After 36 years of a truly great marriage, my wife, Jane, passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. Needless to say I was at once grief stricken and, at the same time, glad that her long struggle was over. Four days after her death, our small town had one its largest funeral in many years, a testament to Jane's popularity and in recognition for all the good works she had performed. Most of the attendees were a blur as they offered condolences. One of the last to approach me was Jane's best friend, Marge. Ironically it seemed that only a short time before, Jane and I had been consoling Marge on the loss of her husband, Hank. We held each other for a brief moment, kissed each other on the cheek, and then she was gone.
Two months had gone by and I had gotten back to work and the job of keeping house for myself. On Saturday morning, as usual, I went to our supermarket to do my shopping for the week ahead. I was standing over the meat display, trying to determine which steak looked the best when I heard her voice.
"Well, hello, stranger."
It was Marge whom I hadn't seen or talked to since that day in the cemetery. "Hi Marge, it's good to see you and I apologize for not calling you."
"No apologies necessary. I know how much you've had to face since...well, you know." We stood there, making small talk for a few minutes and were about to part when Marge said, "Oh, Pete, how would you like to come to my place for dinner tonight?" I thought for only a second...a chance to have a home cooked dinner that I hadn't prepared sounded awfully good to me.
"I'd love to, Marge. What time should I come?" She smiled again, "Any time after five and I'll let you bring the wine." Of course I agreed and we then parted.
Marge was, at 57, two years older than Jane and the same age as me. She was a somewhat short, only an inch or two over five feet, small frame, though a little hippy, very small breasts, dark brown eyes set in a pleasant face and with snow white hair that, on her was quite attractive. She and Jane had been very close and the four of us had often gone out to dinner together. While the two women had been very close, Hank and I had very little in common, managing only to be civil to one another. He had a rather loud mouth and always had to be right. I had often wondered how Marge had put up with him for so many years.
It was about ten after five when I arrived at Marge's, two bottles of a good merlot in hand. She greeted me at the door with a hug and kiss and welcomed me into her living room. Since Hank's death she had redecorated with all new furniture and curtains. The room was bright and cheery. "Place looks nice, Marge. You've rally brightened things up," I told her. "Well," she said, "I just wanted to get rid of the darker stuff. Hank always liked it, said it was 'sexy'. I just went along with him but it never seemed 'sexy' to me."
Marge got out two wine glasses while I uncorked one of the bottles of merlot. I poured for the two of us and we sat in the living room across the room from each other and talked. During our conversation, I began to realize just how close the two women had been as bits and pieces of Jane's and my life began to surface, personal things, sexual things that I had never discussed with any of my friends.
