When my husband saw me, he saw nothing of distress, just a glass of bubbly, and as I sat I looked around and I have to say, frustratingly, could not see him again amongst the throng."Who was that man that asked me to dance", I asked my husband? "My boss", was his curt reply, "Why", he asked?"Oh nothing", I lied, I could feel and longing and a emptiness, there had been and excitement in that brief encounter, another man had so openly shown contempt for my husband and sexually assaulted me both verbally and physically, and I began to realise as I dwelt upon it, I wished I had danced just a little longer, "To hell with my false frontage and outraged modesty", I suddenly found myself alive and wanton, and watched as my husband was chatting to this woman, he appeared to be more interested in her, than my need for sexual pleasure.As we made small talk, I found her to be super friendly towards me, as if excusing herself for making inroads to my husband, he touches on my arm, her compliments. We played chess in the park on the days she was feeling good. She died quietly in her sleep one night as I held her hand."Beth wiped a tear from my cheek I hadn't realized was falling. I went on. "She had an Irish wake if you can believe that, drinks, and food, and her lying right there in the middle of it all. I laughed at the affronted expression on my mothers face when she found out it wasn't to be a "dignified affair for the family". Grams had had it all set up in advance. Her friends came and paid their respects to the family and every one of them pulled me aside and thanked me for being there for her and said how much it meant to her that I had." I don't think the rest of the family came to see her more than eight or ten times that last year she was sick. Anyhow one of the men at the wake pulled me aside and gave me a note and told me to go to the bathroom and read it, that it was from Grams. I knew who he was, Mr. Meyer. He had been friends with Grams for years. So I did what.
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