ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: The Writer, His Wife, and their Afterlife

Book One, Part One, Chapter Eight: A Secret Garden

The Fiat’s top is down, my hair’s blowing in the breeze, and I’m feeling free. Ernie’s at the wheel wearing his racing gloves, looking younger and freer himself.

He heads east, away from the inner city. The farther east we go, the cooler it gets. More trees. Bigger lawns.

“Are we going to visit friends of yours?”

“No. I’m taking you to a place you’ve probably never been before.”

He turns off a main road. Soon a high brick wall appears on the right, going on and on, finally leading to elaborate iron gates, swung open. Ernie passes through the gates into what looks to be a private estate. We follow a winding drive and come to a brick and limestone mansion. Massive columns span its front verandah, overlooking hilly woods. No, I’ve never been here before.

Ernie parks before a second brick wall, extending from the mansion’s side entrance. Showing above the brick wall is a pergola entwined with vine. Centering the wall is a rustic wood door, with handle and hinges of iron.

“We’re here,” Ernie says.

I get out, inhale. “I smell roses. Is there a rose garden beyond that brick wall? Through that wood door?”

Ernie comes up beside me. He brings from his trouser pocket a large brass key and gives it to me. He doesn’t say anything.

I look at the key. It’s shaped like a skeleton key. It looks to be merely decorative. What could it possibly unlock?

“It’s the key to the Secret Garden,” Ernie says. “Perhaps it’s the key to me.”

Still and silent, he stands before me, an expectant — even urgent — look on his face. What? What does Ernie want? What is he waiting for?

Without really knowing what I’m going to do — or knowing it only a split second before I do it — I kiss him.