Oliver reclined lazily on my office sofa, waiting for me. His bare feet were dangling in the air over the edge of the armrest. “Howdy Miss Ivy.”

              “Oliver…”

              He got to his feet. “It’s good… It’s good to see ya again.”

              “You too.” Feelings swelled inside me. I still carried the image of Oliver laying on his hospital cot in my mind. His scarred skin had healed, leaving no trace of the trauma that he had endured. He looked the same as he did nearly a century ago. “How are you feeling?”

              “Like I had the tar beat outta me.”

              “You’re regaining your memory?”

              “Nothing yet.” He rubbed his chest. “Just twinges.”

              “Oh.” Oliver looked at me and I could feel the icy cage around my heart begin to melt. I had been haunted by his swollen face for nearly eighty years. I was certain he was really dead, but here he was standing in front of me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. Oliver noticed my distress and took a step forward, his hand extended.

 “I’m sorry for takin’ so long, sug.”

              “I’m sorry, Oliver. I can’t. Not yet.”

              “S’okay. I understand.”

              “It’s late. You can’t stay here.” I picked up my coat from off the coat rack. “We should go.”

              “Aw… Miss Ivy… I knew you still cared.”

___

              I brought Oliver home with me against my better judgment. Oliver had regained a few of his memories. He had arrived in the city a few days before from New Orleans. He couldn’t remember where he had been staying.

“You sure that this’ll be all right?” he asked, stopping me in front of the apartment door. “I don’t what to intrude on anything. I’m sure it’s not every day you bring a body home from work with you.”

“You’ll be safe here,” I promise. “They know to keep our secret.”

Oliver buried his hands into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt as he looked around the penthouse. “Nice place you got here.”

“Thank you. It’s my grandson’s.”

“Grandson? You got… You got married again, Ivy?”

I nod sheepishly. I knew that I shouldn’t be embarrassed by his question. I was an adult and was entitled to marry anyone I wished, but there was something in his rich, brown eyes. Oliver looked hurt.

“Well, I—” Oliver crossed the living room to look out at the view. “I hope he treated ya good. What happened to him? Get too old for ya, so ya dumped him into a rest home somewhere? Huh?”

“That’s a very cruel thing to say, Oliver. Jonah was—” I stopped. Tears stung my eyes. Jonah. The ghost of my former husband still lingered in my thoughts. I hadn’t remarried since his death. I couldn’t allow myself to watch another man that I had loved die while I lived on.

“Jonah? Do you happen to mean little Jonah Green? You knew him?”

“I married him, Oliver. Years ago.” I coughed, clearing my throat. “The bathroom is up the stairs, second door on the left if you’d like to take a shower. I’m sure that Henry has something that will fit you.”

“Ivy…”

“You better go get showered, Oliver. My family will be here soon. I will be starting dinner soon if you are hungry. Get going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

___

              Lydia set her cocktail glass down on the coffee table. “You mean that this… this man is an... an… you know?”

              “Must you say it like that, Lydia? Yes, Oliver is immortal, just like me. He just needs a place to stay for a few days while we—”

              “While what?” asked Henry.

              “While we solve his murder.”

              “His murder?” Lydia put a hand to her throat. “Are you serious?”

              “So cool.” Henry sat down on the sofa next to me. “How’d he die?”

              “Stabbing,” said Oliver, coming down the stairs. His blond hair was still damp from his shower.

              “You look good for a dead man,” Henry joked.

              “Thanks, I get that a lot. Thanks for the use of clothes. I ‘preciate it.”

              “Any friend of Nan’s is a friend of mine.”

              Oliver looked at me curiously. “Nan?”

              “It’s a nickname my son gave her when he was younger,” Lydia explained. “It wasn’t appropriate or normal for a seventeen-year-old boy to call a twenty-five-year-old woman Grandma.”

              “Makes sense. Still weird to think of my Ivy as a grandmother,” said Oliver, pouring himself a drink from the wet bar.

              “Wait a minute,” said Henry. “Your Ivy?”

              “Didn’t Ivy tell you?” Oliver asked, innocently. “We used to be married way back before the war.”

              I could feel my daughter and grandson’s eyes pressing into me. They shared the same, gossip-hungry expression. “Mother?”

              “I think it’s time that you both head to bed.”

___

              “So…” I tapped my manicured nails against my wine glass. It was well after midnight. Henry and Lydia had gone to bed leaving Oliver and me alone.

              “So.” Oliver scratched the back of his head. “Nice family ya got. Miss Lydia seems sweet. So does Henry.”

              “They are.”

              “Did you…” Oliver took a shaky breath. “Did you and Jonah have any other kids?”

              “A son. Jonah adopted my children shortly after our wedding. My son, Adam, lives in Florida with his family. We usually see them around the holidays.”

              Oliver nodded but didn’t say anything.

              “I looked for you,” I whisper. “I looked for you for years after you passed away. But I never found you. I began to lose hope.”

              “I’m sorry, sug.” He looked out the large windows at the New York skyline. “I… uh… When I woke up, I was somewhere in the middle of Germany. I had to steal clothes cus, you know. I got captured and spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. Died two more times, before I was captured again. The last camp was liberated by the Soviets. I spent a few years in Russia after that, then Siberia.”

              “Oh. I’m sorry.”

              “S’okay. It’s all in the past now.”

              I pulled my legs under me, deep in thought. “Hey.” Oliver tapped my socked foot lightly. “You never were the quiet type. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

              “Too much, I’m afraid.”

              “If it makes any difference, Ives, I never forgot about you. I wanted you to have the very best. You deserved the best. You deserved better than me. It’s part of the reason I stayed away after I got out. I thought that if I stayed away, you’d find someone better for ya.”

              “Oliver,” I sighed. “I just wanted you. I didn’t need anything else.”

              “And… and now?”

              “What brought you to the city?” I ask, changing the subject.

              “Business.”

              “Oliver.”

              “I’m sorry, sug. My mind’s still a little fuzzy after comin’ to.”

              I nod. It was hard being in the same room as Oliver. Despite my happiness at seeing my beloved again, the thought of the last eighty years weighed heavily on my mind. Was I ready to open my heart again?

              “It’s late. We probably get some sleep.” It was a lame excuse, but it was nonetheless true.

              “Right.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Good night, Miss Ivy.”