Tucker was back at Starbucks at 4:15. He was relieved to see that Cynthia had not
yet arrived. It had been a very
productive afternoon with George and he had seen several pieces of real estate
that had piqued his interest, but not enough to make an offer. He was sure this was the area he wanted to be
in when he retired to Pueblo. There were
a lot of big, old houses on the blocks here on the river. The river itself was fascinating as they had
built a kayak course and families strolled together along the levee. He would get a fishing pole and maybe he
could catch a fish! And learn to
whistle. That was now paramount in his
mind. Something about the sharp whistle
fascinated him.
Tucker suddenly realized that he was very
hungry. And where was Cynthia? Cynthia Browder. He wondered idly what she usually did for
dinner on a Saturday night. 4:26. She
was going to be late. Maybe she was getting
even for that morning. Then he realized
that she was walking through the door.
Her smile was radiant and Tucker smiled back. Something about this woman made him want to
smile. He felt like an idiot.
He stood as she approached the table. “Would you like a cup of coffee, or shall we
just hop in the car and go find some real food.
I am starving.”
“Oh, I am so ready for real food, but can
we just walk right down the street about half a block and have Chinese? There is a nice little restaurant just this
side of the bridge.”
“Great!
I am always ready for Chinese.”
He held his elbow out to her and she placed her tiny hand in the crook
of his arm and laughed softly. Tucker
suddenly felt very protective of her. He
did not know her, but he knew he wanted to.
He wanted to know everything about her.
So
the man who had monopolized the conversation that morning, now sat and listened
quietly as she filled him in on the high points of her life. She was a widow, having lost her husband of
15 years. She had 4 children from her
first husband. And there had been 3
other husbands. They did not have
names. They did not count. Tucker had never been a possessive or a
jealous man, and he wasn’t now. He made
no judgments, just listened to the facts.
The meal was good. The conversation was comfortable and it all
ended too soon. Cynthia had chores at
home that needed done. She did not
invite him to her home and when they walked back to the Starbucks and their
cars, Tucker was melancholy. He liked Cynthia. She was easy to talk to. He held the door for her and when she was
behind the wheel, he closed it firmly.
She started the engine and he stepped away. She smiled sadly and drove away.
Tucker watched her enter the flow of
traffic and disappear across the bridge.
He suddenly hit himself in the head with his hand. My God!
That was it! He knew he forgot
something! He had not gotten her phone
number. How could he call her? He couldn’t.
She had not offered it to him. Of
course not. Cynthia Browder was not a
woman who would push herself at a man that way.
If he had asked, she would have given it to him, but he had not
asked. And now he was here in the same
city where she lived and had no idea where.
And he sure as hell couldn’t call her and ask her.
Sadly he climbed into the Corvette,
fastened his seat belt, reversed the car and also entered the traffic flow to
head back to an empty motel room and a lonely evening watching Fox news. Tomorrow he would drive around Pueblo and get
a feel for the city. Maybe he would stop
at the Starbucks and maybe Cynthia would be there.
But he knew that was a very long shot and
not worth betting on at all.
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