Prologue

PROLOGUE

They made love in the most wondrous way, with not a word spoken throughout. It began in the late afternoon in the kitchen, with the two of them preparing their evening meal together, and ended just before nine a.m. the following morning.

It was his idea, really, He wanted it to be ‘just so’, an evening so special that, when they would think about it over the years, and she would, that a warm glow would infuse her, and bring them to tears.

They moved through the kitchen as if choreographed. He washed the spinach; she patted it dry. He sliced tomatoes; she, the hard-boiled eggs. When he wanted her to move to a new station, he put his hands on her waist from behind and she moved like a dancer to his signals. They turned their heads to look into each other’s eyes and smiled as they moved about. Not a word.

They shared a sumptuous feast, communicating through pantomime and touch. Wine, salad, bread, coq au vin, desserts of fresh fruits and ice cream covered with berries, topped with Chambord.

Entering another phase in their foreplay, they moved around the living room to the sounds of Ravel’s Bolero and other sensual recordings. She responded instinctively to his directions as she had for over thirty years, and marveled as she did at his uncanny ability to lead. His agility and grace thrilled her still.

His attention to detail as they made love throughout the night brought her to moments of intensity she had not experienced in years, and brought her close to… and then to, tears. His lips kissed them all against her cheeks.

As the morning sunlight entered the room, he awoke her and they walked hand in hand to shower together. His hands washed her from neck to toes, and they dried her in similar fashion. She willingly followed his lead as they made love once more. She laid her head on his chest and, listening to the power of his heartbeat, she wept. They smiled and hugged as he left her doorstep. One lingering kiss and he was gone.

The memory of the evening returned for the first time in the afternoon, as she curled up on the couch, a glass of Merlot in her left hand, to read the formal decree dissolving their marriage, that day, in her right. No words.

Slowly, she read the text announcing the end of a loving relationship gone awry after decades. Tears flowed softly down her cheeks. She made no effort to stop their movement. “Just let them be.” She thought. “Let them be.”

Rising from the sofa, she walked tentatively toward the bedroom, stopping purposely in the doorway. Her eyes took in the view as her memory brought images from their past together. How many hours had they spent in here, talking about work, sharing their dreams, rejoicing in fleeting successes – and making love. Two children were conceived here, nurtured in cradles nearby. The pains of loss, first her parents, then his mother, were shared here. Arguments – spats at first– were rare, until the last few years. The most bitter of them resulted in sleeping apart, followed by living apart. None of that was in the decree she held in her hand.

She awoke to bright sunlight and the sound of a ringing phone in the living room. She let it ring as she walked slowly toward it. She flipped the cover and pressed the key to see who had called. Helen. As she read the name, the phone beeped again, to announce a message. She returned to her room, put the phone on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “Good morning.” She said aloud to the walls and the sunbeams filling her space. “My name is Alison. Welcome to the start of my new life.”