If this had been a scene in the movie of her life any discerning director would have left it on the cutting room floor. It was not elegant, the crying was not pretty, and she was spilling more gin on the carpet.
The next day I booked a trip to Manhattan. I couldn’t promise her that we could leave Nebraska, not yet, we didn’t have the money but I had enough squirreled away for a jaunt to somewhere a winter rose could thrive.
Miranda was ecstatic. She bought four new dresses, a new luggage set, shoes and jewelry and expensive makeup. I let her do it because I wanted her to be happy and in all honesty I thought she’d get it out of her system.
I’ll never forget the way she looked when we saw Times Square for the first time. The way the streetlights sparkled in her eyes. Her pretty face turned up to take it in, to take all of it in, the sights and sounds and smells and good god, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more beautiful.
That first night we made love the way we hadn’t in a very long time. I supposed I hadn’t even realized it, how she’d been pulling away from me for much longer than my stupid self cared to pay attention to. Because maybe it wasn’t just Nebraska that was boring, you know?
It was only our second afternoon in Manhattan. I had planned to take her to a nice four-star restaurant on the main drag, something really nice for lunch, my belly was already growling just thinking about how much better the food would be from our local diner’s. The flow of people was thick that day, everyone was out and about and it was exciting the way our hometown never could hope to be. That sense of being part of something simply by standing in a crowd. It’s something I’ve experienced many times over since then, but that day was the first.
She was holding my hand. Her fingers were so thin, so delicate inside her elegant glove. I loved how they felt in my palm. I always had.
I gave them an affectionate squeeze as I watched for the traffic to slow so we could cross the street. Then, all at once, everyone started to move. I felt myself trapped in the rush of bodies like a leaf caught in the wind; I tightened my grip and turned to look at Miranda just as I realized my fingers had closed around nothing but cloth.
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