No One But You ✔️ Reddie

Twenty-Eight

Richie's tour ended up being so successful in California that they decided to extend the dates across the USA, hitting a different state roughly each fortnight. Eddie had decided to come with him, relishing the opportunity to travel, but he also had a few coincidental trips planned.

As they landed in Atlanta, Georgia, their stomachs flipped. They had called up and been invited to stay with Patricia Uris, Stanley's widow. They had never met in person before, and both Richie and Eddie were unsure how comfortable the union would be.

Patricia's home, what had been Stanley's home, was beautiful. There was a tree to the side of the house. A bird feeder hung from one of the lower branches. A goldfinch pecked at the seeds inside.

Eddie stopped short by the mailbox. He felt as though the place were shielded by an impenetrable glass dome that he could not walk through.

'Everything okay, Eds?' Richie asked, halfway down the garden path.

Eddie inhaled, emotional. 'Yeah, I'm fine. It's just,' he didn't finish. What he wanted to say was: I feel like he's here.

Richie walked back to Eddie and put a hand on his shoulder. 'I know,' he said.

Patricia Uris opened her front door, 'Are you coming in?' she asked, smiling brightly.

The men walked swiftly up towards her.

'Hi, Patty,' Richie greeted, and immediately threw his arms around her.

She made a noise of surprise, but let her hands rub up and down Richie's shoulder blades. 'It's very nice to meet you too, Richie.'

Richie let go and she opened her arms to Eddie. He put his arms around her gingerly, almost disbelieving that she was a real person in flesh and blood. He'd heard her voice, read her letters, but that was so different to seeing the rosiness in her cheeks, the roots coming through her dyed hair, the icing sugar dusted on the front of her apron.

'I hope you're hungry,' she said, ushering them inside. 'I'm sorry. Time ran away with me a little and I wasn't able to make as much food as I wanted.'

Richie gawped at the spread on the table. It was ridiculous. It could have fed a dozen people or more. 'Fucking hell.'

Patty scolded, 'Language.'

'Are we expecting company?' Eddie asked.

'Oh don't be silly. I just expected it might have been a while since you had a hearty home-cooked meal.'

'This looks incredible,' Richie gushed. 'You really didn't have to.'

They sat down and ate. Patricia Uris was a delight. She was talkative and no-nonsense, motherly in a caring, generous way. She seemed genuinely interested in Richie and Eddie, now knowing how important they had been to her husband. She liked to talk about Stan too, she seemed comfortable doing so, asking questions about what he had been like as a boy, wanting them to recount stories.

She gave them a tour of her home. There were photographs of Stan everywhere, gradually ageing through the years. He looked so happy. Eddie picked up their wedding photographs.

'How long were you married?' he asked quietly.

Patty started to wander back downstairs. 'Oh gosh. About thirteen years.'

Richie whistled as he followed her, 'Lucky lady.'

She smiled softly, 'I am.'

Eddie put the picture back in its place on the dresser. He turned to look behind him, saw the bathroom, saw the bathtub. He shuddered. He couldn't fathom how Patricia was able to walk into that room every day, knowing that it was the place that her husband died.