what Natalie had come to the center to escape.
“I found myself turning it on at breakfast and not turning it off until I went to bed.”
Eugene shook his head, but there was sympathetic understanding in his bright blue eyes. “I know what you mean. Oh, do I know what you mean.”
“How long have you been coming here?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.”
At noon they went together up the walkway to the church and attended Father Dowling’s Mass. To her surprise, Eugene sat through the Mass and did not go forward to receive communion. Afterward, he explained.
“I’m a heretic.”
“A heretic!”
He made even that seem fun. “I mean I’m not Catholic.”
“Then why would you come to the center?”
“Until today I wondered that myself.”
Honestly. Natalie hadn’t been at the center a week and she seemed to have acquired an admirer.
That night, she alternated between being pleased and being halfashamed. She had been a widow for three years; her children, both of them, were gone. One a Maryknoll missionary and the other a Poor Clare. She resolved that the following day she would avoid Eugene Schmidt. Then another thought came. Eugene wasn’t a Catholic. Everybody should be Catholic. Perhaps God had thrown them together so that Eugene would come into the Church. The next morning she went off to the center with some of the zeal that had sent her daughter to a convent and her son into the priesthood.
Over coffee and a doughnut she did not need, she got right to the point. “What kind of heretic are you?”
“How many kinds are there?”
Natalie had no idea. “You just meant you’re not Catholic, didn’t you? You’re really nothing at all, I mean religiously?”
“What are you getting at?”
They had wandered outside on this suddenly sunny day with their coffee and were sitting side by side on one of the benches along the walkway. Natalie hadn’t liked the way Phyllis Pilgrim had talked to Eugene in a saucy way, as if she had some kind of claim on him.
“Perhaps you’ve already talked with Father Dowling.”
“Of course I’ve talked with him.”
Natalie looked away. Phyllis had come outside, and then she saw them. She didn’t look happy when she went back inside.
“I think Phyllis is looking for you.”
“You have to protect me,” he said, grasping her arm. If it hadn’t been for his devilish smile, she might have thought he was in danger. She said as much.
“The predatory widow, Natalie. They’re the bane of my life.”
“Poor you.”
He nodded. “That, too.”
It was difficult to get back to the subject that had led her to take him outside to this bench.
“Now, if you were Phyllis, I wouldn’t be sitting here for a million dollars.”
Whatever he said seemed to indicate that he considered her, well, unlike the other widows. As indeed she was.
“Do you ever think of your soul, Eugene?”
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Of course you do. An immortal soul. Eugene, we’re no longer young. We have to be more serious about what it all means.”
“What does it all mean?”
“Father Dowling could explain that better than I could.”
“I do have a heart. I’m sure of that.”
He just couldn’t be serious a minute, and Natalie found she liked that. He was such fun to be with. After all those dreadful months watching television, being with Eugene was a tonic. Thank God she had decided to come to the senior center. Would she ever have imagined that coming here would mean meeting someone like Eugene? No, not someone like. Eugene himself.
That afternoon Phyllis followed her into the restroom, and when they were washing up, their eyes met in the mirror.
“Be careful, Natalie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be misled by our Don Juan.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him.”
Phyllis dipped her head and looked at Natalie