A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos

      I was a traitor, about to send her world spinning out of control. I didn’t know what to say. My legs felt like rubber, shaky and about to give way. Before I could muster a coherent thought, the kettle on the stove whistled, and Vi ran out to pour our tea.

      As if in a dream I walked into the kitchen, still clutching the box, stealing another glance at the precious green stone twinkling in the light coming through the window. I watched Vi slide generous pieces of strudel onto two dishes, felt my throat constrict with dread, felt perspiration on my palms as I sat and caught my breath.

      “So aren’t you going to try it on,” she said indicating the ring. “I had it sized to fit your finger, but the jeweler at Day’s said if it needs to be adjusted to bring it back, and he’ll do it right away.”

      I set the box down and met her expectant gaze.

      Where to begin.

      I wanted to explain how many times I’d come over here planning to tell her about Tony. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, but that would only postpone the inevitable. Fearing I might back down again and leave without telling her the truth, I knew I had to dive right into the subject. Or she might hear the news from someone else.

      And that would be worse.

      “I need to tell you something that might upset you.”

      Worry etched deep lines around her mouth and eyes. “Are you sick?”

      “No, it’s nothing like that.”

      “Thank the good Lord. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What in heaven’s name is wrong?”

      I paused and tried to choose the right words. “Nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact it’s good news. Sort of.”

      Confusion clouded her eyes. “Now I’m really puzzled.”

      “I’ve met someone. His name is Anthony Marino.”

      She collapsed into the chair and heaved a sigh. I waited for the aftershocks to subside.

      “I’d like you to meet him,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ll like him. I think Paul would have liked him, too.”

      “How long have you been seeing this Tony?”

      I considered lying, but that would only compound the guilt of not having told her sooner. “Seven months.”

      Her features twisted in disbelief. “Surely, it’s not serious, or you’d have told me about this man sooner.”

      I curled my hands around the warm mug of tea, tried to steady my grip, tried to soften the impact.

      I went for broke, no more skirting the issue. “He loves me, and I love him.”

      “What about Paul?”

      Paul’s dead.

      Too blunt, too hurtful. I sucked in my lower lip and blew out a soft breath. “I can’t bring Paul back.”

      “You mourned your husband for less than a year,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “How can you do this?”

      She made it sound as though I’d cheated on her son.

      I wanted to ask her how long I should mourn a man who’d betrayed me. I considered shattering her distorted image of her son, but I couldn’t do that to her.

      “I was a good wife to Paul while he was alive. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.”

      Avoiding eye contact, she stared across the room. Tense silence stretched between us until I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

      “I just need a chance to accept this,” she said, her voice hollow. “I know Paul is gone. I know we can’t bring him back. You’re young. You have a right to be happy. Maybe you’ll even have children. I could be their grandmother,” she said, a tinge of hope creeping into her tone.

      Tony already had three children from his first marriage. He’d made it clear he didn’t want any more babies. I understood. Plus, I’d reached the point in my life where I no longer yearned to hold an infant in my arms and to watch my child grow: first steps, first words, being loved unconditionally.

      At least I didn’t think I did.

      “I’m a bit old to have babies,” I said, not wanting to lead her astray.

      “You’re still young. Nowadays I can’t turn on the news without hearing of some actress having a baby in her forties. Lots of women are having children later in life. You could, too.” She sighed again and looked at me. “I apologize for overreacting a few minutes ago. I just never thought of you with another man. I can’t fathom seeing you with anyone but my Paul, but that’s silly of me.” She paused for a moment as if absorbing what she couldn’t change. “Maybe we can discuss your Tony in a few days after I’ve had a chance to think this through.” Her voice softened. “You and Paul were perfect together.”

      I’d thought so, too.

      We were far from perfect, only I didn’t discover that until after his funeral.

      Vi reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “I don’t blame you for trying to find that close bond again. Give me a little while to think about this. I’m sure in time I can accept that you’ve found another man to love you. I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to get married again.”

      I’d dreaded this most, but I’d come this far, it wasn’t time to back down. “Tony is moving in tomorrow, but we don’t intend to get married.”

      Vi’s face flushed, and she pulled her hands away. She made the sign of the cross and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, I saw disbelief and shame.

      “This is a disgrace to Paul’s memory.”

      CHAPTER 2

       T wo weeks later on my way home from work I stopped at the florist and arranged for a bouquet of red roses to be delivered to Violet. Since she was the most stubborn woman I’d ever met, I knew she wouldn’t make the first move. I’d missed her. I signed the card, Love, Annie. Now it was up to her to respond.

      I pulled my white Volvo into my driveway next to Tony’s silver Porsche. I owned a modest three-bedroom cape in Gray, Maine, a small town on the outskirts of Portland. After Paul died, I’d used some of the money from his life insurance to re-decorate and try to wash away some of the painful memories. I’d moved out of the master bedroom and chose the smaller room which faced my backyard and my flower garden. I’d added a sunroom off the deck and invested in a hot tub, something I’d wanted for years but Paul had considered frivolous.

      I’d felt a deep sense of power the day the hot tub had arrived. Although I suspected my purchase might have been partially an act of defiance, it was also a milestone: the day I started to take charge of my life.

      Tony owned a house in Saco that he planned to rent on a month to month tenancy. Neither of us was willing to surrender our independence.

      As I opened the kitchen door, the spicy smell of oregano and thyme teased my nostrils. Tony stood at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he stirred the pasta sauce. He turned and smiled at me. Due to the steam, a stray lock of his deep brown hair curled over his forehead. He hated that his hair waved, but I loved running my fingers through the thick, silky strands.

      “How’s my Italian?” I asked, walking toward him for the kiss I craved. “I’m famished.”

      “I’m horny.”

      “What else is new,” I said with a laugh.

      “You’re to blame, always giving me that ‘she-devil’ look.”

      I laughed. “What you see is the look of a starving woman.”

      “Starving, huh, in more ways than one, I bet.”

      “You’re