A Widow's Comfort Ch. 02

She was breathing hard and laughing as she took a deep drink from her screwdriver.

"No mas, she said, giggling, "I haven't had this much exercise," and she stopped and looked across the table meeting my eyes, and the mood changed as it does sometimes, "or this much fun in years."

"Honestly?" I asked.

"No, Will," she said, grinning, "lie to me."

I laughed and said, "Neither have I."

But she wasn't laughing.

She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers, her fingers and thumbs doing that thing only a woman can do, her invitation no less clear for being silent.

"Take me home," she said, her eyes holding mine, doing that little twitching thing as she focused first on my right and then my left eye.

Her meaning could not have been clearer if she had started taking her clothes off.

"Mom," I said, meeting her gaze, "are you certain?"

"The question is," she said, "are you?"

"You're the one who taught me not to answer a question with a question," I said, "Now answer mine. Are. You. Certain?" I finished making each word of the question a sentence of its own.

She took a deep breath, let it out, squeezed my hands, and said, "Yes."

I didn't move. I held her eyes for some long timeless time.

I noticed the waitress going by from the corner of my eye and released Mom's hands long enough to raise a finger when I caught her eye.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Everything was excellent," I said, "but now I'm taking my best girl home. Check please."

She smiled, I thought it was a pretty "knowing" smile, but she just said "Right away," and hustled off.

We didn't say anything, just listened to the band although I couldn't name a song they did, and held hands while we waited.

When the waitress came back, I know it only seemed like hours, I handed her Mom's credit card and she disappeared again.

It was one of those funny things. We had been quiet for several minutes and then we turned and both started speaking at once.

And we laughed.

"Go on," I said.

"Will," she said, covering my hands with hers again, "If you don't want to, well," and she blushed, "I'll understand."

"Are you backing out on me?" I asked.

She held my eyes for one of those long ten counts before she said, "No."

"Then hush," I said softly, "Enjoy the music."

Hours passed without either of us needing to fill the air with conversation and then the waitress was there with the check.

I looked, did a quick calculation, added a twenty percent tip rounded up to the next five dollars and signed with a scrawl that meant nothing.

Then I stood and walked Mom to the door.

The ride home was slow and careful, I had done that pitcher of beer but I was still confident I was good to drive, but I was being careful.

We survived, alive and unwrecked, and held hands as we covered the distance from the driveway to the front door.

Inside she turned quickly and put her hands on my chest in that scene you've seen in a dozen rom-coms if your tastes run to those.

"Last chance to run away," she said.

I didn't.