A Parting Glance

My story is dedicated to my beloved Helen. A song inspired it.

*

I longed to return to the hotel; my feet and back hurt. I was jetlagged and needed another shower.

When my husband told me, he would travel to England to meet his new team. Initially, I was unhappy; I had always wanted to go, but I was happy for him. He knew I would dearly love to go with him to England, but of course, I would not be going.

"What shall I pack?" I asked.

He broke into a broad smile, "Pack for yourself as well. The company will pay for us both to go ... First Class. It will be the honeymoon we never had."

I had enough time to unpack, shower, and get dressed. So here we stand at the reception; I have long since lost count of names and faces.

"Michael, this is Simon Baker, one of our bright young lads" Eric, Michael's liaison to the UK, introduced yet another young couple. "Simon, this is the senior director for ...."

Eric continued as I looked at the tall woman standing before me. Even in my heels, she towered over me.

Michael took the lead, "Nice to meet your Simon; this is my wife, Serrada," Michael turned to me, and I knew it was my cue to shake hands. Of course, I smiled at him, but my attention never left the beautiful woman at his side.

"It is a pleasure to meet you both; this is my wife, Helen," Simon was gracious, but I could barely process his words. I put my hand out to Helen, and she took it and shook it, but I was sure she wanted both more and less than the handshake. My palm must be sweating.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Her accent was exactly as I imagined; I managed to force myself to smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you too ... " I hesitated intentionally to appear as if I could not recall. But then, I locked on the eyes I had imagined a million times before as we made internet love.

"Helen, your name was Serrada, wasn't it?" She did her best to appear neutral and did such an excellent job that I became convinced I had made a mistake.

"Your glass is empty. Shall we go see about that and let the boys chat?" I said as she smiled at me in a way that made my heart stop.

"Let's," She took my arm, and we walked toward the bar. We were not two steps away when I heard Michael and Simon discussing the group and its operations.

"What are you doing here?" Helen whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

"Looking for cheese," My heart was pounding in my throat, and I could not think of anything to say.

"Well, you came to the bloody wrong place, nothing good here," She laughed, and I laughed with her.

We chatted for seemingly forever; I hoped she would not be disappointed in me. Although I was not as fit as I once was, my breasts hung a bit lower than in my youth, and my shoulders rounded from being hunched over a keyboard; maybe she would not notice the scars of my most recent skin cancer surgery.

If she noticed any of my imperfections, her eyes did not show it. Instead, I swam in the warmth of her voice and the consumed hearty notes of her northern accent, the one she seemed so embarrassed by but the one I found not only endearing but utterly fantastic.

We talked about our husbands, the twists and turns of life, friends, family, the children she desired, and the daughter of which I was so proud.

My eyes never left hers, so I wondered if anyone else had noticed. Her hand brushed over mine more than once, and my fingertips over hers.

"Honey, we must go, or we will miss the train," Simon and Michael were suddenly beside each of us.

"Oh goodness, look at the time; we must be off." Helen was smiling at me. "It has been wonderful to meet you."

She hugged me a little longer than necessary.

I watched her go; she stopped and smiled at the door, and with that parting glance, she was gone.

"Till Tuesday, my love," I whispered to her parting form.

"What was that?" Michael asked, without waiting for my reply.

"Oh, nothing," I responded before slowly finishing my drink and putting my glass down, just kissing her empty glass.