Charlie and Lee

Lane Degregory: He moved into the rented bungalow last fall. Put the birds' cages in the front window, just as his wife would have wanted.
Charlie Bonn Kemp is 77. He'd never had to set up house by himself. His wife always did that.
The place still seems empty, several months after he moved in. You'll have to excuse him, he says. He's just beginning to be able to unpack.
"These last few days, since I started, have been the most painful of my life, " he sighs, sinking into his worn recliner. "Going through all these pictures, all her stuff . . ."
"That's all that's left of her, up there in that oak box." He points to the top of his refrigerator. "I didn't want to face it. So I've just been sitting here, playing with the birds, thinking back."
He fishes a wooden frame from the cardboard box next to his chair. "That's her, the last photo I have of her, " he says. An elderly woman in a red straw hat is waving to the camera. Her blue eyes are bright. She looks tired, but happy.
"All those years, " Charlie says softly. "All those years I kept her secret."

Charlie Bonn Kemp is 77. He'd never had to set up house by himself. His wife always did that.

The place still seems empty, several months after he moved in. You'll have to excuse him, he says. He's just beginning to be able to unpack.

"These last few days, since I started, have been the most painful of my life, " he sighs, sinking into his worn recliner. "Going through all these pictures, all her stuff . . ."

"That's all that's left of her, up there in that oak box." He points to the top of his refrigerator. "I didn't want to face it. So I've just been sitting here, playing with the birds, thinking back."

He fishes a wooden frame from the cardboard box next to his chair. "That's her, the last photo I have of her, " he says. An elderly woman in a red straw hat is waving to the camera. Her blue eyes are bright. She looks tired, but happy.

"All those years, " Charlie says softly. "All those years I kept her secret."