Gregory places dinner on the table: corn on the cob, chicory salad dressed in extra virgin olive oil and red wine vinegar, chicken breasts poached in wine, and finished with butter and dill. Rosemary pours chilled Riesling and Gregory lights candles. To an outsider, the dinner spread out on the distressed oak table has all the earmarks of a romantic interlude, something to be shared and savored by a couple very much in love. Gregory’s thoughts are interrupted by Rosemary’s voice, teasing. He tenses as he knows she is about to launch once more into a subject he does not want to discuss. He can’t, not now. Will the time ever be right?
“You know…” Rosemary smiles and puts the matches back in a kitchen drawer. She sits down at the table and arranges her napkin in her lap. Her eyes are bright.
