Forty Five Years Too Late
On the video screen, world-renowned scientist Dr. Graham Harrington lay on a hospital bed, his white hair disheveled, his frame gaunt and frail.
Yet his voice was instantly, sickeningly familiar:
Ellie, Im sorry In this life, you were the only one I ever held in my heart.
Where are you? Can we meet again?
I quietly pressed the screen dark.
My son, Owen, walked into the kitchen, scooping rice. Mom, you know him?
No, I said, turning to lift the lid off the pot. A plume of white steam rose, momentarily blurring my vision.
The braised short ribs are almost ready. Im taking them to your dad. The doctor says he can come home tomorrow.
Whats past is past.
Some words arrive so late that they lose all their intended weight.
Besides, I never needed his affection in the first place.
1
The antiseptic smell in the City General hallway was thick and cloying. I set down the thermos and went to find the water fountain, covering my nose.
I didn't slow down enough at the corner and collided solidly with someone coming the other way.
Excuse me, I murmured, moving to walk around them.
But the person grabbed my arm, his voice catching. Ellie? Is that really you!
That one sound was all I needed to know who it was.
I yanked my arm away, my expression deliberately neutral.
Graham Harrington awkwardly withdrew his hand. His gaze dropped to the faded, pale blue loaner jacket the nurse had given me, and his Adams apple bobbed. I never imagined you were working here?
He instinctively reached for his pocket, then stopped. My wallet is in the suite Ellie, come up to the private ward with me. I need to talk to you.
I froze for a moment, then let out a sharp, unexpected laugh.
Id dressed too lightly this morning and was freezing. The aide from the next room had forced her spare scrub top on me, worried Id catch a chill.
It was clear Graham assumed I was destitute.
I didn't offer an explanation. I just turned to leave.
But he followed, grabbing my arm again. Ellie, its me, Graham! Dont you remember me?
My spine stiffened. I pulled free once more.
I remember, I said, my voice flat. You are Vivian Wellss husband. My sisters husband.
Graham Harringtons hand, left suspended in the air, slowly dropped.
Forty-five years ago, my half-sister, Vivian Wells, filed a report accusing me of immoral behavior.
My fianc, Graham, stood me up on the night we were supposed to run away together.
A month later, the embossed, gold-stamped wedding invitations for Graham Harrington and Vivian Wells were distributed across the entire Mid-State Engineering campus.
How could I possibly forget any of that.
Back in the room, Art was gone.
I opened the thermos, and the rich, complex aroma of braised short ribs instantly filled the air.
I was smiling, explaining the recipe to the older woman in the next bed. Three tablespoons of brown sugar, a chunk of cinnamon stick, and a slow simmer in the Dutch oven for two full hours.
Dont rush the heat, and dont rush the process. You have to sear the meat first to draw out the flavor, then simmer slowly
I glanced up, and Graham had followed me all the way to the doorway.
His nose twitched, and his eyes were rimmed with red. Ellie, thats the exact smell! The taste from all those years ago!
If I hadnt let go back then, I wouldnt be so full of regret today
I didn't say anything. I simply closed the door and pressed the call button for the nurse.
It wasn't long before a stern nurse escorted him back to his private suite.
Just then, Art returned, triumphantly waving his discharge summary.
Doctor says the lung nodule is stable, so Im out early! I snuck the paperwork through myself!
He was always like thatprotective, never letting me worry about a thing.
The next few days, my phone screen was a constant stream of alerts for the trending hashtag: #NobelScientistGrahamHarringtonSeeksFirstLove.
#TerminalLiverCancerFinalWish
#LoveAcrossHalfACentury
#LovedYouAllThisTime
Even The City Ledger ran a full-page spread of the search plea.
I tried hard to ignore it, but the push notifications were relentless.
The comment sections were a sea of tears:
She needs to find him! Thats true love!
To achieve so much and still remember his first lovehow moving!
I couldnt even avoid it during my neighborhood walks:
You dont see men this devoted anymore!
I wonder which lucky old woman hes looking for
But they didn't understand. A love thats expired is worse than a lifetime of silence.
The worst came when Owen sent me a link with a headline that stung: #GrahamHarringtonsFirstLoveIsHer.
The accompanying picture was a faded photo of us taken in front of the factory gates in 1982.
In the photo, I wore my hair in two braids, my eyes crinkled in a genuine smile.
Graham stood beside me, his hands behind his back, looking like he wanted to reach for mine but couldnt.
I stared at the yellowed photo, my fingers icy cold.
In the end, there was no escaping it.
2
On the set of the national program The Echo, Graham Harrington, dressed in a replica of his old work shirt, did his best to sit up straight.
In 1980, I was accepted into Mid-State Engineering. A year later, my childhood friend followed me there.
He pointed to the photograph, recounting the story slowly:
Her name is Ellie Reynolds. Shes three years younger than I am.
I was in Technical Design; she worked in the canteen. Her braised short ribs were incredibleeven now, I can close my eyes and taste them.
I was twenty-three then, and I didnt understand real love. I hurt the person who loved me, and Ive regretted it ever since.
Now, I don't have long left. My only wish in coming back to the States is to see her one last time, just to tell her Im truly sorry.
He produced several objects: a bookmark Id given him, the bus ticket from the night we planned to run away, and his rejected money orders
Hed handled the yellowed paper so often the edges were frayed, as if they were the only proof of his remaining conscience.
I wrote her letters, but they were never answered. I sent her money, but it was returned.
He coughed violently. Ellie, I want you to know, the night we agreed to run away, I actually went to the station
I didnt know any of this, but it no longer mattered.
Graham was still talking on the television, but I couldn't bear to listen anymore.
I turned off the set and automatically wiped a layer of dust off the credenza.
The fine dust motes swirled in the air, stirring up a flurry of old memories.
I underestimated the power of the internet.
The day after the program aired, my phone was besieged. I was bombarded with non-stop calls from unknown numbers.
They demanded to know if I was Ellie Reynolds and why I refused to meet Dr. Harrington.
To shield my husband and son, I initially denied it: You have the wrong number. Its a common name.
But the calls intensified, forcing me to shut off my phone entirely.
Arts phone was also filled with messages of public censure.
My small restaurant, Ellies Corner, was staked out by influencers desperate to film the first love in person.
Comments flooded my business pages:
No matter what happened, Professor Harrington dedicated his life to this country. You owe him your forgiveness.
He only has a year left. Why are you being so heartless?
Did you turn your back on him first, and thats why you found a new husband!
Young people pointed their anger at me, as if my refusal to meet Graham made me a wicked monster.
Art squeezed my hand. Dont worry, Ive got this. If it gets too bad, we can go stay at the lake house for a few days until the heat dies down.
Owen quietly began gathering evidence to sue the online trolls for doxing.
He adjusted his hearing aid and said, Mom, I wont let anyone hurt you, I promise!
Watching them rally to protect me, I made a firm decision. I looked at Owen.
Call the producers of The Echo, I instructed. Tell them I agree to meet Graham Harrington.
I would tell the full story, in front of the entire country.
Not for the sake of forgiveness, but so that everyone would finally know the truth.
Some harm cannot be wiped away by a simple Im sorry.
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