I felt a shudder of excitement run down my spine and I pushed in closer to feel his body. James met me at my car, and as we walked toward the restaurant he put his arm around me. Running and doing chores on his rural property kept his body lean and muscular, and his face betrayed few traces of the anguish I knew lay in his heart. Strikingly handsome, he looked at least a decade younger than his 61 years. We were speaking on the phone when I caught a glimpse of him.
It was nearly eleven when I turned my car onto Main Street, and James was growing impatient.
Oddly, my paramour had also spent the day at a funeral, and as the summer sun disappeared we made plans to meet halfway between our towns for a drink. I had spent the day at a funeral, reflecting on the fact that at fifty, I had more miles behind me than ahead. On a hot and humid night last June, I steered my car over twisting country roads toward a small lakeside town for a romantic rendezvous.
