She was the only thing I paid attention to during the service. The minister droned on about how Mary would be well received in heaven, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that. Religion had always been her thing, not mine. No, my thoughts were on the girl sitting towards the back of the church. She had her hands folded demurely in her lap, a solemn little frown on her face. She was fair-haired and skinned, a small smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose. Okay, I amended, her breasts were too big to consider her a girl, but she was young. I wondered why she was here; I had certainly never seen her before. A relative on my wife's side? Somehow I didn't think so.
I wiggled on the uncomfortable pew, trying to show the proper amount of grief during the key points in the sermon. The truth was, I felt a bitter detachment from it all. Everyone thought my wife had died in a car accident on the way to church, and I was content to let everyone keep on thinking that. But in reality church was the last thing on my wife's mind that day. No, Mary was going past the church to the little suburb where her lover lived. Yes, my wife had been unfaithful to me for the last eight months, something I had only discovered after her death. However, it was between me and my private investigator, and no one else needed to know. I wasn't exactly a celebrity, but Mary's death was in the papers and the scandal of a love affair would certainly add spice to the story.
Finally the eulogy ended, but as I tried to make my way over to the young woman I was surrounded by a crowd of people eager to offer their condolences. I was so frustrated, so drained from the last two weeks that tears started streaming down my face.
"Oh you poor dear," said a distant aunt on my mother's side, "Have a seat."
I looked around for the woman, but she had already left. Sighing, I sat down and tried not to gag at the intermingling scents of the perfumed and cologned people swarming around me. Soon everyone started leaving the church, heading to Ellie May's house for the reception. I thought this little tradition to be exceedingly stupid, and wondered how offended everyone would be if I just went home.
Later, as I lay on my bed in the lonely sanctuary of my room, I felt dirty and ashamed. How could I have been thinking about another person during my wife's funeral? It was true that Mary and I had never been as close as married couples are supposed to be. She was a math whiz, and one of the three top financial advisors in the city. Her logical brain just couldn't get around the fact that as a pianist, my work is not really routine. Much like a writer, creativity ebbs and flows. But I had loved Mary, and though for a few months before her death I had suspected she was fooling around, I told myself over and over that she would never do such a thing. I had been so wrong. Now everything felt wrong. Is this what your supposed to spend your whole life doing? Building a relationship with someone, sacrificing, compromising, and then one day, for whatever reason, losing them? What then? Do you start over; begin the torment of dating, falling in love, making new vows? Or do you stay alone, living a simpler but less full life? With these thoughts in my head, I fell into a troubled sleep.
A week went by after the funeral and I tried to get back into my normal schedule. It was odd how my feelings would change. One minute I was perfectly fine, relieved even. The next, I would see something, hear something that reminded me of my dead wife and the tears would start to flow. On one such occasion, I decided the best thing for me to do was get out of the house. I walked, feeling refreshed by the cool spring air and the sun on my head. I felt as if a layer of cold had melted off of me, relieving me of some burden. By the time I got to town I was two miles away from my house and not in the mood to walk back. Cursing, I dragged myself to a bus stop and sat with a groan. As the bus pulled up a few minutes later I resolved to get more exercise. I got on the bus, shoved a dollar in the slot, and started to make my way to the back. I stopped short when I saw a familiar face. The girl from the funeral! I hurriedly sat down next to her as the bus left the stop. She was looking out the window, looking at her shoes, looking at her nails. I knew she was embarrassed that I had recognized her, and I wondered why that was.
"Um hi," I started lamely, trying to break the ice. "My name is Al. I couldn't help but notice that you were at my wife's funeral. I didn't recognize you, so I was wondering why you were there." She looked at me quickly then looked away again.
"I knew Mary, but not very well," she murmured, "I didn't see her often."
Well, it was a start anyway. "What's your name?" I asked, "Maybe my wife mentioned you."
"Oh, I don't think so," she said quickly.
"Your name?" I prompted, undeterred.
"Morghan." The reply was hesitant, reluctant.
I desperately wanted a phone number, an address, hell, even a last name would do, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get any of it unless she warmed up to me some. "Listen, I was wondering if you were interested in having lunch with me. I would really like to get to know you better."
She looked at me as if I came from another planet, but after a moment nodded yes.
"There's a deli next to the bus stop, why don't you meet me there at one tomorrow?" she said.
I agreed, and was able to get off the bus near my house well enough, but when I was sure that it was out of sight, I couldn't help but do a little dance. Morghan had actually agreed, maybe I could sleep tonight.
The next day I got up early and did some grooming. With a shower, a good shave, and some clean clothes, I looked more like my former self and less like the wreck I had become. I paced my house, wondering what I could do or say to impress Morghan, and finally laughed at myself. I hardly knew her, how could I know what she liked? Nervously flattening my fly-away brown hair with my hands, I got in my car and headed for the deli. I was forty-five minutes early and had three cups of coffee before she arrived. She sat down and gave me a nervous smile. We got through the orders well enough, but when the waitress left we had nothing to distract us from each other.
"So what do you do for a living?" I finally asked after five minutes of uncomfortable silence.
"Well, until recently, I was living at home. I've been working as a secretary, but now that I'm living on my own I should probably start looking for a job that pays the rent." she replied.
"Why did you move out?" I asked, curious. Morghan immediately looked uncomfortable.
"Never mind," I quickly amended, "You don't have to tell me."
