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Chapter 18

We make our way downstairs. One step at a time. Slowly. Young and old. Poe yammers on and on about Claude Mercury, his handyman. “He’s single. You’re single. And you can’t deny enjoying the sight of his chest. All those muscles. That man certainly knows how to take care of himself. And those blue eyes. My God, does he have the sexist bluest eyes. I see him running past the house all the time. He wears these tight running shorts that leave nothing to one’s imagination and…”

We make it to the first floor in a few minutes. By this time, Poe has me married to the handyman, Claude, and we have two adopted boys, live along the Allegheny River in a glass and steel house, and frequently visit my parents’ cottage in Erie as a family, although I’m still not speaking to them after too many years to count.