Secret Love

Heart.... or head?

So darling, are you going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, or am I going to have to climb this mountain alone......?"

After The Kiss, as she always referred to it afterwards, they'd walked back into the restaurant hand in hand, quiet smiles on their faces.  The Maitre D had resettled them at the table without so much as a second look, and the meal had resumed as if she'd never fled.

They'd not so tacitly agreed to just enjoy their meal, after all, whatever was wrong; another hour wouldn't change anything.

Now that hour was done.  Steak eaten, champagne, and white chocolate mousse consumed, all washed down with the single most delicious wine she'd ever had. 

There was nowhere to hide, so she made a decision.  She compromised. She decided to explain just a little. Something deep down was, despite their apparent connection, still afraid.

More time she reasoned, I'm not being a coward, I'm buying more time. With him, for him, for the girls.

"I'm, well, technically I'm not single..." his eyebrows shot to the top of his head. In all his musing about her, THAT had never been an option. Flick saw the confusion and shook her head

I'm a widow, Tom." She blurted it out, slightly unprepared for how it would feel. The word conjured old ladies in black lace, pining for a past that wouldn't return.  Yes, in the beginning, she'd been that and more.  Now? Now she was just alone. And lonely.

Until Tom.

The look that passed over his face told her everything. Compassion, sympathy.... but not pity. No. Something more constructive than that. Empathy.

"Oh, Flick.... I'm so sorry for your loss, my darling. May... may I ask how?" He reached out and grasped her hand where it twisted her coffee spoon as it sat in her saucer. His large hand covered hers, and she, not for the first time, wished she was as small as her own hand. Then he could protect her like that.

"A car accident. A drunk driver. Instant, apparently." She looked at their hands the whole time, unable and unwilling to let him see the pain in her heart, even now. Even with him.

"Oh. My. God. You poor thing...." he paused, taking a breath. "How...long ago?"

"Four years in November. The 25th, to be precise. " she nodded, knowing the implication wouldn't be lost on him. "Yup, four weeks before Christmas. Shit eh?" Now she looked up, and he squeezed her hand.  "Don't celebrate it much anymore."

"Dont blame you." He said solemnly, taking a gulp of wine. "So... you dont wear...."

"My wedding ring? No. No, I don't. Two reasons really and neither are to do with lying about all this, by the way." She felt on more solid ground. This was old news. She'd gone over the particular ground a great many times.

"I didn't even dream it was darling." He half smiled as she went on.

"One, I don't need a ring to remind me of my husband. He's in my heart forever. A little corner, all for him. He didn't cheat on me, he didnt abandon me. He gave me no reason to stop loving him. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Her voice was strong now. None of that was a lie.

Tom nodded. "Indeed. And I think all the more of you for it. You said two love?"

"Yes. The second is a very practical reason. If I wear a ring, then people invariably ask me about my husband. Where he is, what he does, why he's not with me at whatever I'm attending. When I tell them he's dead? Kind of kills the mood." She paused, "no pun intended." There was an awkward snuffle of black laughter between them that ended as quickly as it began.