Chapter 23
“What era are we living in, girl? Seize the day! Timothy’s actually pretty great. Young, but knows how to treat a woman well. Just go for it…”
Rita stayed silent as Barbara’s voice flooded through the phone.
The chatter paused abruptly, Barbara’s tone turning somber.
“Rita…”
Rarely had Rita seen her friend so hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
“Alexander’s dead. Stomach cancer.”
Rita’s fingers froze around her phone. After a long moment, she breathed a near–silent “Hmm.”
“They found it early enough–treatment could’ve saved him. But he’d given up. Refused everything. Let it turn terminal.”
“He came to me before… skin stretched over bones. I barely recognized him standing there.”
“He begged to see you. Alexander Williams–on his knees, pleading. Wanted to know where you were buried. Asked for one last look… I’m sorry, Rita.”
“My heart broke. So I told him you’re alive. You should’ve seen him… laughing through tears, pure relief washing over him-”
Barbara kept talking, but Rita stopped hearing.
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Her mind flashed to that gaunt man at the hospital a month ago Black mask, baseball cap, frame thin as a leaf clinging to its stem.
She’d just finished an eight–hour surgery. Timothy brought her clam chowder as usual. Then she felt it–a gaze clinging to her face. Not rude, but unnervingly intense. She glanced up.
Their eyes locked. His burned with startling brightness, like contained fire, before darting away in panic.
He turned, footsteps stumbling.
Under the sterile hallway lights, his silhouette swayed–a brittle leaf torn by wind.
Lost in memory, Rita felt adrift in an unending dream.
Until knuckles rapped the door. Timothy entered, snapping her back.
“Why are you still here?”
“Waiting for you.”
He handed her the thermos, its warmth lingering from his palm. His eyes dropped to her undone button. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“This button’s been loose forever. Hospital thread’s garbage. I’ve got spares in my car. Maybe-”
Rita ignored him, twisting open the thermos. As steam curled out, his fingers closed gently around her wrist.
His hand was slender, knuckles defined, yet feather–light–as if fearing she might shatter.
“Didn’t flinch during surgery,” his voice lowered, stubbornness threading through. “Why tremble now?”
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Chapter 23
She felt his cedarwood cologne warm her car. Tried pulling free, but his grip tightened. His other hand brought a tiny pearl button close, fingertips brushing her waist.
“Don’t move,” Timothy’s breath brushed against her neck, “wouldn’t want to prick you.”
As he fastened the last button, he suddenly lowered his head, his nose almost touching her collarbone.
“Rita,” he stroked her wrist, voice low and raspy, “they’re not worth your tears.”
Rita’s heart skipped a beat, sensing he knew something.
But she quickly dismissed the thought–Timothy grew up in Canada, and she’d never met him before. How could he know those two?
“Drink the soup while it’s hot.”
He released her and stepped back, his coat brushing the back of her hand as he turned. “I’ll wait downstairs till you’re off.”
Footsteps faded. Rita stared at the fastened button, noticing the pearl button differed from the original–brighter, smaller, like custom- matched.
Rita packed her things and headed downstairs. Timothy was indeed waiting.
Approaching him, she remarked casually, “The soup tastes different today.”
Timothy unconsciously rubbed the blisters on his fingertips. “Good?” “Not really,” Rita answered truthfully.
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She halted, suddenly turning to face him. “But I like it ”
“Timothy, I mean… I like you too.”
Before, he waited for her to move past her history while she wrestled with her feelings.
Now, she wanted to follow her heart. Even if the outcome stayed the same, she’d savor the journey.
Go with the flow and live in the moment–seemed perfect.
“Let’s be together, Timothy.”
