Prologue
An empty bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape stood beside a small dish of cheese, the last of the full red wine swirling in her glass. Her dark eyes, enhanced by the low wattage Tiffany lamps, peered over the hand slowly turning the glass, studying my facial _expression. She was curled up into a large, comfortable chair, blue in color. The loose, flowery silk dress worn for the earlier dinner party leant a softer feminine touch than the professional look she often favored during the day. She had been an accomplished host for the larger group, an easy conversationalist as we shared some wine once the others left.
"Four years," she mused, "that seems such a long time for a man."
Our conversation had taken a subtle turn, no doubt abetted by the wine, moving into a sharing of the celibacy existing in our individual lives. Mine had been easy during the months of caring for a dying wife, not even considered during that first year of mourning, now a bit of a challenge as life moved on. She hadn't given away all of her situation, alluding to the lonely side of a twenty-year divorcee in a small town while drawing me out.
Reaching down to set my empty glass beside the chair in which I sat opposite, I took the opportunity to move my eyes away as I answered with some defensive humor in my voice, "Perhaps, I don't keep track on a calendar."
Aware of silk rustling, I turned my eyes to see her unfolding from the chair. With a smooth gracefulness, she leaned out of the chair and swept across the carpet to kneel before my chair. Her free hand settled onto one of my thighs as she lifted her glass and slowly drank the remaining wine.
