The years passed like seasons.
One spring melted into summer. Summer faded into fall. Fall froze into winter. Then spring again.
Eleanor and Henry grew older. Not old. Just older. The lines on their faces deepened. Henry's hair thinned. Eleanor's hands grew rough from sewing.
But they still sat on the roof. Every evening when the weather allowed. They watched the sun set. They watched the city lights come on. They watched the water tank rust a little more each year.
And every spring, Henry climbed the tank and repainted the eye.
The chalk became paint. A small can of blue and black that Eleanor bought at the hardware store. A brush that Henry kept in the apartment, wrapped in newspaper.
"It's fading again," he would say.
"Then paint it again."
And he did.
---
The building changed.
Mr. Goldstein died. His son took over. The son didn't wear cardigans. He wore suits. He raised the rent.
The Kims had moved to New Jersey years ago. Their apartment was rented by a young couple who argued loudly. Then they moved. Then another couple. Then another.
Mrs. Gable on the first floor died in her sleep. Her apartment stayed empty for months. Then a young woman moved in. She was quiet. She kept to herself.
Mr. Chen was still the super. Older now. His squint was deeper. His hands shook sometimes. But he still fixed the boiler. Still swept the stairs. Still changed the lightbulbs.
Eleanor brought him soup when he was sick. He never thanked her. But he always ate it.
---
One winter, Henry came home with a limp.
"What happened?" Eleanor asked.
"I slipped on the ice. Delivering mail."
"Did you see a doctor?"
"It's just a sprain."
It wasn't a sprain. The limp never went away.
Henry started walking with a cane. Not always. Just on bad days.
"The doctor says it's arthritis," he said.
"The doctor says a lot of things."
"The doctor says I should retire."
Eleanor set down her sewing. "Do you want to retire?"
"I want to walk without a cane."
She took his hand. "Then retire. We'll manage."
"We can't afford it."
"We'll manage."
He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
---
He kept working. The limp got worse. The cane became permanent.
Eleanor watched him leave for work every morning. His back was bent. His steps were slow.
She started making him lunch. Sandwiches. Apples. A thermos of coffee.
"You don't have to do that," he said.
"I want to."
"You have your own work."
"My work can wait."
He kissed her forehead. "You're stubborn."
"I learned from you."
---
The garden grew every year.
Tomatoes. Basil. Morning glories. Sometimes peppers. Sometimes beans.
Eleanor spent hours on the roof. Kneeling in the dirt. Pulling weeds. Watering.
Neighbors asked her for vegetables. She gave them freely.
"Mrs. Patterson, these tomatoes are delicious."
"Thank you."
"Can you teach me to grow them?"
"Come up. I'll show you."
She taught several neighbors over the years. Some stayed. Most didn't. Gardening was hard work. Most people quit after a season.
But Eleanor never quit.
---
One summer, a young woman moved into 4C.
She was an artist. She carried a sketchbook. She had dark curly hair and a small scar on her chin.
Eleanor saw her in the hallway. The woman was struggling with a box.
"Do you need help?" Eleanor asked.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
The woman set down the box. She wiped her forehead.
"I'm Maya," she said.
"Eleanor. 3A."
"Nice to meet you."
She picked up the box and climbed the stairs.
Eleanor watched her go.
"There's something about that one," she told Henry that night.
"What?"
"I don't know. But she's special."
---
Maya started going to the roof.
Eleanor noticed. She saw her from her window. The young woman with the sketchbook. Sitting on the milk crate. Drawing the water tank. The painted eye.
"She's drawing our eye," Eleanor told Henry.
"The eye I painted?"
"The eye you've been painting for forty years."
Henry smiled. It was a tired smile. "Maybe she'll paint it after I'm gone."
"Don't talk like that."
"I'm old, Eleanor. It's not talking. It's stating facts."
She didn't answer.
---
Henry retired the following spring.
The limp was too bad. The cane wasn't enough. He needed a walker now.
He sat in the living room. The yellow walls. The crooked shelf. The Salvation Army couch.
"I'm bored," he said.
"Then go to the roof."
"I can't climb the stairs."
"Then I'll bring the roof to you."
She brought him a pot of soil. Tomato seeds. A small trowel.
He planted the seeds at the kitchen table.
"This isn't the roof," he said.
"The tomatoes don't care where they grow."
He looked at the pot. The dark soil. The tiny seeds.
"You're right," he said. "They don't care."
---
The seeds sprouted. Henry watered them every day. He talked to them.
"You're growing," he said. "Good. Keep growing."
Eleanor watched from the doorway. Her heart ached.
She went to the roof. She sat on the milk crate. She looked at the water tank. The painted eye.
"Don't take him yet," she said.
The water tank hummed.
---
That fall, Henry got sick.
A cough that wouldn't go away. A fever that came and went.
The doctor said pneumonia.
"He's old," the doctor said. "His body is weak."
"Can you treat him?"
"Antibiotics. Rest. Fluids."
Eleanor stayed by his side. She held his hand. She fed him soup.
"You need to rest," he said.
"You need to get better."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
He almost smiled. "You're bossy."
"I'm your wife."
"Same thing."
---
He got better.
The cough stopped. The fever broke. He was weak, but he was alive.
Eleanor cried. She hadn't cried in years.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
"Because I almost lost you."
"You didn't lose me. I'm here."
She kissed his forehead. "Don't leave me."
"I won't."
He did.