Edwin was quiet where Vivian was theatrical.
He hated large parties.
Preferred old sweaters to tailored jackets.
Spent more time in the garden than at the country club.
At family dinners, when conversation became unbearable, Edwin would disappear to the back porch.
Eventually I started following him.
That was how we became friends.
He taught me how to prune climbing roses.
I helped him organize photographs from his father’s estate.
He told me which floorboard in the upstairs hall squeaked because Nolan had broken it jumping from a laundry basket when he was nine.
Once, after Vivian spent an entire dinner criticizing the apartment Nolan and I had rented, Edwin handed me a cup of coffee and said:
“My wife believes discomfort builds character.”
I laughed.
“That explains why she distributes so much of it.”
He almost choked on his coffee.
From then on, we understood each other.
