"She would have loved this," Remy Therriault whispered to no. On the back porch of his family's Schoharie Valley hunting cabin, he watched the sunset and held an empty glass tumbler that once held some hard, amber liquor made a few miles from where he sat.
"I miss her," he admitted to himself as he absently-mindedly raised the glass to his lips, forgetting that it was empty. Once he remembered, he shook his head and stood. He wanted a refill but shook his head instead.
"Getting drunk won't help," he thought. He turned and walked inside, the screen door's loud thwack made him smile: she would have yelled at him.
Remy placed the glass into the porcelain sink and stood for a moment. He thought of her, remembered how she would have nagged him for not rinsing out the glass and for just leaving it in the sink. He shook his head and rinsed it. He placed it in the drainer and grabbed the hand towel from its hook. He chuckled knowing she would have done the same.
The summer's day had ended. In the past, Remy Therriault might have been on his way home from work or sitting in his den with a cold soft drink while the pretty, young wife of his sat on his lap. This would not happen today, or any other future day.
Heavy-hearted, he made his way into the sparsely furnished living area. A couch stood in front of the fireplace. A comfortable, overstuffed chair sat to the left, an end table with an electric lamp next to it. On that seat was a bookmarked book, plus an unopened bottle of Pepsi. Remy sighed and picked up the book: Reading was one of the view enjoyments he shared with her that he had left since her death.
She was his wife Penny. Born Penelope Cartwright 25 years ago, she was not enamored with Remy at first. "What makes you think I'd go with you for coffee?" were her words when college student Remy first approached her on the streets of Beverwyck. He had no response and walked away. Within a week, she sat next to him in a diner when she saw him through the window, and less than a year later, they were married.
Remy picked up the book and sat. He looked opened it and sighed. He closed it and placed it on the end table. "Why?" he called out, knowing no one would hear it, but hoping she would, where ever she was. He sighed again, closed his eyes, and tried to make himself comfortable in the chair. Seconds later, he was fast asleep.
"Hello," someone said through knocks on the front door. Remy Therriault awoke from a dreamless nap with a startle. He rushed to the door and looked out. There stood an older woman, short and curvaceous. She smiled at him when he began to open the door.
Something in her smile was familiar, that caused his soul to react. For a brief moment, Remy stood silent and looked at the woman.
"Remy?" she whispered.
That voice, that soft whisper, was something he heard in his past. He couldn't think where, though.
"Yes."
She exhaled deeply, a relaxing sign. "Good, I've been on the road since 3 this morning." She took a step back and looked upward. "Where are my manners?" She extended a hand and introduced herself.
"My name is Theresa Harris. I'm, oh, I was Penny's aunt."
He took her hand in his and lightly squeezed. "Nice to meet you," he answered as they unclasped their hands. He took a step back, tried not to show her that something just happened.
"Please, come inside." He moved aside and allowed her to enter. For a moment, he allowed himself to be like the Remy of old: He watched her walk past and leered at her bottom. He liked what he saw; the size and shape were like what first drew his attention to Penny. It was round and relatively large. There was some meat on it.
She stopped and quickly turned. She didn't miss that he had checked out her ass. "I hope you like what you saw," she quipped.
He felt himself turn red with embarrassment and looked away. He smiled sheepishly but it let it leave before he faced her. He nodded. "Yes I did," he softly answered.
There were no signs of anger or dismay in her face. She calmly turned to him and softly touched his face. "I know this may sound strange, Remy, but I was told you're hurting and need my help."
He was confused. No one knew of his pain, not his family, or Penny's. He didn't understand how she could have known. He went to ask her how she knew, but the question stopped on his lips.
"You might think this is strange," she began, interrupting him. "But I had a feeling you were hurting still over Penny's death."
With a raised eyebrow he asked, "How come I didn't see you at her memorial service?"
She looked away. "I wasn't invited." She looked at him, a frown on her face. She pointed her hand to the couch, "May I sit?"
He nodded.
"I'm not a blood relative," she began. "I was married to her mother's brother for ten years, but divorced him once I learned of his true past." She looked at Remy and shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't told when I met him that he had been arrested for attempted murder."
