May 2017 people reacted when loved ones died, if everything simplified to the halcyon days regularly captured in plays. She was an only child, her parents were still alive, and Joe had a fat inanity that felt eternal. While they spoke, it began to rain. It was too dark to verify, but Nicole envisioned night’s big drops trying to absorb the day’s heat. If they were lucky, the heat would gather in thunderheads and flash out lighting. Sarah would think it appropriate. Better still, it would be a distraction. “Is there anyone we can call?” asked Joe. Once more, Nicole was amazed and annoyed at his practicality. A women in mourning needed time. She was glad when Sarah shook her head. “It’s too late tonight. It will be a busy morning, but at least it’s Saturday tomorrow. So many places are closed on Sunday. People have plans. I’m just sorry you two had to drive out for nothing.” “It’s not nothing,” said Nicole. Joe added that Nicole liked to drive, and he liked looking at the city at night. “I see it often enough during the day. Everything becomes a predictable composition. You forget there’s another city after hours. The kind of thing you don’t notice right away, if you ever do. Living here, you guys must see it from both sides.” Nicole flushed. Her friend — she had begun to consider Sarah a friend as their time together lengthened — had just lost a husband, and a decade’s pattern had been disrupted, yet Joe spoke so casually. Joe was oblivious to how her color darkened. The lamp gave most of its light to the end of the couch were Sarah was sitting, barely touching Nicole’s half. “Andrew worked from the house,” Sarah explained. “I drove deeper into the city. I know what you mean, though. Nearly every week Andrew would bring me flowers. When he didn’t, I distrusted. Like he had to give the money to someone else, or that he’d forgotten because I wasn’t important any longer. Andrew always kept to a budget. If the gaps were donations to charity, I ended up feeling like a traitor.” She began to cry again, and when Nicole moved over to protect her with her arms, Sarah whimpered loudly to make herself untouchable. Nicole thought back to when she was a teenager because the moment felt mutilated. She had been Catholic then, had believed more. At one service she realized the local doctor was offering her the communion host. That two paths of healing should so neatly align bothered her. She quit attending Mass after she left for college, only going to church when she visited her parents, though they did not press her. Faith frequently disappears when you speak of it. Having the practice was useful in occasions like this though. She searched for words to help Sarah come round. The rain intensified, its drumbeat growing louder. Joe busied himself taking in the shadowy room. Nicole figured he was guessing at the pictures on the walls, trying to make shapes cohere, anything to help him forget that this was a party and he needed a drink. Meanwhile, her mind considered how different death was from divorce. The latter usually left both parties unhappy. When someone died though, it was possible everyone found contentment. Sarah spoke again after several minutes, Nicole started. She had been on the way to sleep, betraying her own plan: if Sarah continued to weep, they would pick the opportune moment to rise, disappear in the darkness and leave, like waiting for a child to fall asleep. Maybe they would let Mrs. King across the street know; the old woman wouldn’t want Sarah to be alone. “I used to think Andrew was having an affair,” Sarah acknowledged. “I don’t know how he could, not with a budget of conveniencestore bouquets. The suspicion made me feel cheap. I was the one paid for with flowers. If there was another woman, she was happy just with Andrew. But then he didn’t need to get a hotel room. He could bring her here while I was at work.” “Did you ever catch him?” Joe asked. His voice did not disclose if he too had dozed. “I mean, was there ever any proof?”
...because the moment felt mutilated.
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