This is a story about two lonely souls who share a brief, yet profound, moment in one another's lives. It's about love—or one form of it. If you are offended by infidelity in stories, then I urge you to look elsewhere, as this story may not be for you. For this rest of you, I hope something here resonates.
*
Dana Abbot was tired of being jostled. Tired of the crowds. For some reason, she thought that with the rain and it being early spring, the Smithsonian Museums would be manageable. Instead, she'd learned that Washington, DC tourism was a force of nature stronger than any little rainstorm or season, and it had crushed the visiting Canadian quickly in its path.
Trudging down the steps of the National Gallery of Art, she joined the masses on the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue, raising her arm for a cab. It was hopeless. They were all taken, or one of the many other tourists around her snatched one up before it had even come to a stop.
Grumbling to herself, Dana moved a block away from the hubbub, marveling at the stony, white dome of the Capitol above her. She almost took her camera out, thinking that her kids would like to see where Mommy had been, but decided against it. With her current luck, she'd get water in the camera and ruin it.
Only one other pedestrian was waving for a cab. The tall man must have forgotten his umbrella. Only his black raincoat shielded him against the downpour, his collar popped up and his short, salt-and-pepper hair plastered to his scalp.
A garishly yellow taxi pulled to a stop before the other guy, of course, because Dana was having no luck whatsoever, although she wasn't as mad this time as she'd been before. She had an umbrella, after all, and could stand to wait a few more minutes.
The short-haired brunette was already looking further down the streets in search of vacant cabs when the one she'd just given up on pulled to a stop in front of her. The rear window rolled down and the soaking man popped his head out. "Where are you headed?" he asked, his voice shouting against the traffic and the rain.
"My hotel's in… Woodly Park," she responded, struggling to remember the neighborhood's name.
"Lucky day, so's mine. Hop in!"
Dana hesitated a moment, glancing in at the cab driver, who was idling patiently. She was a woman, alone in a foreign city, after all. Horror stories of lonely travelers went flashing before her eyes.
The spring shower was making a loud pitter-patter against the yellow roof of the car, underlining more than anything just how wet she was getting—how sick of the rain she already was.
"Thanks," she said, opening the door as the stranger slid over. It wasn't like it was his car, after all. They had a chaperone. She told herself that the chances of being kidnapped in this unfamiliar city were slim to none.
"You're very welcome," he responded. "Sorry the seat's a little damp."
Dana's hazel eyes shifted from the vinyl seats to her new cab-mate, who looked as miserable as a drowned rat. Beads of water dribbled down his handsome face, tracing his strong jaw-line before dripping from his cleft chin. She couldn't help it. Covering her mouth, the brunette burst into a fit of laughter. This day had been so overwhelming—first time alone in this new city, without her kids or husband, the rain, the crowds, the damp smell of sweat and mud. It reminded her of her younger days, when she went to outdoor concerts.
And here was this man, looking like he'd just pulled himself out of the ocean, apologizing for the wet seat she had to sit on!
The man soon joined her laughter, although his brow formed a little crease of confusion. He seemed just as happy to laugh as her, like it somehow dried his soaking clothing.
"So… where are we going?" the cabbie asked, breaking the spell of hysteria that had washed over the back seat.
The man looked at Dana, yielding to her. The act of chivalry wasn't lost on the brunette. She dug into her purse, pulling out her itinerary. "Um… the Washington Marriot at Wardman Park," she told the driver. Slowly, he pulled into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, tapping on his horn to let the rest of the stream know he was coming.
Looking back at the man, she was a little startled to catch him watching her. He immediately averted his eyes, saying, "I've never seen traffic so bad."
Dana let it slide. Truth was, she was flattered. Despite the man's soaking stature, he was a good-looking guy. It had been a long time since she'd caught her husband giving her one of those looks.
"You're from here, then?" she asked.
"Not at all," he laughed. "First time, in fact, and if this is what's to be expected, it'll also be my last, if I can help it."
She had to agree, although as they passed the majesty of the Capitol, she thought that it could be fun to come back with her kids. They'd appreciate it. "I take it you're from out of town, too? Canada, judging from your accent."
"I have an accent?" she laughed. A few of her American friends had said so, but she never believed them.
"Good ears, I guess." He had a charming smile. "Where abouts?"
"Toronto," she replied, surprised at how easy it was to talk to this complete stranger. "Actually, the suburbs outside of it. A town called Guildwood Village. You?"
"The Bay Area. Outside of San Francisco. I love city-life, but I'm glad I don't live in one." He looked outside, where they'd only moved about a block. "Sometimes I don't love the cities, too."
Dana laughed. "Same." They sat in traffic quietly. It wasn't an awkward silence, like the kinds she'd shared with most strangers when idle chit-chat failed. Maybe it was the patter of rain around them, but Dana felt comfortable. Finally relaxed.
"Hi, I'm John, by the way," the man said at last, holding out his hand. "I don't think we've formally introduced ourselves." There was that disarming smile again.
She took his hand. It was warm in hers. And damp, although that couldn't be from the nervousness. "Dana," she replied, wondering for a moment what this man would do if she didn't release his hand. "Pleased to meet you," she giggled, thinking that would be a bad thing.
"'Dana.' A pretty name for a pretty woman," he said. He wasn't flirting—not exactly, anyway. The way he said it, he was just stating a fact. It was raining outside; and Dana is a pretty name. "Your husband's a lucky man."
"How did you know…"
"Your ring," he explained, glancing at the diamond on her left hand. "I have one, too," he said, lifting his own hand up to show off his thick, golden band. "She's back home in Cali," he explained. Dana could hear the edge in his voice. "She doesn't like to travel and, well, it's nice to get away…"
"You two having problems?" The words just tumbled out before she realized how personal the question was.
He shrugged. "Always have. But I love my kids, so what's a guy to do?"
A wave of empathy went out to John. Dana knew exactly the way he was feeling, although things weren't as bad between her and Alan. She loved him dearly, but they'd been married twenty long years and things had gotten stale a while ago. "Mine's back home, too," she said, suddenly feeling a blush coming on. Like she shouldn't be having this conversation with another man.
"Enough about them," John said, breaking the gloom that seemed to be setting into the back of the taxi. "They're not here, so let's leave them for another day." And like that, the pall lifted. "So, Dana, tell me what museums you liked the most."
