The old man had lived at the end of the road in the three story Italian villa all his life. Many have dubbed him the eremite; a religious recluse who orders his world as he pleases inside the walls of his private estate.

In Katray’s thirteen years as a neighboring resident, she’d not gotten so much as a glimpse of him. Today, she would rectify the situation and soothe her curiosity hinged to her recent confusing dreams. She embarked from her moderate home nestled at the mouth of the road, and clutched a plate of lemon bars. She intended to introduce herself, hand him the fresh bake goodies, and study the old man with a long ample gaze. He would have to take the lead from there.

At the massive iron gate entrance, her legs feigned terminal heaviness slowing her pace to equal a slug’s crawl. The plate shook in her hand and matched the measure of the melodic door chime delivered by her finger, with the press of the brass button.

Eternity circled and returned before the tall, massive double doors opened, compliments of a loud creak.

Her mouth went dry and her lips refused to part. They stood like bookends with nothing between them. Something comforting registered across his gentle, aged face. His eyes she decided. Kind and wise.

“I hope you like lemon.” She didn’t recognize her own voice.

“Yes, indeed.” His full, rich tone an antonym to his diminutive size.

Katray found herself seated in the comfy morning room, dappled in greens and burgundy, without benefit of proper introductions. The old man disappeared through a thick archway.

She caught her refection in the large mirror on the wall. In an instant, her eyes dropped to her chest. She studied its evenness. The words ‘breast cancer’ brought a sharp sting from deep inside. A perfect match to the deep shock that penetrated her soul last week in Dr. Malcolm’s office. Right now, she wanted to cradle her left breast, and will it to squeeze out the invasive poison held captive in her body.

Moments later, the old man returned and set a perfectly arranged tea tray precisely on the center of the round stone table. Katray unfolded a starched linen napkin and placed it squarely across the center of her lap. She studied his exactness. The way he filled each cup, and marveled at their alikeness.

“Do you take lemon or cream?” The old man poised both in front of her.

Her eyes gazed deep into his for the first time. Peace bathed her timid soul. “Cream and two sugars.” Something inside her pleaded and begged her to share her fears with him. This old man, still void of introductions.

“You were deep in thought.” A compassionate smile graced his face. “I know about deep thoughts. I find myself slipping into their contented folds quite often. It’s a private haven with its key safely hidden in the lining of our souls.” His smile lit his plain features and refined them into a portrait of classic art.

“I...I have... cancer.” She spoke the foreign words for the first time.

His eyes locked on hers and looked straight into the most private place in her soul. They grew sad and dark and carried her pain away.