"She thought very highly of your husband," Dean said. He had spent extra time wording the young woman's remarks.

Cynthia mounted her bike. "Jeff and I used to bike a lot when Randy was just an infant," she reminisced, as she rested in the shade of a giant maple. "I had a little seat on the back for Randy and he loved it. I haven't biked for years."

While he wished she'd change the subject from her former husband, Dean handled it well. "It's great exercise," he said.

"As long as the road is flat." Cynthia laughed.

"The hills are the tough part."

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"They weren't for Jeff. He loved to climb hills, the higher the better. He liked the challenge. He always wanted to bike in the mountains but we had trouble enough funding two weeks vacation on the Jersey shore with the Rileys."

At first, Cynthia seemed unaware that her reminiscences made Dean uncomfortable but when he didn't respond, she turned and looked at him. "I'm sorry. I'm being unfair. You didn't invite me out here to listen to my maudlin rambling." Dean mum­bled an insipid apology. She continued. "I am getting better. I can talk about Jeff in the past tense now. That's progress, isn't it?" He returned her smile. "I still hate it when the telephone rings. I won't pick it up if I'm alone. I bought one of those answering machines and I let the phone ring until it gives my messages and I find out who's calling. I'm still frightened it will be the police in Norfolk even though I know that's silly. They told me if Jeff's body wasn't found the first couple of weeks, it had probably washed out to sea and would maybe never be located. If he were in a grave-in a cemetery somewhere-I could go there and put flowers on it. Then maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to put it out of my mind." She closed her eyes and turned her back to him. "I feel so comfortable with you-you let me forget. Even when my mother was here, we couldn't seem to say the right thing to each other. It makes me feel terribly guilty, enjoying myself with you. I should be wearing black instead of enjoying myself, even if it's only once in awhile. Randy has been so good about it-so encour­aging, but even so-I feel like it's a sin to smile, or laugh."

"Comfortable. Just like an old slipper," he replied, with just a hint of melancholy in his voice.

"I like being with you, I really do. But..." she searched for the right words, "we're just friends, for now, right?" He nodded slow­ly. "At least for now, please? I realize I'm taking advantage of you- I'm being horribly unfair, but things are just too confusing-it's so soon after, okay?" He thought she would cry but instead she lay back on the grass, arms beneath her head, and after a time, began naming the shapes of the clouds passing across the sky.




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