The week after the first date passed slowly.
Eleanor checked her mailbox every day. Nothing from Henry. She told herself she didn't care. She went to work. She sewed fabric. She came home. She ate soup from a can.
Rose noticed. "You're moping."
"I'm not moping."
"You're staring at the wall."
"I'm thinking."
Rose leaned against the sewing machine. "About the mailman?"
"His name is Henry."
"About Henry?"
Eleanor didn't answer.
Rose smiled. "You like him."
"I don't know him."
"Then get to know him."
"He hasn't called."
"Then call him."
Eleanor looked at her hands. The needle had pricked her finger earlier. There was a small dot of blood on her thumb.
"I don't have his number," she said.
Rose pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket. "Yes, you do."
---
That night, Eleanor stood in the hallway of her building.
The payphone was on the wall. The cord was tangled. The metal was cold.
She put in a dime. She dialed the number.
It rang three times.
"Hello?"
It was Henry's voice. Deep. Quiet.
"Henry. It's Eleanor."
A pause. "Eleanor."
"I got your letter."
Another pause. "Did you read it?"
"I read it."
"What did you think?"
She leaned against the wall. The plaster was cracked. "I think I want to see the roof."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Saturday? Six o'clock?"
"Saturday. Six o'clock."
She hung up. The dime dropped into the coin return. She left it there.
---
Saturday came.
The sky was clear. The air was cool. Eleanor wore the blue dress again. Less pink lipstick. Her hair was down.
Henry was waiting for her on the corner of Franklin Avenue. Same jacket. Same hands in his pockets.
"You came," he said.
"You asked."
They walked to the building. The same lobby. The same rusted mailboxes. The same narrow stairs.
The roof door was propped open with a brick. The brick was red. Old.
Henry pushed the door open.
The roof was the same. Flat. Tar paper. Water tank in the corner. Milk crate near the edge.
But the light was different. The sun was lower. The shadows were longer.
Eleanor walked to the edge. The city spread out below them. The bridges. The water. The lights just starting to come on.
"It's still beautiful," she said.
"It's always beautiful."
She turned to look at him. He was standing by the water tank. His hand was on the metal.
"Come here," he said.
She walked to the tank. It was large. Rusted in places. A valve on the side. A pipe leading down into the building.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Water tank. For the building."
"It's ugly."
"It's useful."
She touched the metal. It was warm from the sun.
"Henry."
"Yeah."
"Why did you bring me here?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Because I wanted to show you something."
He pulled a small piece of chalk from his pocket. White. Broken.
He knelt in front of the tank. He started to draw.
Eleanor watched. His hand moved slowly. Carefully.
A circle. A smaller circle inside. A dot in the middle.
An eye.
"What is that?" she asked.
"A watcher."
"A watcher?"
"To watch over the building. To watch over the people." He stood up. The chalk was on his fingers. "My mother used to draw eyes. On the walls of our apartment. She said they kept us safe."
Eleanor looked at the eye. The chalk was white against the rusted metal.
"It's strange," she said.
"It's mine."
She looked at him. His face was serious. His eyes were brown.
"I like it," she said.
He almost smiled.
---
They sat on the edge of the roof. Their legs dangled over the street.
The sun set. The sky turned orange, then purple, then dark.
The city lights came on. Thousands of them. Yellow. White. Red.
"Do you come up here every day?" she asked.
"Almost every day."
"Alone?"
"Always alone."
"Until now."
He looked at her. "Until now."
She pulled her knees up to her chest. The tar paper was rough under her hands.
"I've never been on a roof before," she said.
"Never?"
"My building doesn't have a roof door. It's locked."
"That's a shame."
"Why?"
"Because roofs are the best place to think."
She looked at the sky. The stars were starting to appear. "What do you think about?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "My mother. My father. My brothers. The mail I deliver. The people who never write back."
"That's sad."
"That's life."
She turned to look at him. "Do you ever think about the future?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you see?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I see a small apartment. A woman who loves me. A garden on the roof."
"A garden?"
"Tomatoes. Basil. Maybe flowers."
She almost smiled. "You want to grow things?"
"I want to watch things grow."
She looked at the water tank. The painted eye stared back at her.
"Henry."
"Yeah."
"I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of wanting things. Of hoping. Of being disappointed."
He took her hand. His fingers were warm.
"Me too," he said.
They sat in silence. The city hummed. The water tank hummed.
---
He walked her home.
The streets were darker now. The streetlights were on. A cat crossed the sidewalk.
They stopped in front of her building.
"Thank you," she said. "For the roof."
"Thank you for coming."
He stood there. His hands were in his pockets.
"Henry."
"Yeah."
"Can I see you again?"
He nodded. "Tomorrow?"
"The roof?"
"The roof."
She went inside. She climbed the stairs. She opened her door. She sat on the bed.
The room was the same. The crack in the ceiling. The brick wall outside the window.
But everything felt different.
She took off her shoes. She lay down.
She stared at the ceiling. The crack. The river.
She closed her eyes.
She dreamed of the roof. The water tank. The painted eye.
---
The next morning, Rose was waiting at the factory.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"The date. The roof. The mailman."
Eleanor sat at her station. She threaded the needle. She pressed the pedal.
"He's strange," she said.
"Strange good or strange bad?"
"Strange good."
Rose smiled. "I told you."
"You told me nothing."
"I told you to say yes."
Eleanor stopped the machine. She looked at Rose. "He drew an eye on the water tank."
Rose raised an eyebrow. "An eye?"
"To watch over the building."
"That's strange."
"I told you."
"But you like him."
Eleanor looked at her hands. The small dot of blood on her thumb was gone.
"Yes," she said. "I like him."
---
The weeks passed.
Eleanor and Henry met on the roof every Saturday. Sometimes more.
They talked about everything. Nothing. The weather. The neighborhood. The price of bread.
He told her about his route. The streets he walked. The letters he delivered. The people who waved. The people who didn't.
She told him about the factory. The machines. The fabric. The women she worked with. Rose. The others.
"You hate that place," he said.
"I hate it."
"Then leave."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I need money."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I have money."
"I don't want your money."
"I know. But I want to help."
She looked at him. His face was serious. His eyes were brown.
"You can't help," she said. "No one can."
He took her hand. "I can listen."
She looked at the water tank. The painted eye. The chalk was fading. But the eye was still there.
"That's enough," she said.
---
One night, he kissed her again.
The same spot. The edge of the roof. The city below.
But this time it was different. Longer. Deeper.
When he pulled back, she didn't open her eyes.
"Eleanor."
"Yeah."
"I love you."
She opened her eyes. The stars were bright.
"I love you too," she said.
He kissed her again.
The city hummed. The water tank hummed.
---
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The crack. The river.
She thought about Henry. His hands. His eyes. The way he looked at her when she wasn't watching.
She thought about the roof. The water tank. The painted eye.
She thought about the future. A small apartment. A garden. Tomatoes.
She smiled.
For the first time in years, she smiled.
---
The next day, she told Rose.
"We're in love," Eleanor said.
Rose set down a bolt of fabric. "In love? After two months?"
"Time doesn't matter."
"Time always matters."
Eleanor shook her head. "Not when it's right."
Rose looked at her for a long moment. Then she hugged her.
"I'm happy for you," Rose said.
"Thank you."
"But be careful."
"Of what?"
"Of loving too much. Of losing yourself."
Eleanor pulled back. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Rose nodded slowly. "Then I'm happy for you."
---
That Saturday, Henry took her to the roof.
The sun was setting. The sky was orange and purple.
He got down on one knee.
Eleanor's heart stopped.
"Henry, what are you doing?"
He pulled a small box from his pocket. Velvet. Old.
"Eleanor," he said. "I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to grow tomatoes with you. I want to watch the city lights with you. I want to grow old with you."
He opened the box. A ring. Simple. Gold. A small diamond.
"Will you marry me?"
Eleanor stared at the ring. Her hands were shaking.
"Henry."
"Yeah."
"Yes."
He stood up. He put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly.
He kissed her.
The city hummed. The water tank hummed. The painted eye watched.
---
They stayed on the roof until the stars came out.
She looked at the ring. The small diamond caught the light.
"My mother is going to be so happy," she said.
"Are you happy?"
She looked at him. His eyes were brown. The kind of brown that caught light.
"Yes," she said. "I'm happy."
He kissed her forehead.
They sat in silence. The city hummed.
"Henry."
"Yeah."
"Can we really grow tomatoes up here?"
He looked at the roof. The tar paper. The water tank.
"We can try."
"And basil?"
"And basil."
"And flowers?"
"And flowers."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I can't wait," she said.
"Neither can I."