No graphic sex in this romantic tale that's based on a recent tragic event.
Seth
Death came suddenly to Roger Hanley. He died in his sleep, didn't feel a thing. At least that's what the people who knew and loved him presumed and hoped.
Melanie, his wife of thirteen years, felt plenty. She was widowed for the second time. Years before, Stephen Goode, her first husband of just five years (Stephen's second marriage), died the same way, of a massive heart attack. Like Roger, Stephen had been a bike rider. In fact, he died at the fifty-mile mark of a planned sixty-two-mile ride. Roger, one of the elite riders in his bike club, died at home after riding three days in a row, months after having two stents inserted into a major artery, the so-called widow maker. People that rode with him on that third day of riding said they saw nothing amiss, nothing unusual. Roger had been his usual strong, fast self. Didn't complain about a thing. Twenty-four hours later, he was dead.
The funeral home was packed with family and fellow bike riders, including Seth Olson. Seth had known Roger for years, had seen him at the start of the annual fifty-mile picnic ride through southern Pennsylvania, the Sunday before the Wednesday that Roger passed. Roger had looked like his usual self, a well-built, fifty-something cyclist, joyful and confident. He sure as hell didn't look the way he did now, pale and waxen, dressed in a suit in his coffin, surrounded by a photo display of his life and a few of his favorite cycling jerseys. Seth had admired one of Roger's many bikes, an all-steel vintage Colnago. More than admired it, he envied it. Roger usually rode his all-carbon Pinarello. On occasion, Seth saw him on the Colnago, a bike Roger kept partly out of sentiment, but mostly because of its lugged steel construction, cool paint scheme and overall smooth ride. Seeing Roger lying there from halfway across the room, Seth shook his head. If there had been any envy left, it was all gone, buried forever, just as Roger soon would be.
"You can't take it with you," Seth whispered to himself, somewhat ashamed that he once envied something that now seemed so superficial, so trivial. Roger was gone, gone forever. No more bike rides. No more Colnago. No more post-ride tailgate parties. No more Melanie. No more nothing. Perhaps he was in a better place, as that tired old cliché went. Perhaps not. Perhaps no more meant no more of anything. Lights out. Forever.
Seth spotted Melanie a few feet away, surrounded by people, holding up as best she could, as well as anyone could after just being widowed for the second time. She wore a black dress and a blue ribbon in her short brown hair. Seth could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her. She was an active rider herself, a much slower rider than her husband had been. What now for her, Seth wondered. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, young enough to "start over," if starting over meant finding love again, of even being happy again. Seth had heard what a close, loving relationship she and Roger enjoyed. He just learned that Melanie had been Roger's first and only marriage. She didn't deserve this. Yeah, life was unfair.
He approached her and said, "So sorry for your loss. Roger was a good guy, on the bike and off. He'll be missed."
Melanie nodded. "Thanks," she said. Her brown eyes looked so sad, so weary and a bit clueless also about who stood in front of her.
"Seth Olson," Seth said. "You might not remember me. We only met--"
"Ah, yes, of course," she said, looking up at Seth, a slim five-foot-ten who stood about a half-foot taller than she. "It's been a while. I remember seeing you on a few club rides. Thanks for coming."
Seth moved aside to let others pay their respects. Did she really remember him? A better question, did it even matter? Being here wasn't about him but about paying his respects to a woman grieving for the second time over a deceased husband. He hadn't known Stephen Goode, though he remembered hearing about what happened to him. But he had known Roger and having seen him just days before made it difficult to process. Here today, gone tomorrow. It lent poignancy to Seth's own mortality. After all, he and Roger had been close in age, and the same thing could happen to him. So far, he had no symptoms of heart trouble, no angina pain, none of the discomfort that Roger felt before the stints came in. But plenty of heart attack victims live without symptoms before the Big One. One never knew.
Seth left the funeral home, thinking about Melanie, wondering how one coped with such a terrible loss. Fortunately, he never experienced that sort of grief. Emotionally, his divorce a dozen or so years ago was no picnic. Yet he managed, recovered enough to date and form other relationships. He hoped Melanie might do the same. She was still cute. Even in middle-age, she had a little girl kind of look. Adorable as someone of Seth's age might say. He could see that cycling had kept her figure firm and toned, where another woman with a similar full body type who didn't exercise might be overweight. She seemed sweet besides. No wonder Roger went for her, married her at an age when single guys in their forties are seen as confirmed bachelors, 'not the marrying kind.'
Seth wanted to do something beyond just showing up at a funeral home, signing his name into the book in the lobby, saying a few words to Melanie and then leaving. Perhaps he'd send her a card, not a sympathy card, exactly, just something hand-written to express how he felt, without appearing like some vulture who swoops in on the recently widowed.
Melanie
Melanie couldn't believe she was going through this again. Twenty years ago, she buried Stephen. And now this; husband number two, her beloved Roger. It had been ten days since the funeral, and she still felt lost in a fog. Roger's things were just as he left them: his bikes and his closet still filled with street clothes and cycling gear. It was if he went away and would soon return. His scent lingered on the bed sheets that she couldn't yet bring herself to change. She was grateful that she spent thirteen years with him, thirteen wonderful years spent in the modest single brick house that she and Stephen once shared. The house dated from the early 1950s. It had a driveway and even a white picket fence in front--picture of the post-World War Two, middle-class suburban idyll.
After Stephen died, she didn't think she'd ever marry again. Then along came Roger, one of the stronger riders in the club, an ex-bike racer no less. What would he want with a slowpoke like her? "It's not about the bike, it's about us," he once told her. She shook her head, blinked back tears at the memory. Thirteen wonderful years. Yes, she was grateful. But couldn't he have stuck around longer, long enough for them to grow old together?
Her two sisters and friends have given her plenty of support. She felt grateful for that also. Still, she felt more alone than she'd ever felt, more alone than after Stephen died even. Perhaps it was because she was now middle-aged, less resilient than she was two decades ago. The cards she received were mostly the generic sympathy kind, with little or no writing by the sender. But there was one by Seth Olson, a guy she spoke with at the funeral home but barely remembered that was heart-felt. She liked the colorful illustration on the cover. Inside, the only words there were from Seth:
"Melanie, no words are adequate to express my sorrow over Roger's passing, but I'll try. I didn't know Roger that well, but I knew enough about him to like him. We did a few rides together (that is, when he wasn't up to full speed -- he was faster than me) and I'd see him at club social events. As you must be, I'm still in a mild state of shock. The guy was so fit, still a fast rider even after stint surgery. Fitness doesn't necessarily mean wellness, I know, but his death still comes as a shock, so unexpected. My thoughts are now on you, wondering how you're coping, getting by. Not easy, I imagine. If there's anything I can do, even if it's just to talk, don't hesitate to contact me. My cell number is listed in the online club directory."
Melanie remembered that Seth was one of only four people to write something in Legacy. A sensitive guy, she imagined, one that empathized with the situation of others. Roger was like that too. Maybe she'd call him and maybe she wouldn't. She wasn't yet in the mood to talk with anyone except close family. She could barely get by each day, twenty-four hours that felt like forty-eight. She almost had to force herself to eat, consuming just enough calories to function. She'd go to work, then come home, half expecting to see Roger. Nights were the worst, lying awake in bed, alone and hurting, crying until she couldn't cry anymore. Her only source of comfort at home was Sammy, the Yorkie that Roger had bought for her last year. Animals had a sense of loss, as Sammy seemed to. He'd look up at Melanie as if to ask, where's my dad?
She hadn't been on her bike since Roger died. He'd want her to ride, she knew that. Exercise made people feel good and cycling, as she and Roger had both agreed, was the best exercise there was--the most fun for sure. Except, in her depressed state, she found it nearly impossible to wheel her Trek Domane out from the cellar for a ride. She'd feel better if she had somebody to ride with. Not with a group of people like the club riders in her pace group, but with just one other person. She hoped to ride with them in time. But for now, she'd prefer the company of one, mainly to keep her company, not to pile on unwanted sympathy.
Seth Olsen came to mind. She liked his note. It appeared genuine. She liked that he wasn't pushy, that he advised her to refer to the club directory if she wanted to call, instead of putting his number on the card. Plus, she had to admit, he was a nice-looking guy, about the same height as Roger but slimmer and with a lot more hair. She'd think about it.
In fact, she thought about it for another few weeks before she called him.
"Seth...hi, it's Melanie Hanley. How are you?"
"Doing well. How about you?"
"Oh, getting by. It's tough."
"I imagine so."
"I liked your card. And I apologize for not calling sooner to thank you."
"Oh, please. I understand. You have nothing to apologize for."
"Well, okay." She paused. "Look, I haven't been on my bike since Roger passed. Just can't get motivated, at least on my own, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind riding with me. You're faster than me, I know, and I wouldn't want to slow you up."
"Melanie, I'll ride with you anytime you're ready. Don't worry about pace, it'll be a no-drop ride."
She chuckled. "Okay, great. Looking forward to it. It's about time I get out of the house. I know that Roger would want me to. How about next Sunday, weather willing?"
"That'll work. And you're right about Roger. He'd want you on that bike as soon as possible."
