There had been dates, meaningless encounters, but nothing more.
It was as if part of her heart had remained in that coffin.
Under a simple granite slab with the inscription, Dexter Washington, beloved husband.
Tell him I’m busy, she said buttoning her jacket.
I’m going to spend the day with a good book and a bottle of wine.
Leaving the hospital, Shania headed for the bus stop.
Once, she and Dex had dreamed of owning a car, but now, even as a senior nurse with a decent salary, she still used public transportation.
Her money went to pay for a new, more spacious apartment in a better neighborhood, and to help her younger sister.
The bus trudged along the evening streets of the Bronx as usual.
Shania looked out the window at the flashing store signs, the yellow spots of street lights, and people hurrying home.
It was surprisingly warm for April.
