The sunlight is glaring off the sidewalk along 10th Street outside the Springer Opera House. It’s Marion’s birthday and we are celebrating. A Sunday afternoon theater production of the Carole King story had the perfect touch. Undiscovered details of her life. Really good performances. And, of course, great music.

We are both squinting a little bit, adjusting to the bright sky as we walk toward Broadway. We are holding hands and taking our time. There is no hurry. Slow steps.

“That was a great show.”

“Oh, it was. I thought the lead did a great job.”

“And her voice!”

“Yea, she didn’t sound like Carol King, but she carried the music so well.”

We are pedestrian enough that a man with a cane and a lady, I assume his wife, in one of those motorized buggy looking chairs, passes us like we’re standing still. He looks back over his shoulder and gives me “the nod”, like “you’re doing good Sonny.”

I am doing good.

I can hardly believe how much life has changed for me in the last three years. I am widowed and have been through the valley of grief. I am retired and have stepped away from a long career full of responsibilities and daily demands. I have navigated the aloneness of life and found contentment. I have been shown that extreme circumstances do not crush the spirit. And I have learned to make baked chicken and dumplings in the oven at 375°F.

Most of all, I have discovered a second chance at love.

The crosswalk light at 10th and Broadway changes. We are headed to Fountain City Coffee Shop. It’s the middle of a warm afternoon. Not my usual time of day for drinking coffee. But we are on a mission.

We’ve been reading “Theo of Golden”, written by a local hero of mine. Although he makes a disclaimer in the forward of his book to any likenesses or similarities to any places or persons who might be real, we all know the places he is writing about. His story is the reason we are headed to drink coffee in the middle of the afternoon.

The charming atmosphere of this shop is championed by the array of pencil drawn portraits that cover the walls. Each one a local face. Each one drawn by the same local artist. Each one for sale. Each one with their own story to tell.

This is the basis for Theo’s story. You should read the book. We liked it so much we wanted to taste the coffee, admire the faces, and imagine the rest of the story.

I have debated for a long time about when the time would be right to speak of love openly. But here, in this moment and on this day, I am more aware of it than I have been in a long time.

If you’ve ever lost a spouse and took a second chance at love, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I didn’t go looking for it. I was content to be on my own. I prayed about it in my own clumsy way.

When the chance came along, I wasn’t sure I was ready. I told my kids I was going to have dinner with this lady in Newnan. My youngest wanted to know where this was headed.

“Do you like her, or do you like-like her?”

It was too soon to tell since I had only talked with her over the phone. We met briefly a month earlier, but we had some common interests. We discovered that we shared some common views on important matters. We had a common faith and a common sense of independence and a common aversion to TV news shows.

It all seemed to make sense that we should share a meal.

That was 10 months ago. Today we are walking down Broadway in broad daylight. Hand in hand. Heart in heart.

It’s not been an easy journey. She has a stubborn streak when it comes to her independence. “I don’t need no stinking man,” was one of the first things she told me over the phone before we ever agreed to dinner. On a number of occasions, she has said to me, “I don’t know why you didn’t run away right then.”

She doesn’t scare me. But please don’t tell her I said that.

I haven’t made it easy either. Losing Beth is still fresh for me in some ways. It’s not quite been three years, yet. Raw emotions. Memories that sneak up on me. Feelings of guilt as if I’m betraying my vows.

You wanna know what the hardest obstacle has been? I’ve had this confirmed by my friend Bob, who is remarried at 85. The hardest challenge when given a second chance is in giving yourself permission to love again. It’s not easy, after 40 something years, to look at another woman and be comfortable in a new love. The head and heart seem to operate in different spheres at times.

It’s a good thing she has been patient and understanding. We both know that our paths did not cross accidentally. We have a sense that there’s another Hand involved in this journey of ours.

We leave the coffee shop and head up Broadway. A street musician is sitting on her amp and playing something soulful. I don’t recognize it. Could be her own soul in those notes, I guess.

Here’s one of the things I admire about Marion. I’m walking along taking in the music but really not paying much attention. I’m focused on enjoying our walk. Marion is digging in her purse and walks back to drop some money in the open guitar case. She is teaching me that kindness matters, even in the small things.

Broadway is a wide avenue with a quiet space dividing the north and south traffic lanes. Small patches of green grass. Majestic oaks canopied overhead. It’s a place for small stages with live music on the weekends. The wandering nighttime masses mingle and sit and visit.

On a Sunday afternoon, life is slower. Up from the coffee shop, just a little way, there’s a fountain in the middle of the median. Another of Theo’s favorite spots. We are focused. We want to use our imaginations. We want to find “his” bench and sit for a while.

I step out into the south lanes gently tugging the hand I’m holding. We stand and look into the fountain. There are the usual coins. The wishes tossed and the hopes held out.

We take a seat on the bench just to our right. We are chatting. Still talking about Carole King. Sipping the last few drops of coffee. Unaware of little around us but each other. Lost in the day.

I didn’t see her until she was right up on us and spoke. A young girl in her twenties. Olive tan. Beautiful, long black hair, maybe of Polynesian influences. I’m guessing she had been watching us as she crossed the street.

She looked right at us and spoke without stopping. “You two have so much joy.”

That was it. Our eyes made contact and she was gone.

Her chance comment hit us both. We laughed. “Wow! Didn’t see that coming.” But sometimes others see what we ourselves cannot. And if a total stranger can see it, it must be true.

That’s what I hear, anyway.