Woman finally finds her match made in Heaven.
Her friends thought Katherine was crazy, and that she had money to burn, when she bought a small parcel of land from the city for one million dollars, across the street from her penthouse condominium. No one understood why she paid so much money for such a small and useless piece of land in the middle of the city, land that only had a park bench, a street light, a small pathway, and one lousy Maple tree. On the surface, it didn't make any sense, but she would have paid any amount for this bit of land. It was priceless to her.
Her friends thought her crazy when she spent all of her free time walking her small parcel of land with her dog and sitting alone on the park bench in the moonlight talking and laughing to herself. Years later, her friends thought her crazy when, upon her death, she asked to be buried there in the shade of the Maple tree, where she had buried her dog, years before. Her friends, who thought her crazy, didn't understand why she did the things she did. They just thought that she was eccentric, worked too much and too hard, and needed someone in her life, but she never found anyone. She lived alone, until the day she died. This is Katherine's story.
Katherine had it all, beauty, career, and money, only, she didn't have someone special in her life. She was at that forty-something age where she still had a chance at love and at romance, if she wanted it, and still had a chance at having a baby and a family, if she wanted that, too. Yet, when it came to making personal life decisions that conflicted with her career, never giving herself a break or credit for all that she had already accomplished, she was her own worst enemy. She knew that if she committed to a man now and/or to a baby later, that would be it for her career, her independence, and her do whatever she wanted to do and whenever she wanted to do it lifestyle.
Even if she returned to work after committing to a personal relationship with a husband and a child, it wouldn't be the same. Losing her focus and her edge, she'd be conflicted and distracted. Could she trade everything she worked so hard to build for romance and a man, and for a baby and a family? Could she give up her career for love? On one hand, depending on her priorities, it was a lot to ask her to give up, but on the other hand, she'd receive just as much, if not more, in return. It was a decision that only she could make.
It was, of course, an improbable question to ask and an impossible question to answer, especially now, since she didn't have a man in her life and was not in love and had never been in love. Foremost in her life, her career came first. Now, that she was on top of her field, CEO of her own profitable company, making her own hours and working much of the time from home, her success rang empty without someone there to share it with her.
Those who didn't know her, because of the fact that she didn't have a husband, had never married, and didn't have any special man in her life, thought she may be lesbian. She wasn't lesbian. She was just driven by her work and when she wasn't occupied with that, as would anyone else be, she was lonely. With the old double standard rearing its ugly head, it's funny how men who are driven by work aren't necessarily considered gay, just workaholics.
She had no one to buy those cute and funny greeting cards that she always happened to stumble over and laugh at in the card shop. She had no one to curl up to and spoon with at night and wake up with and look forward to being with the next morning. She had no one to talk to and/or listen to, while sharing morning coffee or an evening nightcap. She had no one to hold her hand, hug her, kiss her, or walk with her through the picturesque park that was just across the street from her home.
She had no one to share a laugh with or to wipe away her tears and to tell her everything would be okay and that he was there for her. Other than a staff of salaried assistants, she had no one there for her. She had no one who, she felt, really cared about her. She had no one to call seven times a day, just to hear his voice, to tell him she missed him, and to hear him tell her that he loved her. She had no one who truly cared about her, in the way that only a lover would and could. She had no one.
For someone who was so classy, cultured, good looking, successful, and educated, one would think that she'd have an army of men surrounding her and wanting her, but she didn't. She was alone and lonely. Preceded by her accomplishments and empowered by her tough veneer and no nonsense reputation, most men shrunk and disappeared in the shadow of her. Most men didn't want to constantly and contently take the back seat to her success, relegating themselves to the number two position.
As most women have become accustomed, complacently accepting their passenger seat role, no man wanted only to be known as Katherine's husband. It took a special and confident, self-assured man in knowing who he is, to love a strong, complicated, and competitive woman, as was Katherine Davis. Opinionated and articulate, she knew who she was and fought for those things she needed in her life that not only maintained her core of strength, power, and influence but also grew it.
For months, since she moved to Boston from New York, sitting by her picture window, while sipping a martini or working from her home office with her coffee getting cold, she watched from afar and envied those people who congregated in the dog park below. They always looked like they were having such a good time with their pets. Walking their dogs, before pairing off to walk the tree lined paths with someone they've met, after having become dog walking companions and having formed dating and/or love relationships, she's even witnessed a wedding or two, held where they first met, at the dog park.
She wished she had someone to enjoy their company, while enjoying nature and the day, as their dogs ran and played and did their business. Lonely enough to take desperate action and hoping to meet a man at, of all places, the dog park, too, she bought a dog, an Afghan hound, she named Ava. As graceful and as elegant as was her dog, she with her tall presence and flowing hair, fashionably expensive, loose fitting clothes and confident walk, and the dog with her handsome lines, flowing, multi-colored hair, and beautiful gait, looking like something from out of a Victorian calendar, such a pretty pair, they looked good together.
She lived alone in the city, high up, in one of those penthouse condominiums that overlooked the dog park. She had become accustomed to the kind of luxury accommodations and personal service accoutrements that had the doorman and the concierge, who knew everyone by name and who saw you coming and going, even when you didn't want them to see you. That's what you tipped them for; to remember you on those days you want to be remembered and to forget you on those days you'd rather be forgotten.
Able to afford a maid and a chef, she had a car at her ready to take her wherever and whenever she needed to go. Yet, she missed the simpler things in life. She couldn't remember when she's gone to see a movie or met a man for a drink. She heard some of the women at her office talking about joining a bowling team and one who's date took her miniature golfing. She'd sometimes wish her life was as simple to allow her to enjoy such things, activities where she didn't have to dress or hire caterers to entertain.