She's not "less than half your age," instead, she's "a bit younger," Dave thought to himself, sitting opposite this charming creature, attempting to iron out his conflict. When he first received the e-mail a few weeks ago he never expected to actually meet her β or that she'd be so attractive.
The e-mail read: "My mother Susan told me so many nice things about you and I would appreciate it, if you have the time, to sit and talk to you about her. I know it would give me a chance to feel closer to her and to thank you for being so good to her. I am working on an assignment in Portland and fly in once every week or two. If you'd have the time I'd love to buy you a cup of coffee and talk. If you're interested please give me a call. Starlight Gold"
He couldn't believe it. He hadn't seen Susan Gold since shortly after he'd graduated college. Though he certainly remembered her, he was surprised at her daughter's e-mail. He hadn't even thought about her since they'd split up more than thirty years ago.
Yet here he was with Starlight, Light for short. What a name, he thought. It was so Sixties of Susan to pick that name for her daughter. Light was a looker, quite a bit more robust than he remembered Susan who'd been very skinny.
"β¦You see," Light was saying, "I was born four or five years after you two split upβ¦"
Starlight was a brunette with very fair skin and blue-gray eyes that seemed to look into his soul. She looked athletic, both lean and muscular, about five-five and very attractive. She exuded confidence, with a strong sense of presence, yet there was something self-effacing and down-to-earth about her. These were rare qualities in such a striking young woman.
"β¦it happened so suddenly," Light was saying, "that we just had no time to think about it. She was diagnosed, spent the next few weeks in the hospital, and that was it. We were always close and we shared even more at the end."
She stopped, brought some tissues out of her purse and wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she continued. "Even though it's been a couple of years, sometimes it seems like yesterday."
"It's alright. I understand," Dave said. "My parents passed away more than fifteen years ago and I miss them to this day."
She briefly touched the back of his hand sitting on the table. "Thank you for understanding. I just wanted to talk to you about your time with Susan.
"I know she was my mom, but from when I was seven she insisted I call her by her first name. I guess it seemed so progressive back then."
He sat back and took a deep breath.
"Light, listen, it's been more than thirty years since I saw or even spoke with your mother. I must admit my memories are not very detailed."
"It's OK. I understand," she said, returning to her purse, this time pulling a small notebook out. "Would you mind if I ask you some specific questions?"
"No, not at all. I just don't know what I can tell you about Susan."
Dave's mind tried to return to his college days. He'd met Susan when they were both living in the "Ice House" as they used to call it β the place was always cold. In the summer it had air conditioning that had two settings: off or freezing. In the winter, except for an occasional noise, the furnace failed to let you know it had ever been installed.
It was an old Victorian style house that had been converted into a few apartments. Susan and her roommate were in a two bedroom next to his own studio. At the moment he couldn't remember the name of the roommate.
What he could remember was how much sex he and Susan had had. It seemed that once they starting seeing each other they took it upon themselves to explore sex as though it were a project. She was a year or two older, but had only slept with a half-dozen men. Dave had only had sex with two girlfriends and neither had been very satisfying.
But when he and Susan met, the sexual sparks started flying almost from their first date.
"β¦so I found this journal that Susan kept from when you lived at the Ice House together."
Dave was surprised out of his reverie by this. That Susan had kept a journal was news to him. He didn't recall that.
"She had alluded to having it once or twice, but I never believed her. Whenever I would ask her something about her youth, she'd say, 'Who remembers? I'll have to look that up in Susan's Sex Stories and see what it says.'"
He felt a little uncomfortable with this new information about documentation Susan had written. "Did she actually write it back then?"
"It looks like she wrote in it every day while you were living in the Ice House. After you moved away she just wrote in it when you two got together."
"Uh oh. Now I'm getting embarrassed. I hope there was nothing personal."
"Nothing but personal," she responded. "But, listen, there's nothing bad in here. She just enjoyed your relationship and loved her sex life with you. That's a good thing."
A spate of disjointed images of specific sex acts, positions, locations, and his and her combined body parts flooded his brain. The time he'd spent with Susan had been special for them both. They had experimented with almost everything two people can, more or less. However, he was not feeling very comfortable discussing this with her daughter in this coffee shop.