Only after our second afternoon together, when I mentioned Robert and where we'd lived, did Arthur begin to wonder.
"Why didn't you tell me immediately?"
"Because imagine you're traveling alone in Australia and some strange man says, 'By the way, I knew your dead husband and have been storing his letters for 12 years.'"
Arthur hadn't seen recent photos of me.
I smiled.
"That would've been memorable."
"I thought coffee was safer."
"So you invited me here on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Because of the painting."
"Partly."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That would've been memorable."
Arthur looked almost embarrassed.
"And partly because I wanted to see my best friend's wife. The one he loved with all his heart."
That changed the air between us.
I looked down at Robert's letter.
My heart gave a stupid little flutter I hadn't felt in years.
That changed the air between us.
Then he reached across the table and simply turned his hand palm-up between us.
I looked at it for a second.
Then placed mine in his.
***
I stayed in Australia three weeks longer than planned.
Arthur showed me places tourists missed. We listened to records and ate terrible sandwiches near the beach.
I looked at it for a second.
He took me to the lake where he and Robert had stayed as young men.
The cottage was long gone; the water wasn't.
We stood on the shore together.
"I thought coming here would make me sad," I said.
"Does it?"
"A little."
Then I smiled.
"But not only sad."
We stood on the shore.
***
I didn't cancel the rest of my trip.
Instead, Arthur accompanied me for two stops.
Then I continued alone.
***
Over time, my children slowly started calling again.
Karen apologized first.
I continued alone.
Then Melissa admitted she'd been angry because my leaving forced her to see how much she'd relied on me.
