A Widow Redefined Read Free Page A

hadn’t worn boots. I wore gym shoes. Cursing myself, I stepped into the dirty slush and looked around. Apart from a grieving family gathered on the far side of the cemetery, I was alone.
    I began walking around, reading the headstones. There was an equal number of older men and women who had lived a long life. Mixed in were a few middle-aged folks and sadly, some children. And then, of course, there was me, the idiot hanging around with them on my day off. I shook my head, realizing how foolish I was. Then I walked over to Justin’s grave.
    As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fresh bouquet of yellow daffodils lay in front of my husband’s headstone. I began shaking. From the cold, but also from fear. Anger rose in me. “What’s going on here?”
    I expected some kind of answer from Justin, in the form of telepathic communication, perhaps, but there was nothing. The only sound was sniffles from my runny nose. I wiped it and inhaled an icy breath. Then I quickly glanced around.
    Whoever brought these flowers was gone. But they had shown me one thing; it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was putting flowers on my husband’s grave. And if I came often enough, accompanied by my good friend—Irish luck, I would find them.

Chapter 3
    “M om. How was swimming?” Tyler asked as I walked in the front door.
    I was so upset I’d never gone. But I had to say something. “It was good, honey. I’m on my way to getting into shape.” I inwardly cringed as I spoke the words.
    White lie upon white lie. They began to compound so quickly, I feared they’d bring some kind of return.
    After dinner, Tyler had me critique some of his drawings. He was really getting good. And I had a thought, one that I blurted out before analyzing the affordability factor.
    “What would you think of taking a weekly art class? From a private instructor?” I asked.
    My son shot me a look filled with wild excitement. I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.
    “Can I really take one? Can we afford it?”
    The worried look in his eyes broke my heart. He shouldn’t know these things. Mom and I would have to take better care to discuss finances in private.
    Not sure how it could be done, I responded, “Sure honey, we’ll just find someone who’s offering a special deal for new students.”
    My reply was casual, dismissive of the ins and outs of how it would all come together, but it brought the mood back to where it was supposed to be: positive. And for the rest of the evening I scoured the internet, searching for art teachers.
    I found an ad for a local woman and clicked to her website. She looked like just a kid. She offered one-on-one classes out of her home, which conveniently happened to be less than a mile away. Her rates were reasonable too. I didn’t know how good she would be; no reviews had been posted. But after looking over her qualifications, I noticed she had recently graduated from a prestigious art college in Savannah, Georgia. She’ll do, I decided.
    •••••
    Monday morning I woke up on time, showered, and then dropped Tyler off at school.
    “I’ll give that art teacher a call tonight. See when you can start,” I said, winking at my son.
    He smiled. “Thanks Mom,” then gave me a peck goodbye.
    After punching in at the office and sitting at my desk, Fatima approached me. I could tell she was upset about something.
    “What’s up?” I asked. “You look angry.”
    Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed and her wavy, jet-black hair swished as she shook her head. “Angry is an understatement. You wouldn’t believe what I had to deal with this weekend.”
    Usually, when young people ramble, I zone out, but with Fatima it was different. Her exotic beauty captivated me, and her slight accent made me pay closer attention when she spoke. I listened for a full ten minutes without interrupting to the story of how her supposed best friend was trying to destroy the relationship between Fatima and her boyfriend of two