The Widow Waltz Read Free Page B

clears his throat. “What I mean is that this is going to be tough for you, Georgia.” Wally stares into my eyes. “Very tough. And I’m deeply sorry about that. I am.”
    I shudder. There is finality to this protocol like nothing I have yet experienced. I have been so thoroughly focused on putting one foot in front of the other, day by endless day, I haven’t considered the future. I have no close contemporaries who are widows, only never-marrieds or divorcees, women who despite their careful, chirpy behavior, are marked by a
bindi
establishing that they are of a lesser caste of the lonely and needy, or so we think in condescending moments, as they walk amid the wedded. The thought of joining their ranks brings on the tears. My eyes fill and nose drips.
    Wally is fast with a tissue. “Go ahead. Don’t mind me.” I succeed in smiling.
    “Georgia, dear,” he says. “I’m so sorry, so truly sorry, but, well, here it is.” He takes a deep, audible breath. “I’ve found an account that contains, as of yesterday, $38,392.”
    “Yes,” I say, waiting for the rest.
    “And that’s it. From what I can tell, virtually all of the money—your money—is gone.” He spreads his palms.
    Wally is speaking a language I do not understand. I say nothing.
    “Georgia.” His tone as gentle as fingers caressing an infant’s skin.
    “Excuse me?” I ask.
    “Sweetheart,” he says, moving to the couch, wedging himself between me and Nicola, who leans away. Wally puts his arm on my shoulder and speaks slowly, as if I am deaf or dumb. “Let me explain this as simply as I can. I’m having a hell of a time finding assets. Your accounts appear to have been emptied.”
    That can’t be. I know Ben’s will like I know
The Owl and the Pussycat.
“They took some honey and plenty of money / Wrapped up in a five-pound note.”
We reviewed the document every year, on the day before our anniversary. Ben always said that if he died first, he wanted me, the merry widow, to take a few years to travel, maybe sell the beach house and buy something cozy with shutters and an herb garden in the Berkshires, where I used to go to summer camp, a location that made him snore. “I’m going to provide for you, so promise me you’ll have some fun before you settle down with some other lucky schmuck,” he said. “But remember, I’m leaving you plenty. You won’t have to remarry unless you want to.” Half the point of his generosity was to make sure I never loved another man.
    “I don’t understand,” I say to Wally. “This has to be a mistake.”
    “Georgia,” he murmurs. “I wish it were.”
    My tongue turns to cotton but my speech speeds up. “Was Ben losing cases? I thought things were going well at his firm. Did he make a bad investment?”
    With each burst of words, my voice gets higher and Wally shakes his head
no
.
    “Is something happening Ben thought I was too fragile or ignorant to understand?” Was my husband going through a hell from which he thought I needed to be protected? Darling Ben.
    “None of that, from what I can tell.” Wally, too bulky to squirm, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
    Ben was a softie. “Did my husband give everything away?” Before Wally can answer that question, I zing another. “Where did all the money go?” Tough customers brought out Ben’s machismo, but maybe the last laugh was on Ben, who had tried to play in leagues where a code was spoken that he couldn’t understand.
    Wally extends his hands and shakes his head. “Georgia, Jesus. I don’t know. I’ve been on the trail for weeks. God knows I hope I’m wrong, but I didn’t think it was ethical for me to keep this to myself any longer.” The edges of his mouth tremble and his inflection is that of a dentist saying,
You may feel some slight discomfort,
before he yanks a tooth without Novocain.
    “I just can’t believe it. I can’t, I can’t. This is impossible. You can’t be telling the truth.”
    I hide my eyes. I am