I rolled up the door of unit 22, my hands shaking with dread, and the cool air rolled out, and the light fell on a strange and wonderful workshop, stainless tables, molds and tools I did not recognize, and shelves of carefully wrapped shapes, and the whole cool room smelled, faintly and impossibly, of chocolate.
I stood in that doorway, my fear dissolving into pure confusion.
Couldnt take the heat or the cold, the woman had said, and now it made perfect sense, fine chocolate blooms and melts and ruins in heat and seizes in cold, it must be kept at a steady cool temperature, and my Gerald had been making chocolate, of all things, in secret.
The man who told me when he changed a light bulb had taken up chocolate-making, and not for himself. The walls were covered in photographs of children, sick children, some bald from treatment, all of them beaming, holding chocolates shaped like animals and stars and hearts.
My Gerald had been secretly making chocolates and delivering them to the childrens hospital, for thirteen years, to bring a moment of sweetness to children fighting the hardest battles.
His letter, on the steel table, read: Old girl, I know this is a peculiar one. Years ago I read about how sick children in the hospital hardly ever get a treat, everything is medicine and needles. So I taught myself to make chocolates, and I bring them to the childrens ward, shaped like animals to make the little ones smile. Chocolate needs to be kept just cool, so I work here. I never told you because charity should be quiet. Please, old girl, keep the sweetness going if you can. Those children have so little to smile about. Love, Gerald.
I wept in that cool, chocolate-scented room my husband built to bring sweetness to suffering children.
Couldnt take the heat or the cold, because fine chocolate is delicate, and Geralds kindness was patient.
I went to that childrens hospital, and when I told them Gerald had passed, the whole ward grieved. For thirteen years, they said, a quiet man had brought handmade chocolate animals to the sick children every week, asking nothing, giving only smiles. They called him the Chocolate Man. They had no idea he had died.
I could not let the sweetness stop. I learned his recipes, and with volunteers from our church, Geralds chocolates still go to the childrens ward every week, shaped like animals, bringing smiles to children in their hardest hours.
My son did not know why I drove out toward the airport. Now he knows his daddy was the Chocolate Man. Couldnt take the heat or the cold, because sweetness is delicate, and Gerald made it for children who needed it most. His chocolates still make sick children smile. My kind, secret, wonderful Gerald.