I start my morning right on time with a run at 8 AM. When I get back, I check the mailboxes to verify the unit number for the couple Gloria told me about, the Hathaways.
Their unit is on the first floor in the same corner of the building as mine, and when I knock—lightly, in case they aren’t early risers—the door opens within moments to reveal a sweet wrinkled face that might be as old as the city itself.Kind eyes smile at me from beneath a soft-looking pouf of lilac-tinged hair.
“Hello, may I help you?” the elderly woman asks.
I introduce myself, explain I’m their new upstairs neighbor, and then say, “I have an odd question for you. I keep getting old letters in my mailbox, and I believe they’re meant for someone who lived in my apartment a long time ago. My neighbor, Gloria, mentioned you may have lived here back then?”
“Ah.” Her eyes twinkle. “It’s very busy this summer.”
I don’t know what this means, and I don’t have time to ask before she’s calling over her shoulder, “Norman, pour some tea, would you, sweetheart? We’ve got company. Come in,” she says, stepping back and waving me in.
“You don’t need to entertain me,” I protest. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “It’s not an interruption. Let’s sit and visit while we wait for Norman to join us. Is tea all right? We had to give up coffee in our seventies, but I’ve come to love tea.”
I assure her tea is great, and she directs me to an armchair before she settles on the couch. For the next few minutes, she asks me questions about where I’m from and what brought me to the city, and more specifically, to The Serendipity. I’m finishing up an explanation of my lease agreement when a cute old man walks out from the kitchen, carrying a cup of tea, and it’s only then that I notice a cane beside the kitchen doorway.
“Let me help you with that,” I say, but Mrs. Hathaway is already gesturing for me to stay put. Her husband makes his way slowly but mostly steadily over to us with the cup and saucer, handing it to me before he settles on the sofa beside his wife.
Mrs. Hathaway introduces us, then says, “Norman,Phoebe here is in charge of turning the Martin house into a museum. She just moved in two weeks ago, and she’s been getting letters addressed to an old tenant. Tell us more about them, dear.”
I explain the letters I’ve gotten and the clues we’ve pieced together. “Anyway, we were hoping you might remember who was in my apartment. I know it’s a long shot, but that’s what brings me to you.”
“You keep saying ‘we.’ Who is helping you with this project?” Mr. Hathaway asks.
“Jay Martin. Foster was his grandfather, and Jay is a museum trustee.”
They exchange a look. I’ll bet they can read each other like a book after a lifetime together, but I can’t interpret the look at all, although a smile tugs at the corner of Mr. Hathaway’s mouth.
Mrs. Hathaway makes a delicate throat-clearing sound. “Has anyone told you that this building has a … personality?”
“I’ve been warned about some of its quirks and found a couple on my own,” I say.
Mrs. Hathaway nods. “You know the building is fed by Serendipity Spring itself?”
“Yes,” I say, wondering what this has to do with the letters.
“And as a historian, you’ve surely heard the peculiar stories about Serendipity Springs? About its, er …”
“Serendipitousness,” Mr. Hathaway supplies.
“Yes, serendipitousness,” Mrs. Hathaway agrees.
“I have. Small but significant luck, healing of vague maladies, a general prosperity compared to surrounding towns.”
“The Serendipity itself has its own stories,” Mrs. Hathaway says. “Quite a few people have ended up finding theirmatch after the building …” Again, she looks at her husband as if she’s searching for the words.
“After the building meddles.”
She nods.
“The building meddles?” I repeat.
“It once trapped Norman and me in the elevator to force us to meet,” she says. “And we’re not the only marriage it arranged that way.”
“From what we understand about its time as a women’s dorm,” Mr. Hathaway says, “young men would come calling on the young ladies who lived here, and many romances formed. Our theory is that the building missed that when the new dorm was built, so it conspires to keep people falling in love.”
This is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard, and I hope when I’m in my nineties that I’m as romantic as these two are.
