Those Sublime Moments

This is a story about two lonely souls who share a brief, yet profound, moment in one another's lives. It's about love—or one form of it. If you are offended by infidelity in stories, then I urge you to look elsewhere, as this story may not be for you. For this rest of you, I hope something here resonates.

*

Dana Abbot was tired of being jostled. Tired of the crowds. For some reason, she thought that with the rain and it being early spring, the Smithsonian Museums would be manageable. Instead, she'd learned that Washington, DC tourism was a force of nature stronger than any little rainstorm or season, and it had crushed the visiting Canadian quickly in its path.

Trudging down the steps of the National Gallery of Art, she joined the masses on the curb of Pennsylvania Avenue, raising her arm for a cab. It was hopeless. They were all taken, or one of the many other tourists around her snatched one up before it had even come to a stop.

Grumbling to herself, Dana moved a block away from the hubbub, marveling at the stony, white dome of the Capitol above her. She almost took her camera out, thinking that her kids would like to see where Mommy had been, but decided against it. With her current luck, she'd get water in the camera and ruin it.

Only one other pedestrian was waving for a cab. The tall man must have forgotten his umbrella. Only his black raincoat shielded him against the downpour, his collar popped up and his short, salt-and-pepper hair plastered to his scalp.

A garishly yellow taxi pulled to a stop before the other guy, of course, because Dana was having no luck whatsoever, although she wasn't as mad this time as she'd been before. She had an umbrella, after all, and could stand to wait a few more minutes.

The short-haired brunette was already looking further down the streets in search of vacant cabs when the one she'd just given up on pulled to a stop in front of her. The rear window rolled down and the soaking man popped his head out. "Where are you headed?" he asked, his voice shouting against the traffic and the rain.

"My hotel's in… Woodly Park," she responded, struggling to remember the neighborhood's name.

"Lucky day, so's mine. Hop in!"

Dana hesitated a moment, glancing in at the cab driver, who was idling patiently. She was a woman, alone in a foreign city, after all. Horror stories of lonely travelers went flashing before her eyes.

The spring shower was making a loud pitter-patter against the yellow roof of the car, underlining more than anything just how wet she was getting—how sick of the rain she already was.

"Thanks," she said, opening the door as the stranger slid over. It wasn't like it was his car, after all. They had a chaperone. She told herself that the chances of being kidnapped in this unfamiliar city were slim to none.

"You're very welcome," he responded. "Sorry the seat's a little damp."

Dana's hazel eyes shifted from the vinyl seats to her new cab-mate, who looked as miserable as a drowned rat. Beads of water dribbled down his handsome face, tracing his strong jaw-line before dripping from his cleft chin. She couldn't help it. Covering her mouth, the brunette burst into a fit of laughter. This day had been so overwhelming—first time alone in this new city, without her kids or husband, the rain, the crowds, the damp smell of sweat and mud. It reminded her of her younger days, when she went to outdoor concerts.

And here was this man, looking like he'd just pulled himself out of the ocean, apologizing for the wet seat she had to sit on!

The man soon joined her laughter, although his brow formed a little crease of confusion. He seemed just as happy to laugh as her, like it somehow dried his soaking clothing.

"So… where are we going?" the cabbie asked, breaking the spell of hysteria that had washed over the back seat.

The man looked at Dana, yielding to her. The act of chivalry wasn't lost on the brunette. She dug into her purse, pulling out her itinerary. "Um… the Washington Marriot at Wardman Park," she told the driver. Slowly, he pulled into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, tapping on his horn to let the rest of the stream know he was coming.

Looking back at the man, she was a little startled to catch him watching her. He immediately averted his eyes, saying, "I've never seen traffic so bad."

Dana let it slide. Truth was, she was flattered. Despite the man's soaking stature, he was a good-looking guy. It had been a long time since she'd caught her husband giving her one of those looks.

"You're from here, then?" she asked.

"Not at all," he laughed. "First time, in fact, and if this is what's to be expected, it'll also be my last, if I can help it."

She had to agree, although as they passed the majesty of the Capitol, she thought that it could be fun to come back with her kids. They'd appreciate it. "I take it you're from out of town, too? Canada, judging from your accent."

"I have an accent?" she laughed. A few of her American friends had said so, but she never believed them.

"Good ears, I guess." He had a charming smile. "Where abouts?"

"Toronto," she replied, surprised at how easy it was to talk to this complete stranger. "Actually, the suburbs outside of it. A town called Guildwood Village. You?"

"The Bay Area. Outside of San Francisco. I love city-life, but I'm glad I don't live in one." He looked outside, where they'd only moved about a block. "Sometimes I don't love the cities, too."

Dana laughed. "Same." They sat in traffic quietly. It wasn't an awkward silence, like the kinds she'd shared with most strangers when idle chit-chat failed. Maybe it was the patter of rain around them, but Dana felt comfortable. Finally relaxed.

"Hi, I'm John, by the way," the man said at last, holding out his hand. "I don't think we've formally introduced ourselves." There was that disarming smile again.

She took his hand. It was warm in hers. And damp, although that couldn't be from the nervousness. "Dana," she replied, wondering for a moment what this man would do if she didn't release his hand. "Pleased to meet you," she giggled, thinking that would be a bad thing.

"'Dana.' A pretty name for a pretty woman," he said. He wasn't flirting—not exactly, anyway. The way he said it, he was just stating a fact. It was raining outside; and Dana is a pretty name. "Your husband's a lucky man."

"How did you know…"

"Your ring," he explained, glancing at the diamond on her left hand. "I have one, too," he said, lifting his own hand up to show off his thick, golden band. "She's back home in Cali," he explained. Dana could hear the edge in his voice. "She doesn't like to travel and, well, it's nice to get away…"

"You two having problems?" The words just tumbled out before she realized how personal the question was.

He shrugged. "Always have. But I love my kids, so what's a guy to do?"

A wave of empathy went out to John. Dana knew exactly the way he was feeling, although things weren't as bad between her and Alan. She loved him dearly, but they'd been married twenty long years and things had gotten stale a while ago. "Mine's back home, too," she said, suddenly feeling a blush coming on. Like she shouldn't be having this conversation with another man.

"Enough about them," John said, breaking the gloom that seemed to be setting into the back of the taxi. "They're not here, so let's leave them for another day." And like that, the pall lifted. "So, Dana, tell me what museums you liked the most."

This time, when he said her name, she felt her heart twitter like a schoolgirl's. She brushed a lock of dark hair over her ear, her eyes sparkling in his direction, and replied.

***

It took almost 45 minutes to reach the Marriot, only a few miles from downtown DC. In that time, they talked about anything and everything but their spouses and families. It was like they'd made an unspoken pact to pretend like they were single. At least for that fleeting moment.

Dana learned John was about her age, early 40s, although he was thoughtful enough not to ask how old she was. He worked consulting for the military and had been to Iraq and Afghanistan numerous times since the wars had started. He was vague about his experiences there. Modest, almost. There was no doubt the man was confident and secure with himself, but he wasn't puffing his chest up like most men she knew. John was different.

And really easy to talk to, too. Like John, she talked about her hobbies, her job. But mostly, the two talked about how nice it was to break from routine. "I've been getting up early to run, getting the kids ready for school, kissing Alan goodbye, and heading to work for… for too long," she laughed.

"I know what you mean," John nodded. "Everyone needs a vacation. Even from their own lives." He looked out the window as he said it, lost in thought. Dana didn't interrupt him.

When they finally arrived at Dana's hotel, she felt like she was saying goodbye to an old friend. Their time together had been short but profound. Neither offered to exchange numbers or e-mails. Both knew how ephemeral this was supposed to be. A shared cab ride. A conversation. Leave it at that.

"It was nice meeting you, John," Dana said shyly as she opened the cab door. It was still raining, although they were under the hotel's covered turn-about.

"Same with you, Dana." Again, her heart trembled as he said her name. Maybe she should give him her contact number… maybe they could get together later on? "I hope you have a pleasant stay in DC."

He smiled and the moment passed. She nodded and slipped out of the car, shutting it gently behind her. A wave of loss passed over her as she walked into the hotel lobby. Once again, she was alone in a strange city. Even though she didn't even know John's last name, he was her kindred spirit.

***

Dana occupied her time getting ready for the grand wedding later that night. She had her toes and nails done in the hotel salon. She even had time to grab a quick massage, which helped her spirits.

Why should she feel sad? She was here to celebrate the union of her best friend's daughter. Tonight was that young woman's night. Not hers. And it would be good to catch up with Jean. It had been far too long.

The rain continued to fall throughout the day and again she cursed herself for booking her hotel room so late. When it was clear that her husband and kids wouldn't be able to make it, she'd balked at traveling down here alone. By the time she decided to go – encouraged by Alan – the hotel where the wedding was being held was filled. The Marriot was the next closest thing.

As she took her long, hot shower, her mind floated back on her chance meeting with John. The rain wasn't so bad if she'd always be able to spend her cab rides with him, she thought with a blush.

Even as she dressed in her tight black dress, she couldn't shake the memory of the man's broad shoulders and disarming smile. Would he like her dress? she wondered as she swiveled before the tall mirror. She loved dressing up for events like these as they came so rarely. Besides, what was the point of all her hours in the gym if not to show off a little every once in a while?

***

The wedding was wonderful. Nearly 400 guests crowded into the opulent ballroom of the Grand Westin. A string quartet played the wedding anthem as Jean's daughter, Meredith, made her march down the long, red-carpeted isle in a long, white dress. Photographers fluttered about—at least three of them—and Dana imagined that these photos would one day appear in wedding magazines under an article such as: "Perfect White Weddings."

She thought of her own wedding, so many years ago it was like a distant memory. She felt a wave of nostalgia pass through her; she heard her youthful laugh, remembered the feeling of all those eyes on her. It was one of the happiest moments of her life.

Her husband, Alan, was still the wonderful man he'd been when they'd first met. Still supportive, still a good father. Maybe that was the problem. Not that there was a "problem," her confused mind corrected. Just… he was the same man she'd known for over twenty years. They still had a great relationship, but it was the same great relationship it had always been.

Sometimes, she yearned for a new adventure. Like being bit by the travel bug. Time to dust off that old suit case and hit the road.

The reception was going to be held in the same ballroom, although the large gathering was instructed to move upstairs to the penthouse observatory while they transformed the pews into tabled seating.

Dana didn't know anyone but her old friend Jean, who was so wrapped up in the technicalities of her daughter's wedding that they'd only had a chance to hug, with a promise to catch up later. Not knowing anyone else, the brunette followed the steady stream of people to the elevators, heading up stairs. Maybe a bit of champagne would help steady her wandering thoughts.

The view off the penthouse observatory was about as picturesque as they come, even with all the rain. The hotel looked out over the wooded Rock Creek Park, with the low-sitting builds of DC in the hazy distance. It was hard to believe they were in the middle of a city.

She turned away from the window, wishing she had someone to share that with, when she saw him. John? No, couldn't be, although her heart was already racing, ahead of the game.

He was chatting with an older woman, half-turned to her. Gone was his drenched polo shirt and jeans. In their place, he wore a crisp, black suit with a pink shirt beneath.

Could it really be him? she wondered, keeping her hazel eyes on him as she plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

He turned abruptly, meeting her eyes across the room. There was the strong-lined smile and those confident eyes. It was him alright. Her taxi-companion. He even raised a glass at her. She returned the toast, wanting to throw the contents of the bubbly back. Resisting, she sipped instead. When she looked again, he was once again engaged in his conversation with the older woman.

Dana's heart sank a little. Over the last few hours, even though she'd been denying it, she'd been fantasizing that they'd developed some kind of connection. That their ride through the rain was more than just a cost-saving convenience. But maybe it had all been in her head. He was extremely attractive, why would he see her as anything but a married mother-of-two.

Dana was being modest and hard on herself. Even she knew that. She'd been turning a few heads even tonight, but it was then that she realized that it was John's head that she wanted to turn. Nobody else's.

The wedding party filtered in eventually, to the fanfare of a DJ, of course, introducing each of the guests in turn. At last, her friend Jean was freed from her duties and the two caught up in the past. Dana tried to forget all about John, but it was hard—especially as he drifted over to her.

"I think it's time to get downstairs for dinner," Jean announced to the small gathering of women who'd grown up around the two of them. "Let's meet up later, on the dance floor!"

Dinner, like the ceremony, was story-book perfect. The food was actually good! She'd also introduced herself to the couples sitting at her table. Being the only date-less woman there, she felt a little awkward and lonely, but all she'd have to do to brush that aside is to glance across the room at John.

Much to her surprise, she caught him looking at her, too. Whenever she did, he didn't look away. Instead, he'd simply smile and nod his head, causing her to blush. OK, so maybe I wasn't making it all up, she thought once again.

After dinner, all the guests crowded around the dance floor to watch Meredith dance with her new husband for the first time as one. Dana felt tears well up in her eyes when she turned to take a spin around the floor with her father.

"You must be so happy," she commented to Jean, who was balling.

"I swore I wouldn't cry," her friend blubbered, wiping her eyes and smearing her mascara across her cheeks, "and it seems like all I've done is cry!"

Dana hugged Jean. "She's beautiful," she whispered.

Around them, the mood shifted with the music. From elegant waltz to good old rock-and-roll, it was clearly time to dance. "Come on," Dana laughed, pulling the mother-of-the-bride onto the floor. "It's time to dry those tears!"

Dana lost herself in the classic rock, right out of the 80s. She loved to dance and got to do it so rarely. Alan hated going out, and Guildwood Village was small enough that she couldn't just go out and let loose when she felt the urge. As she tossed her hands in the air and moved to the hard hitting drums with Jean and a handful of their old, college friends, she vowed to find more time to dance when she went home.

It was like they'd traveled back in time; they were once again all single and having a grand old time at some anonymous friend-of-a-friend's house party. When songs grew slower—couples only tunes that broke the fit of nostalgia—Dana and her friends patronized the bar. After that, it was back to the dance floor to work up a sweat.

But like all good songs, it came to an end. The band smoothly transitioning into a slower song, meant for couples, not for groups, and with the dimming of the lights, it was clear that the new mood was here to stay. The circle of dancers began to drift off the dance floor like snow melting off the hood of a running car. Dana turned to go, too, and found John standing there in front of her.

Her heart skipped a beat. For the last hour, she'd forgotten all about her taxi-ride companion.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

The heat rose across the back of her neck and she wanted to scream, "YES!" But prudence won out. Glancing over his broad shoulder, she found Jean standing there, watching them at the edge of the parquet floor. Dana's face colored, but much to her surprise, her old friend just nodded her head, shared a coy smile that said, Go on, have some fun and turned away.

"I'd love to," Dana breathed, practically melting into John's welcoming arms.

She'd only danced with a few men who could lead the way John led. His frame was strong yet firm as they whirled around the dance floor. He turned her; he promenaded her; he made her feel like a princess dancing on a cloud.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" she asked as they took a moment's break, sipping chilled white wine.

"Where did you learn to follow?" he answered with a question of his own. Both were rhetorical, of course. Neither knew enough about the other to answer meaningfully.

"I don't always follow, you know," Dana replied, her eyes flashing up into his. He shouldn't get the wrong idea, of course.

"Oh yeah? Well, you followed me here!" he laughed, his dark brows shooting up.

"Me! You're the one who followed me! I know the mother of the bride, what's your connection?"

"I served with the groom's father. He was a good man." Dana glanced down into her glass of wine, feeling the talk shift to a serious one. But as before, it was John who quickly rescued the moment. "But honestly, when I saw you across the room…" He shook his head.

Dana brightened. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "It's not appropriate." Was he really feeling bashful? This man? "But I'm glad I got to see you again." The band began to play Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon and John's hand quickly collected her own. "Come on, I love this song!"

***

"So who's your friend?" Jean asked. She'd found Dana, relaxing in the corner of the room. Her body was stiff from all the dancing she'd done that night, but she was far from tired. Even as the wedding reception wound down and most of the guests had left, she wanted more…