Another Chance for Happiness

No graphic sex in this romantic tale that's based on a recent tragic event.

Seth

Death came suddenly to Roger Hanley. He died in his sleep, didn't feel a thing. At least that's what the people who knew and loved him presumed and hoped.

Melanie, his wife of thirteen years, felt plenty. She was widowed for the second time. Years before, Stephen Goode, her first husband of just five years (Stephen's second marriage), died the same way, of a massive heart attack. Like Roger, Stephen had been a bike rider. In fact, he died at the fifty-mile mark of a planned sixty-two-mile ride. Roger, one of the elite riders in his bike club, died at home after riding three days in a row, months after having two stents inserted into a major artery, the so-called widow maker. People that rode with him on that third day of riding said they saw nothing amiss, nothing unusual. Roger had been his usual strong, fast self. Didn't complain about a thing. Twenty-four hours later, he was dead.

The funeral home was packed with family and fellow bike riders, including Seth Olson. Seth had known Roger for years, had seen him at the start of the annual fifty-mile picnic ride through southern Pennsylvania, the Sunday before the Wednesday that Roger passed. Roger had looked like his usual self, a well-built, fifty-something cyclist, joyful and confident. He sure as hell didn't look the way he did now, pale and waxen, dressed in a suit in his coffin, surrounded by a photo display of his life and a few of his favorite cycling jerseys. Seth had admired one of Roger's many bikes, an all-steel vintage Colnago. More than admired it, he envied it. Roger usually rode his all-carbon Pinarello. On occasion, Seth saw him on the Colnago, a bike Roger kept partly out of sentiment, but mostly because of its lugged steel construction, cool paint scheme and overall smooth ride. Seeing Roger lying there from halfway across the room, Seth shook his head. If there had been any envy left, it was all gone, buried forever, just as Roger soon would be.

"You can't take it with you," Seth whispered to himself, somewhat ashamed that he once envied something that now seemed so superficial, so trivial. Roger was gone, gone forever. No more bike rides. No more Colnago. No more post-ride tailgate parties. No more Melanie. No more nothing. Perhaps he was in a better place, as that tired old cliché went. Perhaps not. Perhaps no more meant no more of anything. Lights out. Forever.

Seth spotted Melanie a few feet away, surrounded by people, holding up as best she could, as well as anyone could after just being widowed for the second time. She wore a black dress and a blue ribbon in her short brown hair. Seth could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her. She was an active rider herself, a much slower rider than her husband had been. What now for her, Seth wondered. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, young enough to "start over," if starting over meant finding love again, of even being happy again. Seth had heard what a close, loving relationship she and Roger enjoyed. He just learned that Melanie had been Roger's first and only marriage. She didn't deserve this. Yeah, life was unfair.

He approached her and said, "So sorry for your loss. Roger was a good guy, on the bike and off. He'll be missed."

Melanie nodded. "Thanks," she said. Her brown eyes looked so sad, so weary and a bit clueless also about who stood in front of her.

"Seth Olson," Seth said. "You might not remember me. We only met--"

"Ah, yes, of course," she said, looking up at Seth, a slim five-foot-ten who stood about a half-foot taller than she. "It's been a while. I remember seeing you on a few club rides. Thanks for coming."

Seth moved aside to let others pay their respects. Did she really remember him? A better question, did it even matter? Being here wasn't about him but about paying his respects to a woman grieving for the second time over a deceased husband. He hadn't known Stephen Goode, though he remembered hearing about what happened to him. But he had known Roger and having seen him just days before made it difficult to process. Here today, gone tomorrow. It lent poignancy to Seth's own mortality. After all, he and Roger had been close in age, and the same thing could happen to him. So far, he had no symptoms of heart trouble, no angina pain, none of the discomfort that Roger felt before the stints came in. But plenty of heart attack victims live without symptoms before the Big One. One never knew.

Seth left the funeral home, thinking about Melanie, wondering how one coped with such a terrible loss. Fortunately, he never experienced that sort of grief. Emotionally, his divorce a dozen or so years ago was no picnic. Yet he managed, recovered enough to date and form other relationships. He hoped Melanie might do the same. She was still cute. Even in middle-age, she had a little girl kind of look. Adorable as someone of Seth's age might say. He could see that cycling had kept her figure firm and toned, where another woman with a similar full body type who didn't exercise might be overweight. She seemed sweet besides. No wonder Roger went for her, married her at an age when single guys in their forties are seen as confirmed bachelors, 'not the marrying kind.'

Seth wanted to do something beyond just showing up at a funeral home, signing his name into the book in the lobby, saying a few words to Melanie and then leaving. Perhaps he'd send her a card, not a sympathy card, exactly, just something hand-written to express how he felt, without appearing like some vulture who swoops in on the recently widowed.

Melanie

Melanie couldn't believe she was going through this again. Twenty years ago, she buried Stephen. And now this; husband number two, her beloved Roger. It had been ten days since the funeral, and she still felt lost in a fog. Roger's things were just as he left them: his bikes and his closet still filled with street clothes and cycling gear. It was if he went away and would soon return. His scent lingered on the bed sheets that she couldn't yet bring herself to change. She was grateful that she spent thirteen years with him, thirteen wonderful years spent in the modest single brick house that she and Stephen once shared. The house dated from the early 1950s. It had a driveway and even a white picket fence in front--picture of the post-World War Two, middle-class suburban idyll.

After Stephen died, she didn't think she'd ever marry again. Then along came Roger, one of the stronger riders in the club, an ex-bike racer no less. What would he want with a slowpoke like her? "It's not about the bike, it's about us," he once told her. She shook her head, blinked back tears at the memory. Thirteen wonderful years. Yes, she was grateful. But couldn't he have stuck around longer, long enough for them to grow old together?

Her two sisters and friends have given her plenty of support. She felt grateful for that also. Still, she felt more alone than she'd ever felt, more alone than after Stephen died even. Perhaps it was because she was now middle-aged, less resilient than she was two decades ago. The cards she received were mostly the generic sympathy kind, with little or no writing by the sender. But there was one by Seth Olson, a guy she spoke with at the funeral home but barely remembered that was heart-felt. She liked the colorful illustration on the cover. Inside, the only words there were from Seth:

"Melanie, no words are adequate to express my sorrow over Roger's passing, but I'll try. I didn't know Roger that well, but I knew enough about him to like him. We did a few rides together (that is, when he wasn't up to full speed -- he was faster than me) and I'd see him at club social events. As you must be, I'm still in a mild state of shock. The guy was so fit, still a fast rider even after stint surgery. Fitness doesn't necessarily mean wellness, I know, but his death still comes as a shock, so unexpected. My thoughts are now on you, wondering how you're coping, getting by. Not easy, I imagine. If there's anything I can do, even if it's just to talk, don't hesitate to contact me. My cell number is listed in the online club directory."

Melanie remembered that Seth was one of only four people to write something in Legacy. A sensitive guy, she imagined, one that empathized with the situation of others. Roger was like that too. Maybe she'd call him and maybe she wouldn't. She wasn't yet in the mood to talk with anyone except close family. She could barely get by each day, twenty-four hours that felt like forty-eight. She almost had to force herself to eat, consuming just enough calories to function. She'd go to work, then come home, half expecting to see Roger. Nights were the worst, lying awake in bed, alone and hurting, crying until she couldn't cry anymore. Her only source of comfort at home was Sammy, the Yorkie that Roger had bought for her last year. Animals had a sense of loss, as Sammy seemed to. He'd look up at Melanie as if to ask, where's my dad?

She hadn't been on her bike since Roger died. He'd want her to ride, she knew that. Exercise made people feel good and cycling, as she and Roger had both agreed, was the best exercise there was--the most fun for sure. Except, in her depressed state, she found it nearly impossible to wheel her Trek Domane out from the cellar for a ride. She'd feel better if she had somebody to ride with. Not with a group of people like the club riders in her pace group, but with just one other person. She hoped to ride with them in time. But for now, she'd prefer the company of one, mainly to keep her company, not to pile on unwanted sympathy.

Seth Olsen came to mind. She liked his note. It appeared genuine. She liked that he wasn't pushy, that he advised her to refer to the club directory if she wanted to call, instead of putting his number on the card. Plus, she had to admit, he was a nice-looking guy, about the same height as Roger but slimmer and with a lot more hair. She'd think about it.

In fact, she thought about it for another few weeks before she called him.

"Seth...hi, it's Melanie Hanley. How are you?"

"Doing well. How about you?"

"Oh, getting by. It's tough."

"I imagine so."

"I liked your card. And I apologize for not calling sooner to thank you."

"Oh, please. I understand. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Well, okay." She paused. "Look, I haven't been on my bike since Roger passed. Just can't get motivated, at least on my own, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind riding with me. You're faster than me, I know, and I wouldn't want to slow you up."

"Melanie, I'll ride with you anytime you're ready. Don't worry about pace, it'll be a no-drop ride."

She chuckled. "Okay, great. Looking forward to it. It's about time I get out of the house. I know that Roger would want me to. How about next Sunday, weather willing?"

"That'll work. And you're right about Roger. He'd want you on that bike as soon as possible."

Melanie heaved a sigh after clicking off. At last, she was doing something to move forward with her life. Emotionally, she still felt like crap. She cried every day, mostly at night. But sometimes at work, she'd duck into the bathroom when she felt the brave front she put up begin to collapse. She wondered how she'd hold up in front of Seth. She didn't want to cry in front of him. But if she did, she did. He seemed like an understanding guy.

Seth

On Sunday, they met in the parking lot of a high school, the start venue of countless club weekend rides because of its proximity to rural roads with light traffic. Melanie reciprocated when Seth reached out for a hug. "Nice to see you out and about," he said.

She nodded, brushing back strands of hair that blew into one of her brown eyes. "Yeah, it's nice to get out. Thanks for meeting me here. If not for you, I'd still be off my bike." She slid her bike out from her Honda hatchback. "Just to give you a head's up, because I've been off the bike for weeks, I'll be extra slow today."

Seth, wheeling his titanium Seven road bike up to her car, said, "I get it. I've had long layoffs myself. But cycling is a sport where you can get back into shape relatively quickly."

She nodded while clamping her front bike wheel into place. "Roger was a perfect example of that. He didn't do any exercise for weeks after his stents were put in. Once back on his bike, it didn't take him long before he was riding with the club's elite riders." She sighed and shook her head.

Seth could see her blinking back years. "Melanie, are you sure you're up for this? If not, we can go somewhere and just talk if you'd like."

She looked up, drew a forced smile. "No, I'll be okay. This will do me good." She tucked her hair back, then snapped on her helmet. "Now, let's roll."

Deferring to Melanie's situation, Seth rode from behind, letting her set the pace. Twelve to thirteen miles an hour was slow for him but respectable for a rider who'd been off the bike for a while. Anyway, no hurry. There was something to be said for riding at a moderate pace and enjoying the experience of cruising through beautiful farmland in weather like this, breezy and warm, with plenty of sun streaming through billowing clouds. He felt good, not only because he was cycling but because it appeared that he was helping Melanie cope with her grief.

They kept over to the right as far as they could. There wasn't much shoulder, but at least traffic was lighter than in overcrowded suburbia. When they got to the first substantial hill, Melanie said, "Bear with me Seth, this is going to be a struggle. My climbing legs went on sabbatical for too long."

"You've got this," Seth said. "Work up a steady rhythm and hold it." He watched her struggle up a grade of at least ten percent and the length of a football field. Her climbing legs would have been spinning instead of mashing as she was doing, and she wouldn't be huffing and puffing so much. Her determination warmed his heart, and he kept up the encouragement. "That's it, keep going!"

She did, then let out a loud "Whew!" after cresting the hill. When he pulled even with her bike, she said, "Thanks for cheering me on. Not sure if I could have done it without you."

"Sure you could. You just needed a little motivation."

A few miles later, they pulled into Parker's Market, a grocery-health food store that had a roofed patio in the back furnished with plastic chairs and tables. Cyclists had been stopping here for years to refresh and chat. Seth and Melanie had been here enough times with various groups to know the menu by heart. After leaning their bikes against one of the stone walls, Melanie insisted on paying for the "power" sandwiches (bean sprouts, tomato, lettuce and Munster cheese on whole wheat) they both wanted. "My treat today," she said, then went inside.

After taking a few sips from his water bottle, Seth took a seat and looked out at the surrounding fields. Cows grazed nearby. In the distance was a guy working on a tractor. His mind wandered. Until now, it never occurred to him that anything beyond doing a few bike rides would develop between himself and Melanie. He almost felt guilty thinking about it. After all, the woman had just lost her husband. Had she been single for some other reason, he'd be interested. He thought she was cute, from her round face and prominent cheek bones to her nose, small and slightly curved. Not that it mattered because he figured that romance would be off her plate for a long time. Emotionally, she might never be ready to get involved again.

He held those thoughts as he saw her carrying a cardboard tray filled with two sandwiches and paper cups of iced tea. "Thanks, Melanie, for doing this," he said.

"My pleasure," she said, then set the tray down and took a seat. "Nice view. I always liked coming here on bike rides."

He nodded. "Peaceful and quiet. Well, save for the moo of cows."

"I think those cows are part of the charm of this place." She smiled and bit into her sandwich. Then: "Seth, was your ex-wife a bike rider also?"

"At one time, but she didn't ride like we do. We did a few rides together. She was more into hiking. Did you and Roger ever ride together?"

"We did. Of course, he was a lot faster, and therefore we rode in different pace groups most of the time. We talked about getting a tandem but never did." Her mouth dropped in sadness. Then she took another bite.

They ate in silence for a while, gazing at the fields through the open windows of the patio. He wanted to cheer her up but knew that only time could do that. "Melanie, not to push things, but if you ever want another riding buddy, you can count on me."

She smiled once again. "Thanks. I'll probably take you up on that. It feels great to be out here, but I suspect I'll still need a kick in the butt to get started."

After lunch, they rode another dozen miles before returning to the school parking lot. While racking her bike, Melanie said, "Seth, thanks again. I almost forgot how fun cycling can be."

"Well then, we'll have to keep meeting like this," he said.

She nodded. "I sure hope so."

Seth watched her slip on a pair of tan shorts over her black spandex cycling shorts. Despite the layoff, her middle-age legs, pale for lack of riding outdoors, still looked firm and shapely. No question about it, under different circumstances, she'd be on his list of "prospects."

Standing by her car's door, he reached out for a hug just as she did. He wanted to kiss her but knew how inappropriate that might be. Or so he thought until Melanie gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. "I just had to do that. Hope you don't mind. See ya." Before he had a chance to respond, she got behind the wheel and started the engine.

Watching her drive away, he said to himself, "No, Melanie, I sure as hell don't mind."

Melanie

Melanie didn't plan on kissing Seth goodbye. She hadn't kissed another man since she kissed Roger the night he died. It just happened, one of those things fueled by impulse and emotion. She felt so grateful to Seth for taking her out. Such a nice guy. She liked him, and it appeared he liked her. They had barely known each other; and now it appeared they were friends. She felt a bit ashamed thinking that they might become more than just friends. She was still in mourning for her beloved Roger. She couldn't be on the rebound, could she? Rebounds were something people did after a breakup, not after the death of a spouse. Still, the prospect of having another man in her life, one with Seth's great qualities, felt comforting. She felt safe with him, felt she could trust him. She sensed that he found her attractive, yet she also sensed he wouldn't push things, that he'd give her all the space she needed to heal from her loss.

Kissing aside, she was hardly ready for a romance, at least in the immediate future. Down the road, maybe. She hoped that Seth didn't take her kiss the "wrong way." That is, as a signal for him to pursue that sort of relationship with her. He appeared there for her when she needed him. And boy did she need him during this grieving time in her life, more as a good friend than a "boyfriend." She was honest enough with herself to admit how conflicting this might be for her because he was one good-looking dude, from his muscular, athletic body, to a face that reminded her of those handsome airline pilots she'd seen when she flew.

It didn't take long after she returned home that she found herself down in the dumps once again. 'These things take time,' as one of her sisters told her. She knew that but man, was she hurting. Sleep came in fits and starts. In bed, where Roger once lay beside her, there was now empty space. What was she going to do with his prized material possessions, his bikes? Sell them? Give them away? Keep them forever? She didn't know. What she did know as the days passed after her ride, was that she'd like to see Seth again, and not necessarily on a bike ride. He had a soothing way about him. He was easy to talk to. He was a good listener.