Jody Stallings
A sliver of moonlight illuminated Primrose Street as Eloise walked her dachshund past the suburban houses. The dog—Aunt Pam—tugged on her leash, sniffing a path down the familiar gray sidewalk. As they passed the corner house, Eloise saw him again: a man sitting on the front porch, his gaze aimed upward as if studying the stars.
Over the last few weeks, they’d crossed paths several times, always at night, always when she’d been out walking Aunt Pam. Ever since the first time she said good evening and he said nice night, he was always there, perched on the porch swing, looking peaceful and alone.
“Good evening,” she said.
“Nice night,” he said, like clockwork.
Aunt Pam veered off the sidewalk, trying to drag Eloise to the man’s porch. She pulled the dog back, but the man said it was okay, he loved dogs.
She followed Aunt Pam to the swing. She was thankful that the porch shielded her in darkness.
“She keeps you out late,” he said as he petted the dachshund.
“I prefer the evenings,” Eloise said.
He asked her more about her dog. Eloise felt the conversation shift from awkward to easy. They spoke for a few minutes, but it never felt forced. It felt safe. It felt comfortable. It felt good.
She promised herself that she’d stop by again tomorrow evening.
Night after night, Eloise felt drawn to that porch swing. They talked about books, about life, about their routines. She was thirty-two. He was thirty-five. He had recently moved into town. She had lived there her whole life. Neither of them was married. She worked in an insurance office. He was a retired Marine but was now an accountant. He talked more about accounting than he did the military, but Eloise didn’t mind. She liked hearing his warm, steady voice, and she loved seeing him dote on Aunt Pam—he never failed to have a treat ready for her. But Eloise was always grateful for the dark cover of the porch.
One evening, he looked at Eloise with trepidation in his eyes.
“I was wondering,” he said. “Would you like to go out for dinner sometime? I really enjoy talking with you.”
Eloise blinked in surprise. She’d been hoping he would ask her out, but hearing it felt almost unreal. She tried to conceal her nerves as she said, “Yes, I’d like that.”
Lying in bed that night, she wanted to be happy, but she couldn’t overcome a heavy feeling of dread.
She felt the same dread rise in her chest as she spoke with her coworker Lucy the next day.
“What if he thinks I’m ugly?” Eloise said.
Lucy laughed. “That’s crazy. You’re gorgeous.”
“In the light, it will be different. He’s only seen me in the nighttime, under the darkness of his porch. He’s never seen Texas.”
Lucy eyed the large red birthmark that covered a quarter of Eloise’s face. Eloise despairingly called it “Texas” because of its shape and color.
“No one notices that stuff as much as you think they do,” Lucy said. “If he’s asking you out, he believes you’re beautiful. Trust me.”
But Eloise couldn’t accept that. When date night came, she found herself desperately trying to cover her birthmark with makeup. It didn’t work. After a tear streaked through, she scrubbed it off and prayed for the best.
When she arrived at the restaurant, he was already at a table. She was trembling. She looked for any indication of his shock or repulsion, but throughout the entire meal, he never so much as flinched. Though their conversation was more fluid than ever, Eloise couldn’t shake the shadow of Texas. It wasn’t until the meal was over that she gathered the courage to talk about it.
“This is embarrassing to bring up, but you haven’t said anything about my face. Thank you. That’s very kind of you, and I appreciate it so much. I just want you to know that—”
He held up his hand. “What’s wrong with your face?”
Eloise smiled. “You don’t have to pretend. I know you can see this big red patch. I call it Texas because—”
He laughed. “That’s news to me. I’m completely color blind.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “What?”
“Your face—which is beautiful, by the way—looks all the same color to me. I couldn’t see something like that if I wanted to.”
She was skeptical. “You’re just being kind. You were a Marine. They wouldn’t let you―”
He shook his head. “They’ll let you do a lot of things. It’s not a major disability. And neither is a birthmark, especially not to me.”
“So all night, you never noticed—?”
“I have not. Now, what’s your excuse?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Me? What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, either. I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask me about it.”
She was confused. “About what?”
She watched in amazement as he pushed his wheelchair back from the table.
“Eloise,” he said gently, “I can’t walk. I lost the use of my legs in combat. It’s why I had to retire. I figured you probably never noticed on my dark porch, but here in a bright restaurant, I felt for sure—”
She was shaking her head and trying to rein in a vibrant grin. “I did not notice. And before you ask, I do not care.”
He sighed. “I guess you were dreading the light as much as I was.”
“Yes, I was.” She beamed a hopeful smile. “But not anymore.”
Married with two children, Jody resides in Charleston, South Carolina.
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