"Good morning Mrs. Browning" John said in his velvety slow voice.
"Good morning John," she replied with the ease of one who was talking to a long familiar employee "How are the children doing?"
"Fine Ma'am Beth is doing well in college and Sky's practice is taking off" he answered her with an obvious pride. John had worked for Amanda Browning for almost thirty years now. He had been there through the birth of her child and had been the rock she clung to when a drunken driver took her beloved husband.
"John," she said with some asperity "Do you think, just once, you could call me Amanda? It is really not a difficult name" His eyes crinkled at the long-standing joke. "Certainly Mrs. Brown," he laughed, "I'll get to it sooner or later."
She watched him as walked away, off to tend the million things it took to keep a gentleman's farm running. Almost involuntarily she looked at the solid width of his shoulders and back as they tapered to his slender waist. Almost fifty his long hair was gray now and he was quite proud that he had never given in to the temptation to dye it. She could not help but notice how fluidly he moved striding with a pace that kept men half his age panting to keep up. Sighing she turned back to her own work managing the details of all the charities and philanthropic organizations her husband had left money too. "Millions" she thought wryly "a fortune breeds a ton of responsibility"
It was approaching midnight when she left her shower and wrapped herself in her silk dressing gown. By chance she looked out to the caretakers cottage and was startled to notice the light was on. Concern flooded her she knew John was an early riser and so tended to retire early as well. Quickly she slid her feet into slippers and pulled a jacket over her nightclothes.
She got to the window, suddenly feeling silly, and decided to look in " After all" she reasoned "He is an attractive widower, maybe he is entertaining" Telling herself that she was being foolish she peeked into the window. John was sprawled on the floor.
Even years later she did not remember opening the door. It seemed to her as though she materialized at his side, bending to check him for injuries and recoiling slightly at the smell of alcohol on him.
"What the?" she thought, confused " I have never known John to drink more than a single glass" Then she saw it. Sitting on his table the faded yellowing obituary of his wife. Tears leaked from her eyes as she remembered that day, the birth of his youngest daughter, and the fatal blood infection that took away his wife.
"Simone" she heard him call drunkenly "Honey please, I miss you so much..."
"John" she said tenderly " its me, Amanda, c'mon lets get you to bed."
