My wife died in an auto accident. It was one of those things where it was everybody's fault but no one is to blame. It was rush hour in the dead of winter on dry roads that were suddenly icy. Someone bumped somebody, somebody bumped her and she eased into a bridge abutment at 45 miles an hour. They told me her brain stopped in the ambulance and her heart stopped in ER. Mine did, too.
We'd been married three years. The honeymoon was over, but we were still in love. We'd begun talking about raising a family, moving to the suburbs. I got real selfish when she died, barricading myself in our apartment with a bottle every night. I should have been consoling her family, and mine, but I didn't want to be the big strong man, I wanted to cry myself to sleep every night like a child.
I lost my taste for the booze after a few months. Maybe I equated it with her death. For whatever reason, I just stopped one evening, lying on the couch, listening to the traffic outside the window. I was waiting for her ghost, a whiff of perfume or the echo of her laugh, but the numbing had stolen her memory. I was alone.
I continued to isolate myself from friends and family. After a few years I just became the relative no one hears from, other than to drop off a generic Christmas package. I'd drop by after dinner, stand for a while, then leave. Whatever I'd shared with them was part of a history I was rapidly forgetting.
One afternoon, about ten years after the crash, I was sitting in a corner restaurant nursing a cup of coffee and staring out the window. I felt someone standing near me so I turned, expecting the waitress. Instead I found a woman in her early twenties with a faint air of familiarity about her.
"Excuse me," she said, "I usually don't do this, but are you Paul Flauer, by any chance?"
"Yes," I answered. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Yeah. Well, you used to. I'm Jennifer Taug." The name rang a bell, but I couldn't tell which one. My confusion must have been evident. "You used to baby-sit me. My mother was Deloris Simmons?"
"Oh, yeah, Jennifer. How are you?" I was grateful she had told me without the usual guessing game. There are few things more annoying than hints. I rewarded her honesty with a gesture across the booth. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Oh, no, thank you. I'm with my family." She pointed to the door. When I turned I could see a man and a baby at a far table. The man was about Jennifer's age, trying to look older with a beard and tousled hair. He pulled a salt shaker out of the baby's hand and slammed it on the table in annoyance. When he saw Jennifer was looking his way he leaned back, folded his arms and nodded sharply at the baby.
"I'd better go. Todd's not so good with kids, sometimes." She turned as she walked away, backing towards her table. "It's good seeing you again. You look great. Maybe I'll see you in here again."
I smiled and nodded. "It's good to see you."
It was. I hadn't seen her since she was in grade school. She had become an attractive woman, and seemed to be genuine. I turned slightly, using my peripheral vision to watch her at the table. Her husband was leaning forward, his forearms on the table edge. From his posture and head gestures I could tell he was grilling her on our encounter. She stayed turned towards the baby, using her body to deflect his ire. I finished my coffee and left through the other door.
I ran into her a few more times over the following year. Most were in the restaurant, a couple on the street or in the grocery store. We were in passing, so we could exchange little more than a smile and, "How's it going?"
It was early spring. I was at that same restaurant, reading the morning paper over a plate of eggs. A waitress refilled my cup. I turned to smile my thanks and found it wasn't my waitress. "Jennifer! This is a surprise. How long have you been working here?"
"This is my first week. You like?" She did a little model spin, showing off her uniform and apron.
"It's you, dahling." My Hungarian accent was atrocious and drew a smile.
"Thanks. I'd better get back to my tables. I guess I'll be seeing you, though, right?"
"Absolutely." I watched her walk away. She had regained her figure from the baby, and then some. I caught myself admiring her and forced my attention back to the paper. It was just the springtime weather coming on. Nothing to do with me.
I began taking Saturday breakfast regularly. Usually I could catch Jennifer's eye when I came in and she would nod or point her eyes towards one of her open tables. I tipped well, but not too much. She kept my cup full and a smile on my face.
At some point she had begun picking up homilies from all over, so the food was delivered 'quick as a stolen kiss' or the coffee was 'hot as a stolen watch'. My favorite was the day she tilted my plate setting it down, spilling a couple homefries onto the table. "Uh, oh. Milkman left a baby!" I have no idea where she came up with that, but it made me laugh out loud.
She stood looking at me in wonder. "That's the first time I've ever heard you laugh."
That sobered me a bit, but I couldn't keep the warmth from my eyes. She smiled over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.
A few weeks later I saw a smudge on her upper arm when she reached across the table. I pointed it out to her. She dropped her eyes to the table, pulling her arm into her sleeve a bit. "I banged my arm. It's nothing." It was a set of fingerprints, bruises. The rest of the meal was quieter than usual.
When I got up to pay my bill I stepped over to where she was filling water glasses. "Jenn, it's none of my business, but if you need to talk, I can listen."
She stopped pouring for a moment, standing quietly, when whispered, "Thank you, Paul." She went back to pouring. I waited a few seconds, then touched her on the shoulder as I walked to the cashier. She met me at the door.
"Could you come back later? I would like to talk." I nodded, putting a hand gently on her elbow.
I met her at the end of her shift. We pulled our coats around us and began walking down the street. She floated from topic to topic for a while, then ran out of small talk. We walked a block or so in silence.
"How long has he been beating you?" I asked.
"He doesn't, really. He's just rough, sometimes. Things aren't going so well for him at work, and he gets frustrated. I guess I can get on his nerves some times, too."
I didn't answer. She drew a deep breath. "But, that doesn't make it right, I guess." Good girl. "Anyway, when things got tight I took the waitressing job. He got mad about that, said it showed I didn't have confidence in him. I tried to tell him it was just until things worked out, but that didn't help. He makes a point of leaving the house early when I'm working, so I have to drop Charlie at my mom's house.
"For the last few weeks he's been getting more hours out of town, so he's real tired when he's home. Charlie's teething. Todd says I'm not keeping him quiet so he can sleep. That's where it started this time. I'm not really scared, but it's not getting any better. Mostly I just try to stay between them."
I had nothing to tell her. What little I knew of love didn't involve yelling and hitting. We walked for a bit, then I sort of rubbed her back in a 'there-there' sort of way. My arm felt like it weighed a ton, and I was clumsy. After a few rubs I put my hand back in my pocket where it belonged.
"Are you married?"
"No. I was. She died." We walked. She didn't say anything. I am constantly surprised by this girl, and always pleasantly.
"He's going to leave."
"What?" I thought I may have missed a sentence or two.
"He's packing his things tonight. He says he has a friend that will put him up." She gave a small laugh. "I almost said put up with him. Funny.
"He said there was no phone, so he'll call me. He made a list of times he might call, left them on the chalkboard by the phone. I don't think his friend is a man. I don't think she has kids. I don't think he's going to call any of those times."
She said all this in a calm voice. I guess, to some, there are worse things than losing your chosen lifemate.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. We were back in the parking lot at the restaurant.
"Raise my son. Work. Talk to you when I can, if you don't mind."
I gave her a small, private smile. "I don't mind. You're the high point of my meal." She blushed.
She was able to pick up extra shifts at the restaurant, and I tried to stop by for coffee in the evenings. Sometimes she would sneak me a slice of pie, but once I caught her paying for it out of her tips, so I threatened to buy her dinner if she didn't quit.
"You wouldn't dare," she said, thrusting her chin out like a kid in a playground scuffle.
"You just name the toime and plaice," I countered with a garbled Brooklyn accent. She laughed and began to turn. "When?" I repeated, all serious. She froze, looking into my eyes for the joke. There was a moment of silence, one of those conversational coincidences where everybody in the place happened to stop talking all at once. It stretched on and on, then snapped. A few chuckles rose from other patrons who had noticed the lull.
"Tomorrow?" She wasn't asking if it was all right. She was asking if I meant it.
"Tomorrow. Would eight o'clock be too early?"
"No. Eight is fine." I got up to leave. She still had the deer in the headlights look. "Paul?"
I turned to her. She waited a heartbeat, then realized with a start she had called me. "Uh, what should I wear? For dinner?"
I smiled into her. "Wear something nice. I think we've both earned a fancy night out." It wasn't until the echoes replayed what I had said that I realized she may have misunderstood, but a glance back through the front window caught her smiling privately.
My phone was ringing when I got to the apartment. It was Jennifer. I had a sinking feeling that she had changed her mind. "Paul, we forgot to say where we would meet." Whew!
"Should I pick you up at your place?" There was a pause.
"Maybe not. No. Could we meet at the restaurant?"
"That would be fine. Eight, then."
"Eight." It was rapidly becoming my favorite number.
I got there a few minutes early, but she was already there. She waved good-bye to the other waitresses and came to meet me at the door. "You look beautiful." I meant to say less, but the truth has a way of leaping out an open mouth. The dress was mid-calf and dark green. She had a few small pieces of gold jewelry to accent it, and was wholesome, stunning, beautiful. I had made a very bad mistake.
We ate well, seafood, I think. It was warm enough to walk after dinner, so we strolled through a park across the road. I talked about a project I was working on, and she talked about Charlie. It was after ten when we were back at her car. We politely thanked each other for the evening, then shook hands goodnight. Her palm was hot and moist, and her fingers trembled against my wrist. My shoulder ached with the effort of releasing her hand. I wheezed, "Goodnight," the sharp pain in my throat thwarting attempts to draw a breath.
I stood back half a step. My vision clouded, blocking everything from sight but her face. I shifted half a step to one side, then tore a huge, shuddering breath past the tightness. "I love you, Jennifer."
She staggered as if struck. In a tiny voice she said, "Paul." I stepped back to her, taking her hand. I could breath, but there was still nothing to see but her face. We looked at each other for the longest time, then I dropped my head to kiss her, keeping my eyes open to watch for rejection. At the last moment she puckered her lips, and I met the other half of the kiss.
That's all we did, standing there, holding one hand, sharing kiss after kiss as if it were the only one there would ever be. Someone drove past us in the lot, honking and yelling, "Get a room!" We broke, looking around in confusion. She touched the back of her hand to her mouth, then turned and opened her car door. With a step and a lunge she was in my arms for one fast, hard kiss, then she got in and drove away.
It took me a while to get home. I kept stopping to check the night air for the smell of reality. I got undressed and into bed without turning on the light. Somehow, on my face or my hands, I had picked up a faint whiff of her perfume. I wasn't alone.
The next morning I took a little extra care getting ready. I didn't go so far as to splash on the Christmas aftershave, but I changed my shirt twice and checked the part in my hair before I left the house.
Jennifer actually greeted me at the door. Her face shone as if freshly scrubbed, and if her smile got any wider I think she'd sprain something. It would have looked a little goofy if I hadn't felt the same rictus stretching my own face. She took my hand and led me to a table.
After a meal I never tasted and a sip of long cold coffee she escorted me to the door. We glanced around. No one was looking, although I could swear the old guy on the end stool was chuckling. We kissed quickly, looked into the sparkle of each other's eyes, then settled into a long, shallow, playful smooch.
"Dinner tonight?" I had one hand resting lightly in her hip. It was the most intimate contact we had shared, and it was in a doorway.
"I'd love to." She tilted her head playfully. "But, I want to cook for you."
"She cooks." I announced to the ceiling. Then I frowned down at her, "You do cook, don't you?"
She gave me a playful punch in the stomach. "I'll bet I cook better than you do."
"It sounds great. What time?"
"Seven. No, seven-thirty, I have to get some things."
"I'll be there." I backed out the door, slowly releasing it to extend my last image of her. When it was shut I turned, stepping six inches higher with each stride. I could look down and see the trees below me by the time I reached my car.
"Paul!" I turned. Jennifer was standing outside the door. "When will you be there?"
"Seven-thirty!"
"And where will you be?"
I was half way through a grand gesture when I realized I had absolutely no idea where she lived. I left the arm in the air, turning slowly to look first one way, then the other, down the street. Finally I turned back to her and shrugged. She laughed her address, and I completed the aborted gesture calling it back to her, ending in a deep, flowing bow. She waved me off, laughing, and returned to work.
It took me a little while to find her trailer, the park wasn't very well lain out, but I was knocking on the door by seven-thirty. She answered in a light-blue dress, her hair pulled back behind one ear. I handed her the wine and flowers as she ushered me in. The trailer was neat and cared for, candles lit on the round table in the kitchen area and with the smell of roasted chicken filling the small space. Her son was playing on the floor.
She put the wine on the table and the flowers in a tall jar of water. I was standing in the living room area when she walked back, hands folded before her. I could see she was nervous, but we were in her territory. Each step was separate and deliberate. When she reached me her hands separated, going to my shoulders, and I put my arms around her as we kissed.
I felt a tiny hand, then head, pushing between our thighs. We broke, looking down. Charlie was between us, making as wide a space as he could. He kept looking back and forth, the pacifier in his mouth, then he wrapped his arms around Jennifer's legs.
"I'd better put him down," she said, lifting him. I tried to tousle his hair, but he thrust my arm away. "He's not so good with strangers." I smiled, waving good-bye as he glared his way to bed.
When she returned the kissing moment was behind us. We sat to dinner, and I have to admit she is a good cook. The meal was uncomplicated and very tasty. I guess that's a good description of her, too. Look at me, I made a funny.
After dinner we went outside, sitting in the dim light on the lawn chairs, holding hands. I got up to turn the radio on in my car, then pulled her to her feet. We danced slowly around the trailer lot, moving in and out of the shadows cast by the lanterns and windows of her neighbors. More than once the dance became a gliding kiss. We moved past the door, then she turned, pulling me inside, down the hall to her bed. She turned for another kiss, pushing the door shut behind me.
She opened her mouth, kissing with passion, expecting my tongue. It had been a long time for me, and I didn't want to rush, I could spend my whole life not getting past her face.
I followed the line of her lip, touched the corner of her eye, held her jaw to open her throat and the side of her neck. I tried to make each contact as deliberate as her steps had been when she came to me. My hands worked across her shoulders, along her sides, up her ribs. She unbuttoned her dress, and I followed her fingers down her chest, kissing to her stomach. She held my head to her as I knelt, running her fingers through my hair. She swayed to the music coming through the open window.
I stood, beginning again at her face as she opened and removed my shirt. I released her bra, fascinated by the contour of her breastbone and the long plane of her breast. Old habits reawoke, and my hands moved on their own. It took a while for me to realize I was being too rough. I softened my touch, making it feather soft, and Jennifer responded as if she had been waiting for me to join her.
We shed the remainder of our clothes as we explored each other. Each part of her fit each part of me as if we were created to be just right. We fell asleep entangled, woke briefly to reassure ourselves, then slept until dawn.
Waking was carefree. We touched sensuously, but without sex. She looked as good in the light as she felt in the dark. The baby cried. We kissed goodnight and she rolled out of bed, drawing a bathrobe around her as she went to the baby's room. I got up, got dressed, and joined her at the kitchen table.
She was boiling water for coffee while the baby was painting his chair with oatmeal. I leaned to kiss her and he threw a handful onto my pants. I told her it was OK, but drank my coffee as far from little Charlie as I could sit.
When I tried to start my car I realized I had left the radio on all night. Jennifer dug through the little tin shed at the end of the trailer until she found a rusted pair of jumper cables. We jumped from her car, and she told me to hold onto them until I was sure I wouldn't need them again. Throughout this whole automotive ordeal she had nothing on but the robe, and nearly everything she did showed something. I was alive with her generosity.
I returned that evening. There was a pickup in the driveway with a bumpersticker that read, "Caution! Motherf**ker on board!" Her husband was rinsing soap off it with a hose in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, stripped to the waist to display his carnival tattoos. He squinted and scowled when I pulled up and showed his control of the interface by taking a pull from his beer in response to my greeting.
I told him a short tale about Jennifer having helped me with a jump, and that I was returning the cable. I held them out to him. He yelled into the trailer for Jennifer, then turned slightly away to indicate the audience was at an end. Jennifer came to the door and we exchanged formal pleasantries.
When he walked around the front of the truck I turned so my back was to him. My face was wide open. She looked into me, hearing the question I couldn't ask with her husband so near. She looked for a while, explaining silently in the turn of her head and the set of her mouth. He was her husband. It was a family. She was giving it one more in a series of tries that trailed behind her and stretched before her as far as she was willing to look.
I handed her the cable. She took it with both hands, our fingers touching for the briefest of moments. I waited for everything to gather into two words, and I held them out to her. "Thank you."
She opened her body and her face and her heart in acceptance of everything I had not said. "You. Are. Welcome." I smiled a very small smile, but it was genuine. I turned, walked to my car, and drove off with a wave. He didn't return it, but I could see him watching me in the rear view mirror.
I cut back on meals at the restaurant, mostly stopping by for infrequent coffees. Sometimes she would share a few minutes with me, sometimes just a smile. I tried to give her room, in case she needed it, but I stayed near in case she needed me more. There were a few walks, an occasional gentle kiss or hug. I truly hope things work out for her, but I wouldn't mind if it was with me.