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“She’s stopped crying. She used to cry every night, every day at breakfast, twice in the afternoon, just before supper. Then, lights out, crying.”
“She missed you, Henry.”
“And now she doesn’t?”
“Time heals all wounds, they say.”
“I don’t want this wound healed. I liked things just the way they were. A good cry at dawn, a half decent cry before tea, a final one at midnight. But it’s over. Now I don’t feel wanted or needed.”
“Think about it the way you had to think about your honeymoon with Evelyn. It had to end sometime.”
“Not entirely. There were stray bits of it for the rest of forty years.”
“Yes, but you do see the resemblance?”
“Honeymoon ended. Life over. I certainly don’t much care for the residue.” A thought struck Henry Grossbock. He set his glass down, sharply. “Is there someone else?”
“Someone …”
“Else! Has she taken up with—?”
“And what if she has?”
“How dare she!”
“Four years, Henry, four years. And no, she hasn’t taken up with anyone. She’ll remain a widow for the rest of her life.”
“That’s more like it. I’m glad I came to see you first. Set me straight. So she’s still single and—hold on. How come no more tears at midnight, crying at breakfast?”
“You didn’t really expect that, did you?”
“But damn, I miss it. A man’s got to have something!”
“Don’t you have any friends over at the—” Steve Ralphs stopped, flushed, refilled his glass, refilled Henry’s.
“You were going to say graveyard. Bad lot, those. Layabouts. No conversation.”
“You were always a great talker, Henry.”
“Yes, yes, that’s so, wasn’t I? Aren’t I? And you were my best listener.”
“Talk some more, Henry. Get it all out.”
“I think I’ve hit the high points, the important stuff. She’s stopped coming by. That’s bad. She’s stopped crying. That’s the very worst. The lubricant that makes—what I have become—worth the long while. I wonder if I showed up, would she cry again?”
“You’re not going to visit?”
“Don’t think I should, eh?”
“Nasty shock. Unforgivable.”
“Who wouldn’t forgive me?”
“Me, Henry. I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, yes. Oh dear. My, my. Good advice from my best friend.”
“Best, Henry.” Steve Ralphs leaned forward. “You do want her to get over you, don’t you?”
