They Still Hold Hands

He sat quietly on the park bench looking at his shoes. They were badly scuffed. The shoes were made by Santoni of Italy. There was no way he could have afforded such a fine pair of shoes on his salary. If his shoes had a personality they would be insulted by the way they’d been treated.

Frank, who stood six feet five inches tall, loved shoes. When he bought new shoes he was fond of saying, “My next pair will be Berluti or maybe Santoni shoes.” When three months before their 5th wedding anniversary his wife Carrie learned she was expecting their first child, she gave them to him. She spent $3,100 on the black leather shoes. She had worked extra shifts at the hospital to pay for them.

Carrie’s mother thought spending that kind of money was very foolish. But Carrie defended her decision, saying, “It will be a nice surprise for him. Now that we’re starting a family it will be years before we can afford to splurge like this, especially for shoes.” To say she was hurt by the way he treated those expensive shoes would be an understatement. When he got the shoes Frank pretended to be delighted, but he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t the money. It was the shoes’ square toe style that bothered him.  

Now, sitting on the park bench, he heard robins singing. Spring had arrived on schedule, along with his twin boys, Marcus and Martin. Carrie wouldn’t be going back to work for a while, and the bills were beginning to pile up. They’d fought about it that morning. Business was slow and there were persistent rumors of layoffs at his office.  In the heat of their argument, Carrie pointed to his shoes and said, “I guess I wasted three thousand dollars on them.”

Hearing the birds sing made him look up. Passing by him, only three short feet away, was an elderly couple. They walked slowly, and each one was gripping a matching duck head cane. He was surprised to see they were holding hands.  

The woman smiled at him and seemed to give him a little wink. They walked a few steps, past him. The woman tugged her husband’s hand, a signal to stop. The old man, who was a good foot taller than his wife, looked down and, in a worried tone, said, “What?” 

She guided him back to the bench. In a surprisingly strong voice, she said, “Young man, I can’t recall the last time I saw someone with such a forlorn look on his face. I hope you don’t mind my asking. What’’s troubling you?”

Before Frank could answer, the woman’s husband said, “Now Meg, we shouldn’t intrude. Perhaps this gentleman is just pondering.”

Frank smiled. When was the last time he heard someone say that word, pondering? Not sure how to respond, he said, “I couldn’t help noticing that you were holding hands.” He gestured toward their firmly clasped hands.

The man returned Frank’s smile and said, “Name’s John Goohand. He gave his cane to his wife just long enough to shake Frank’s hand “Yes, we’ve been holding hands since our first date, sixty-five years ago.”

The young man nodded. “Hard habit to break. I guess.”

“Oh, I assure you, this isn’t a habit,” Meg said. She turned to her husband and added, “John insists on it. He always says it will help us remember why we’re together.” She giggled, which embarrassed her some. “He says it keeps our love alive.”

“Does it work?” Frank asked, mostly because he couldn’t think of something more intelligent to say.

“My Meg just can’t keep a secret. She never could I’m afraid,” John said. “But to answer your question, it has worked for us. That and determination and a good bit of patience with each other.”

Mrs. Goodhand decided to try again. “I don’t mean to pry, dear, but what’s troubling you?”

Surprising himself, Frank spent a few minutes explaining his worries about finances and the stress of taking care of not one but two newborns. He even mentioned the expensive shoes he was wearing. He ended his tale of woe, saying, “I don’t think holding hands is going to get us through this mess.” His voice trailed off at the end. He didn’t want to hurt the couple’s feelings. The words had just slipped out.

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” Mr. Goodhand said, looking Frank in the eye. “We’ve been through business failure, the loss of a four-year-old child, cancer -both of us, the works you might say.”

“Now John, we have also received many blessings in our lives. But my husband is right. Through it all we held hands, sometimes very tightly.” The woman hesitated for a moment, tapping her cane on the sidewalk while she thought. “My husband is going to be cross with me for asking you this, but it won’t be the first or last time. Are you happy in your marriage?”

Mr. Goodhand tapped his cane and exhaled, pretending to be displeased.

“Why yes. I am. My wife is a good woman. I love her dearly.”

Mr. Goodhand surprised his wife, saying, “When was the last time you told her?” Mrs. Goodhand squeezed his hand with approval.

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh, my!” Was Mrs. Goodhand’s reaction.

“We need to finish our walk. The sun will set soon,” Mr. Goodhand said. “May I offer you a bit of advice?”

“Yes, of course,” Frank said.

“On your way home get your shoes shined. Spotless. When you get home, tell her you love her. If you’re fortunate, when she sees the shoes maybe she’ll believe you. Take her hand and don’t let go of it.” He smiled. “Do that and your troubles will be mostly behind you.”

As he watched the couple walk away, Frank checked his phone. He was in luck. The train station still had a shoeshine stand.