Chapter 15: Dale's Widow

I fixed my blouse in the time it took Hugh to cross the room to the lobby door.

He tucked his shirt in with one hand and unlocked the glass with the other.

Cora came in and stopped on the carpet.

She looked at the window table, with its shoved cloth and its crooked place settings.

She looked at my hair.

Then she looked at the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have called."

"Yes," I said.

"I didn't have your number. Gail froze it, and I didn't know how to get it."

"Sit down, Mrs. Brandwell," Hugh said.

"Cora. Please."

"Sit."

She sat on a chair by the door with her black coat still on and her purse held in her lap in both hands.

Hugh brought her a glass of water and set it on the table beside her.

She didn't touch it.

"I held your hand at his grave," I said. "That is the first thing I want to say."

"I know."

"I stood there for an hour on a cold day, and I cried for a man who was sitting in a kitchen with a bottle of whiskey."

"I know, Lydia."

"I want you to say it back to me. Say what you did."

Her chin shook, and she lifted it.

"I let you cry for him," Cora said. "I let you bring casseroles. I let you sit with me in the church in a black dress and call me brave."

"Why?"

"Because Gail told me to, and I was afraid of what happens when I don't."

"Afraid of Gail?"

"Of Dale."

Hugh had gone very still against the host stand.

"He didn't use to be like that," Cora said. "When Gail first moved him to the lake house, I thought it was the fear. I thought it would pass."

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