The End of Grief
“Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night’s sleep, and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn’t hear her husband’s ghost all the time, but only some of the time.” ~ Jonathan Safran Foer
“Sneaking away?”
The voice is rough, sleep edged and amused. Maria stills, her clothes in hand. She’d meant to leave Rafe’s room before he woke, but he must be a light sleeper. She feels caught, like a naughty child.
“Umm . . . ” This is awkward. She’s unsure. How do young women do this? How do they get up and walk away after a night of passion without feeling awkward and guilty?
Rafe slides from the bed and stands. “Stay,” he says quietly. “I brought your toothbrush over.” He flicks his eyes upward to her hair and smiles. “And I like your hair like that. Loose. Curly. Wild as hell.” He smiles and leans forward. Maria is frozen in place as he kisses her cheek gently. He still smells of the cologne he wore last night as he twirled her around the dance floor.
He made her laugh.
He made her mad.
He made her eat dessert, take her shoes off at the beach, and laugh at the moon.
He made her feel alive.
Rafe steps into his kitchen and takes a deep breath. He managed to keep her from running. He hopes he managed to keep her from sliding away in shame, thinking she’d done something wrong. He hopes he kept her from feeling guilty.
He hates fighting against a dead man. Especially a perfect one. One who had no faults. One who clearly loved a spectacular woman until the day he died. He’s been slowly courting Maria ever since they returned to Miami. Well, he started in Texas, but she didn’t seem interested. He was still a friend, ‘in the friend zone’, as the Miami boys say. When they returned to Miami, something had changed. She was receptive. He was delighted.
Rafe pours a glass of orange juice and begins a light breakfast. Some croissants he’d picked up yesterday. Fresh butter he’d made himself (his favorite indulgence), orange marmalade, strawberry jam (her favorite), and some bacon. He puts the bacon on a baking sheet and pops that into the oven. He’s listening to the bathroom closely, not to figure out what she’s doing but to ensure she doesn’t try to sneak away.
He hears her approach and turns around. “Eggs?”
“Scrambled,” she says quietly. “I’ll do that. You can use the bathroom, if you need to.” She still hasn’t looked up or at him, but she hasn’t run.
“No, go ahead. I’ll handle breakfast.” He smiles. “Nearly done anyway.” She smiles and leaves in the direction of his bathroom. He wanted to kiss her, passionately, but . . . morning breath is not sexy. He’s trying to make sure she gets the full complement of him at his sexiest.
Ridiculous really. He was never ‘sexy’. Thin and solid, perhaps. Responsible. Strong back, good legs, nice teeth. He’s seen men who are sexy and dangerous. Ranger. Lester. Armando. Diego. Even Antonio, for all the boy is an asshole, is a handsome one. Those men stop traffic. They make young women sigh. Ranger and Lester are like the Pied Piper, with gorgeous women following them everywhere.
Rafe? He sighs. His best feature is his eyes. A clear gray, with a bit of blue. Solid, like the sea. He’s built more like Hector, whip thin and slightly dangerous looking.
Luisa used to laugh and tell him that his eyes were his sexiest feature. “Like the sea but not the Miami sea,” she said, her eyes laughing at him. Merry brown eyes with green in them. He loved her eyes. He loved her. He loves her. She’s been gone for a decade now and the overwhelming ache has dulled to an occasional twinge. A twinge he feels when he looks at Katy, his daughter. Her spitting image.
He’s seen the picture of his rival. Armand. A handsome man. He reminds Rafe of Andy Garcia, and who can compete with that?
Rafe turns his attention to the eggs. Scrambled, she said. Does that mean scrambled soft? Scrambled hard? Butter? Oil? He’s at a loss until he thinks about the way he’s seen her prepare eggs.
Scrambled soft in a non-stick pan with a small amount of butter and olive oil. Sea salt. No cheese. He finds his pans and scrambles a few eggs. Soft. He doesn’t want to disappoint her. He thinks he managed it and he’s proud. He removes the bacon from the oven and places it on paper towels to drain. Crispy, the way she always manages it. Two for two. Maybe, finally, his luck is turning.
He returns to the bedroom and retrieves the red rose he purchased from the sidewalk stall last night. He felt brave and he presented it gallantly. It made her laugh and that thrilled him. Watching her smile, watching her laugh, he loves seeing her happy. He takes the rose back to the kitchen and lays it next to her plate but stops and looks. Is that too much? He hears light footsteps and panics. He removes the rose.
Too much. Too soon. Not soon enough.
She stalled for time as long as she could. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair, then stopped. He liked how it looked curly and wild. She smiles. She likes wearing it that way but she’s in the kitchen all day. No one wants to find hair in their food, so she’s worn it this way for at least 20 years. Tied up tight in a French bun or a twist. Not a hair out of place. Now? She snorts and looks at her hair.
Her childhood vacations in Puerto Rico are screaming at her. She rarely combed her hair. She rarely wore shoes. She ate and laughed and had fun and her hair was tangled and twisted with her.
She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to make it curly again, and just succeeds in making it look messy. Sigh. Why I am trying? she thinks. He’ll think I’m desperate and pathetic. She swallows hard and squares her jaw. No more. No more crying. I am who I am.
I’m fine just the way I am.
The conversation at breakfast is stilted. They both feel awkward and unsure. How do the young people do this? How do they manage to talk and laugh and be . . . calm with someone they’d been intimate with the night before? Maria sighs and Rafe looks up sharply. She smiles.
“Your eggs are wonderful,” she says quietly.
He smiles, proud. “Thank you. I tried to remember how you do it and tried to replicate that. I’m glad I got it right.”
She looks at her eggs and smiles. Perhaps a bit softer than she prefers but he came very close. They’re nearly perfect. She takes a bite of her croissant and moans a little. Rafe watches her intently and she feels stupid for moaning over bread. “You’ll have to tell me where you get your butter from,” she says. “It’s always the best.”
He looks surprised and shrugs. “Maybe someday,” he replies.
Breakfast is over soon after and, as she gathers her clothes and slips her feet into her shoes, Rafe quickly brushes his teeth. He walks her to his apartment door. Neither knows what to say, so Maria turns back to the door.
As she turns the handle, Rafe says, “Maria, wait.” She turns, expecting to hear him say some pat statement about how he enjoyed the evening or . . . something.
No. Rafe takes her chin gently, moves closely, and gives her a kiss she feels in her toes. When it’s over, and she has her senses back, he says, “Thank you.”
No, Rafe. Thank you.
Her phone is ringing. She drops her clothes and runs for it, picking up right before the last ring.
“Maria!”
“Hello, Lula!” Hearing from Lula makes her feel wonderful. Lula’s been calling almost every day trying to determine how she and Rafe are getting on, or not.
“Took you a long time to answer the phone!” Lula says, laughing. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, you nosy young woman,” Maria replies saucily, and Lula laughs. “It’s before 8 a.m. in Texas. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“Nope. Just checking on you. I just finished breakfast and Tank’s muttering you need to come home.” Maria laughs. “I’m about to head downstairs and remind those boys that Lourdes and Eduardo need to feel welcome here too.”
Maria curls up on her sofa and laughs. Her San Antonio boys are clear: Come HOME! We miss you! They call every other day to tell her what’s going on out there. She’s completely caught up on which boys are dating, which ones have broken up with their girlfriends, and who is just happy. They call with questions about the diet and they want to know if she’s happy in Miami. They tell her they’ll beg Tank to install a pool if it will entice her home. They tell her about Lula’s diets, her efforts in the gun range, and whether or not she’s slapped Lester up against his head lately.
Maria always has a headache after their calls. They’re so funny!
She talks to Lourdes and offers emotional support. Lourdes is a funny woman also. She likes the company, her new coworkers (each lady calls on a separate night! So much support!) and the branch, but she and her husband are gearing up to move to Charlotte. She tells Maria that the boys treat her nicely and they like her, but they can’t hide the fact that they love Maria and Rafe and want them to come home.
“Well, did you and Rafe go out last night?”
Maria colors. Perhaps . . . well, Lula is a woman of the world. Perhaps she can tell Lula. “Yes, we went out.”
“And?”
“And . . . I fell asleep in his apartment.”
“Oh yeah?” She can feel Lula’s excitement. The knot in her belly is starting to loosen. “Did you allow him a kiss?”
“We spent the night kissing,” she says quietly. Lots of kissing. Long passionate kisses. Hot steamy kisses. Kisses that made her think of doing more. Thank goodness Rafe was more restrained. She was feeling wanton.
“Yes!” Lula yells. “‘Bout damn time too. You don’t sound happy though.”
“I am happy. I mean, it was perfect date. We had dinner out and we argued over the Rays and classic movies and he told me I remind him of Katy Jurado.” Maria flops back and smiles at the ceiling. “I loved Katy Jurado as a child. She never played the subservient Latina. She was all fire and pride and when he told me I was like that, I . . .” She stops. She originally thought Rafe was teasing her, playing with her pride, but it was clear from the look on his face he meant it.
“Wanted to believe it but couldn’t?” Yes! This is why she likes talking to Lula. Lula always understands. “Believe it. Rafe don’t hand out comments trying to get in your panties.” It’s quiet for a moment. “You let him in your panties?”
“No!” Maria is scandalized and Lula laughs. Maria blushes; Lula was teasing her. “We spent the night kissing. Just kissing. Like teenagers. It was . . . sweet. I just fell asleep and I tried to leave but he caught me before I could get out of there. I was sneaking out with my jacket and shoes in hand when he spoke.”
“Rule one of dating, Maria: if you fall asleep there, you don’t leave without saying goodbye. Bad manners. You leave without saying goodbye and that’s like saying you think it was a mistake.” Lula snorts. “Tank had to teach me that one. He kept getting pissed that I’d sneak away. He was offended. I told him he snored to get him to shut up.”
Maria laughs but she feels better. OK, so she nearly made an amateur mistake.
Rafe is on the treadmill.
He made progress last night and now he’s not sure how to move forward. How long should he wait before asking her out again? Where should they go?
He’s moving slowly. He knows that the fact that they work together is a negative. If it doesn’t work out between them, they have to see each other every day. He doesn’t want Maria to feel awkward or regretful.
He sighs mentally and wipes his brow. Does dating ever get easier?
He hears the pounding of footsteps next to him and he looks over. Diego, running at a fast clip on a high incline. They run in silence for thirty minutes before Diego pauses his machine and wipes his face and body. Jesus, the boy is a machine and he barely looks winded.
“Your thoughts are damn near yelling at me,” Diego says, a slight smirk on his face.
“What are they yelling?” Rafe asks, amused.
“You want the next step. You’re confused and nervous because you made progress but you don’t know what to do now.”
Rafe is stunned and silent. He’s wondering how much his face was giving away.
Diego smiles slightly and leans close. “Get out of your apartment. That place has significance now,” he says quietly. Rafe’s eyes widen and Diego shakes his head. “I saw her leave and I scrambled the camera. No one else knows.”
“What would you do?” The question was out before he could stop himself.
Diego purses his lips, thinking. “Farmer’s Market. Shows interest in what she does, allows you to pick up some goodies, and you might get to cook a dinner for her. Nothing super romantic, just your best dish. It’s out in the open, fresh air, and you get to tease each other with childhood memories.” Diego smiles. “Please show her where you buy your butter. That stuff is fucking addictive.”
Diego restarts his treadmill. Rafe steps off his, smiling slightly.
OK. Maybe.
The day begins and Maria and Rafe get started on their duties. Maria is in the prep area, reading over the instructions to make homemade yogurt. The stuff in the stores has so much sugar! She likes Greek yogurt and now she has plenty of time to experiment with making it on her own.
The men stop by periodically during the day to grab granola, yogurt, and water. They occasionally ask when she’ll start cooking and she merely smiles and answers that she’ll cook when she is allowed to. This always causes tight jaws and angry looks that are quickly masked. Antonio, especially, looks at her coldly. She smiles in the face of his annoyance and irritation and continues doing what she was doing before he arrived.
Maria’s already made up her mind to go back to San Antonio. Miami is home but San Antonio is home too and the men supported her there. That’s what tipped the scales here in Miami. The entire San Antonio branch supported her.
She asked Diego and Thomas to allow her to determine what the ‘ground conditions’ were like in Miami. Diego was clear that he was fine with that, but nervous.
“Maria, I just made a speech in front of the housekeeping committee, backed up in email, that I would not sit back and allow you to be disrespected. Now you’re asking me to do just that,” he said, bewildered and unhappy.
She smiled at him and Thomas, who also looked unhappy. “No, I’m asking you to do exactly what you did for my colleagues for a little while longer. I need to see that the men appreciate me, not just what I do, but me as a person. I will let you know when I need help and you can support me and do as you please then.”
Diego stared at her but he finally nodded. “OK. You say the word and they’re washing windows and wiping their own blood off the mats in minutes.”
She winced then smiled. “OK.”
Armando’s decision not to sign her contract for two weeks was wonderful. She would begin cooking when Stephanie arrived and, like Diego, he was bewildered but compliant.
The boys on the housekeeping committee are her biggest cheerleaders. They show up regularly to ensure she’s happy and has everything she needs. Jackson shows up regularly to talk about health and fitness, which is surprising. After his behavior after she returned, she expected a fight out of him. Instead, he has adapted and is interested in working with her. They make sure the men are prepared to go shopping with her, help her put the food away, and do anything she requests.
That’s the problem. She still has to request their assistance. If Mario and Deuce don’t prod the men, they don’t move to assist her without making it clear that they’re doing it under sufferance. They find helping her restock the pantry useless if she’s not cooking.
They respect the position. They still don’t respect the woman holding the position.
Juan is very nearly her sous chef. He brought her a new fancy apron.
“Um . . . ” Juan suddenly looks embarrassed and upset. “I don’t know how to say this except I saw this and thought you might like. I mean, your apron is nice, but not pretty. I see these things everywhere and I thought you might like one.”
Juan feels like an idiot. Truth? He’s been looking for a special gift to show Maria how much he understands and respects her and her position, a way to say ‘I’m sorry for having been a grade-A asshole’. He wanted to get the special iPad holder for her so she would be able to put her iPad on a holder in the prep area but . . . that was considered a stupid present before so he avoided it.
She smiles, wipes the tears and hugs him tight. “Thank you, Juan. I appreciate it and you’re right, this is a pretty apron.”
He smiles, relieved. “Well, we were told a cookbook holder was not quite appropriate so I bought this and wondered if you would hate it. I’m glad you like it.”
She laughs and wonders about the cookbook holder. That might not be a bad gift.
Juan and Maria bond over a shared love of cooking and good food and Juan becomes her shopping buddy. He admits that he enjoys having a new reason to get out of his office and he likes having help in the kitchen. He blushes saying that and Maria laughs. They start having lunch at new restaurants and they order different dishes and share. Juan has an excellent palate and they have fun trying to determine the ingredients in the restaurant-made dishes. They return to RangeMan and replicate the dishes and Diego and Thomas are teasing Juan about his skills. Braulio is wondering when they’ll tackle Haitian cuisine.
He can’t wait to help her with that.
Rafe’s nearly done for the day and he’s considering the next step in his ‘Woo Maria’ plan.
“Maria, I’m headed to the Farmer’s Market tomorrow. Would you like to come?”
She looks surprised and happy. “Sure! What are you going for?”
He smiles. “Milk.”
“Milk?”
Rafe is amused. “I’m going to show you how I get my butter.”
Maria’s eyes widen. Rafe’s butter is a closely held secret. She’s sampled pounds of butter trying to figure out which brand he buys. Everyone in Miami loves it. When he gives Maria a few balls, the butter is gone before the end of the day. So he’s finally going to . . . wait, milk?
And the truth hits her: Rafe makes his butter.
Maria is looking at her wardrobe.
Skirt? Pants? Espadrilles? Sneakers? Sigh. This is ridiculous. She always wears her shorts and a T-shirt to the farmer’s market. Why is she looking at anything different?
Because she’s not going alone. She’s going with Rafe.
Maria decides on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a headband.
And instead of sneakers, she’ll wear a pair of espadrilles.
They’re at the farmer’s market by 9:45. It opens at 10 a.m., but this is a favorite one. It’s organic and vegan and one of the city’s best. Maria is having a blast picking up fresh organic vegetables and fruit.
Rafe’s enjoying the way Maria’s legs look in her shorts and high heeled espadrilles.
He finally drags his eyes away from her legs and starts picking up peppers and garlic. His best dish is pollo al ajillo, chicken in garlic, and he’s decided to make that for her tonight, if she accepts his dinner invitation.
His phone rings. Katy. “Hola, niña.”
“Papa! How are you? Where are you?”
He smiles. His daughter is her mother’s child. A whirlwind. “I’m at the farmer’s market in Coconut Grove. Want me to pick up anything for you?”
“No, I’m fine.” His daughter just started her first job and he’s proud. A financial analyst for a company based in Ecuador. Money’s tight but she’s determined to succeed. “Wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight.”
Dilemma. He never passes up dinner with his baby. He worked hard after Luisa died to ensure Katy had everything she needed. His in-laws wanted to take her from him and he refused. He accepted their help but he was Katy’s father. Frankly, he was insulted. After all, if he had died no one would have come to Luisa and offered to take Katy from her. He was there from the moment she was born. No one was taking her away from him.
Besides, Katy was his only reason to keep going after Luisa died.
He worked hard and made sure he stayed on her about the books and studying. He was there when she grieved the loss of her mother and needed a dress for homecoming and prom (four different dresses!). He was hostile to boyfriends and carefully watched her friends to make sure they wouldn’t pull her into anything inappropriate. It paid off. His daughter is a well-adjusted young lady, and she graduated at the top of her class and got a master’s degree.
Time with Katy is sacred.
“Certainly, Katy. I always want to have dinner with you. Where shall we go?”
“Actually, I thought that I would prepare dinner here at my apartment. You could invite Maria to come. I’d like to see her.”
“Katy—”
“I’d love to.” He whirls around and Maria’s there, smiling. “All the years I’ve known you and I’ve only seen Katy three or four times. I’d love to see her again.”
He smiles. “Well, you have two for dinner, Katy.”
“Great! Bring toothbrushes. I’m prepping pollo al ajillo.”
Rafe groans mentally. Damn. He’ll need a new dish to impress Maria.
Maria is in her closet yet again. She never considered that she’d need to carefully consider her outfit this time. Rafe is . . . Maria frowns. She’s not sure what to consider Rafe. Is he a boyfriend? Suitor? She likes the word suitor more. Rafe’s not a boy. He’s a man, an incredibly sexy man, and he’s growing on her.
What do you wear to meet your . . . suitor’s daughter? She stares at her closet, picks up her phone and dials without thinking.
“Hello?”
“Lula? I need help.” She tells Lula about dinner with Katy and Lula hums thoughtfully.
“Wear that green sundress you have, the one you bought out here. Put on some espadrilles and makeup and smile a lot.”
Maria was staring at that sundress wondering if it was appropriate. Lula made her feel better about wearing it.
Rafe’s wondering what to wear.
Normally he’d wear something grungy, just in case Katy needs something fixed. She normally needs something fixed when she calls with a dinner date. But he’s taking Maria and Maria will be dressed nicely. He’d prefer to look like he . . . belonged with her.
He’d prefer not to look like the Mexican handyman standing next to her.
He calls Katy and asks what she needs fixed. Katy laughs and pretends to be insulted before finally admitting that the toilet is running and it drives her crazy. Rafe exhales. Running toilets are easy. He can dress nicely for this dinner.
The toilet was an easy fix, as he hoped, and Katy’s thrilled not to hear it running every time she flushes. Rafe shows her what he did to fix it and she and Maria smile in appreciation. Katy and Maria start talking and Maria offers to help Katy, but Katy declines and pours Maria a glass of wine. Rafe watches as his two favorite women talk about food, shopping, fashion and Miami. They’re easy with each other and he feels calm and happy watching them.
Katy’s been after him to make a move on Maria for years, but he explained that Maria was still grieving her husband. Katy was impatient and insisted that her father should make a move. He stopped her with one sentence.
“How long will it take before you forget your mother?”
Katy was chagrined. After that, she stayed quiet and watched her father wait for the woman his heart yearned for. She understood. She tried to set him up with other women but it never worked. Her father was in love with his quiet, grieving co-worker and he would wait.
Katy is determined to marry a man like her father, a man who would wait for the right woman for as long as it takes.
They sit down to dinner and enjoy the meal. Rafe silently wonders how much garlic Katy used. She had to use more than the usual amount of garlic in that dish. She was always fond of garlic and onions. Rafe’s glad he did bring his toothbrush. Katy’s dish should have scared every vampire in the state.
Maria loved it. She loves garlic and onions and thought Katy got the dish just right. She compliments Katy and Katy laughs.
“Dad always thinks I use too much garlic and too many onions.”
They spend the next 30 minutes teasing Rafe and telling jokes about him. Rafe’s amused but willing to be the butt of jokes if it keeps them talking. He finally blows a breath at his daughter and watches her scrunch her nose and yell. He laughs and goes to brush his teeth, smiling all the way.
Katy drops all smiles and looks at Maria. “Are you finally ready to give my dad a chance?”
Maria freezes. She feels caught off guard and exposed. “What?”
Katy sighs. “My dad. Have you considered giving him a chance?”
Maria blushes deep red. This is a conversation she’s not ready for, but as she looks at Katy, she sees someone who is fiercely protective of her father. That she understands.
“I’m ready. Your father knows. We’re . . .” She colors and is silent. How can she explain? “We’re taking our time.”
Katy nods. “Good. You both lost someone. I understand.” She smiles. “Dad’s had to hold me back. I wanted him to chase you years ago.”
Maria blushes. Well, Katy doesn’t oppose their relationship. That’s a relief.
“So, you start with cold heavy cream, as cold as you can get it without freezing it.”
Maria’s taking notes. Rafe’s butter is beloved in the branch and he was never willing to share the secret before. Now he’s showing her how he does it and she wants every secret.
“Use the best milk you can find. I like Jersey cream. Higher butterfat content in the milk.” He hands her the glass bottle full of rich cream. His fingers brush against hers and she tries not to blush.
“It’s much richer. I love the taste.”
He smiles. “Exactly. If I can get my hands on some raw milk, I party.” She laughs and makes a note. “Good cold heavy cream is the base. So, I pour the entire quart into the mixing bowl.” He waves for her to stand in front of the mixer and pour the cream in. She pours slowly, conscious of how close Rafe is to her. She turns slightly and hands him the glass, fingers brushing yet again. Rafe is quiet, staring at her face.
“What’s next?” She doesn’t recognize her voice. It sounded . . . breathless.
Rafe blinks and looks at the mixer as if he’s never seen it before. “Attach the whip.” Maria turns back to the mixer, lifts the head, and attaches the whip. “So start it at high speed and we’re going to let it whip until it looks like whipped cream.” Maria watches in astonishment as the cream becomes whipped cream, then starts looking grainy. Rafe stops the blender.
“OK, so this is where I add the sea salt if I want salted butter,” he says quietly. He sounds as if he’s right next to her ear and Maria’s feeling a bit wanton again. “Celtic sea salt. Otherwise, I keep whipping.”
“That’s it?” Maria laughs. “That’s all? That’s the secret? Whip cream until it becomes butter?”
Rafe nods and Maria smiles. “I feel so silly. When I whipped cream past the usable point for buttercream frosting, I tossed it. A few more minutes and I would have had butter?” Rafe nods again, smiling. They watch as the cream becomes butter, a grainy yellow mass in Maria’s mixer.
After about 10 minutes, Rafe stops the mixer. It’s clearly butter. Maria hands him the fine mesh colander but he waves for her to stand in front of the sink. “Rinse it under cold water,” he says, plunging her hands into the butter and moving them around. She gets the idea and starts rinsing the butter. “You have to remove all the buttermilk. If you don’t, it’ll go bad overnight in the fridge.” Once it runs clear, he helps her pack it into cheesecloth and start squeezing the water from the butter, his hands on top of hers to help her get the idea. “If you want to add herbs, honey, anything else, now is the time.”
She unwraps the cheesecloth and he hands Maria a croissant. She breaks off a piece and uses a butter knife to spread to fresh homemade butter onto the bread. Wonderful, as usual. She moans. It’s superb. She opens her eyes to find Rafe staring at her intently.
This time she knows and she’s prepared.
She kisses him back, just as hard and deep.
They’ll put the butter in the fridge at some point.
In his office, Diego scrambles the camera to the prep room and smiles. He hustles to the 4th floor, quietly shuts the door, and prays they transfer to San Antonio with him.
She’s survived two weeks in Miami and has seen what conditions were like here.
She informs Ella that she would like to transfer to San Antonio but she wants it kept a secret.
“No problem. Shall I tell Stephanie?”
“Yes, but no one else.”
“Rafe?”
“I’ll tell him today.” Click.
She turns and Rafe is smiling. She pulls all her courage together and steps closer to him.
“I can’t tell you where to go or what to do,” she says quietly. “I can tell you that if you choose not to come to San Antonio I will miss you dearly.”
“Don’t worry,” he replies. “I think we’re a package deal at this point.” ‘IDIOT!’ he thinks.
Maria likes the thought. Rafe will be with her. She won’t have to face this move alone. “Great. I can’t wait.”
Rafe smiles mentally. Away from Miami, away from the memories, they can try. They would be somewhere that would support them both. The San Antonio boys will throw a party when they return. He groans mentally. The SA boys will throw a party if they think he and Maria are dating. They won’t get any peace.
He looks at Maria, at the happy smile on her face and the far-away expression in her eyes and smiles.
Peace is overrated.
Somewhere, in the heart and memory of a lonely woman, a pain dislodges and a shell cracks. The memory of a wonderful man, a loving husband, is finally set free and joins the memory of a much loved and missed wife. They watch in happiness as their loved ones make cautious and halting steps toward each other. The pain will never go away entirely. The memory will always be there. The love can never be forgotten. But life goes on and love?
Love is always there.
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
and
“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”
~Rumi
Just beautiful. So glad she came around and are going to give them a chance in SA.