I walked down the street at a leisurely pace.  I observed everything; seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling.  I reveled in every detail.  Every colored leaf that fell from the withered branch of a lofty tree, every blissful bird’s call, every gentle autumn breeze.  Nothing escaped my notice.

When I turned into the neighborhood, however, my focus became somewhat narrower.  I trained my eyes on the numbers on the mailboxes as I passed each house.  Not that I needed to, of course – I’d been where I was going so many times that I probably could have found it blindfolded.  Yet it was habitual, and I made no effort to pull my eyes away.  Walking slowly, I counted the numbers rhythmically in my head – One… two… three…

Over the years I had noticed that each house seemed to match the personality of its number – Number One, bold as brass, boasting its extreme expense at passersby; Number Two, the shabby runner-up with the fake smile, barely holding itself together; Number Three, idle and oblivious to the world outside of its own comfy lawn.

I continued walking, observing the houses and their numbers and their various personalities before stopping at the house with the silver number thirteen on its plain, black mailbox.

A faint smile touched my lips.  Ah, Lovely Thirteen, my favorite house by far.  Lovely Thirteen was the only house on the street whose personality defied its number.  Lovely Thirteen refused to be dark, refused to be bleak, refused to be haunting.  Lovely Thirteen was, quite clearly, lovely.  It was cute and cozy and cheerful; it was homey.

I smiled even wider, knowing that, had it not been for him, Lovely Thirteen would be just as desolate as those superstitious people thought it should be.

I gazed at the beautiful house for a moment longer before making my way down the driveway.  I climbed the stairs up to the porch, and the music reached me before I’d even made it to the front door.  I felt the familiar sweeping, blissful elation that came with his music, and I ran up the last few steps, suddenly needing to be nearer to that exquisite melody.  

I passed through the door and my eyes were filled with familiar sights.  Before letting the music guide me into the sitting room I stood and let my eyes roam the pictures that adorned the walls of the foyer.  Each one I’d seen a million times, but I still did not feel as if I’d seen them enough.  Almost all of them were of the same happy couple – a tall, lean man with disheveled brown hair and a large, merry smile, and a small, slender woman with shoulder-length ginger hair and pale, olive-green eyes, which, in some of the pictures, she used to give the man looks of adoration.

I walked slowly around the small room, giving each of the memorized photographs at least a passing glance.  I saved the best one for last – their wedding.  I sighed, gazing at it.  It seemed like so long ago.  The man with the ruffled hair looked like he was fighting back laughter – and he had been, I remembered – and the woman was smiling nervously, her cheeks flushed and her eyes watery.  I couldn’t help but blush in remembrance – that picture had been taken just after the kiss.

I brushed my fingers lightly over the man’s gleeful expression before finally turning toward the sitting room once more.  

Once there I stood quietly in the doorway, and there sat the man from the pictures at the piano, punching out a melancholy melody.  I watched and listened in silence.  It had only been two years since most of those pictures in the foyer had been taken, and yet he looked so much older now.  He looked so much older since his smile had vanished.

The man stopped playing abruptly, causing that jagged feeling one gets whenever music is suddenly cut off.  He let out a deep sigh and rubbed his temples.  “Vera…” he murmured.  I flinched at the sound of my name.

Slowly, I approached him.  I sat down next to him on the bench in front of the piano and took a long look into his face.  Somehow the dark circles under his eyes didn’t affect me nearly as much as the creases left at their corners from the days he’d spent smiling; the days he’d spent laughing.  Those feeble remnants of his smile made me feel like crying.  

I wished I could hold him; I wished I could just wrap my arms around him and tell him that I was here, I was right here!  I wished I could tell him that I wouldn’t ever leave him.  I wished I could tell him that I loved him.

But I couldn’t do any of that, no matter how much I wanted to.  I could only sit here, unbearably close yet not close enough, and watch him try to move on.

The chimes sounded, and I whipped my head around to glare at the clock on the wall.  It can’t be time already! my mind screamed, even though I knew beyond a doubt that it was.  I sighed and turned back to him.  If I didn’t return on time, I would not be allowed to come and visit Lovely Thirteen anymore.  I stood and moved toward the door, and if I could have shed tears I would have then, walking away from the man I loved more than anything in the world.


I walked back through the front door of Lovely Thirteen, trudged down the stairs, dragged my feet all the way down to the end of the driveway, then turned back and gave the house where I’d once lived with my husband a longing gaze.

And despite how I felt, Lovely Thirteen was still Lovely Thirteen – it was still cute, cozy, and cheerful.  It was still pleasant, welcoming, and bright.  It was still homey.

I smiled, knowing that as long as he lived there, Lovely Thirteen would continue to defy all evil thirteens everywhere.  With this in my heart, I blew my love a kiss, turned on my heel, and began to walk back the way I’d come.

~ ~ ~


Teddy stayed seated at the piano.  Why’d God take her…? he thought miserably.   He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes.  He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in almost two full years now.  His world was empty without his Vera; empty of laughter, empty of love, and empty of sleep.

His mother had always told him that time mended things, but time hadn’t mended this at all.  Two years later he was still a heartbroken wretch, two years later he still couldn’t sleep, two years later and nothing had changed – nothing had mended – at all.

He slammed a fist down on the keys, causing a discord of rough notes, suddenly angry with himself and his weakness.  Two years…  She wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this for so long, Ted.  Try as he might, however, he couldn’t dispel the crushing grief that held his heart like a vice.  He couldn’t just forget.

A warm breeze chose this precise moment to make its entrance through the open window and tousle Teddy’s already-tousled hair.  He closed his eyes and let the pleasantness of it wash over him, calming him down, temporarily distracting him from his depressed thoughts.  And then he felt something, something familiar, brush his cheek.  His eyes shot open and his hand immediately went to the place where he’d felt it, he could have sworn he felt it.

He felt his cheek – nothing.  He glanced around the room – no one.  And yet he’d been sure, absolutely positive, that his Vera had just given him a kiss.