“You might without meaning to.”
“Fair.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Sarah stared into her cup.
“That loving someone again means Danny becomes smaller.”
Ray nodded.
“And?”
“That Ellie might think I forgot him.”
Ray waited.
“That I might think I forgot him.”
Silence.
Then Ray said:
“Maybe people aren't rooms.”
Sarah frowned.
“What?”
“When someone new enters, maybe nobody has to leave.”
She smiled.
“That is unexpectedly intelligent.”
“I prepared it.”
“For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
Sarah laughed.
Then Ray reached across the table.
Not touching.
His hand stopped halfway.
Sarah looked at it.
Then placed her fingers in his.
The contact was small.
Enough.
Their first kiss happened two months later.
Outside the same gas station.
Accidentally symbolic.
They had stopped for fuel on the way back from one of Ellie’s appointments.
Sarah laughed when she realized where they were.
“What?”
Ray asked.
“This place.”
He looked around.
“Oh.”
Ellie sat inside the store with Sarah’s mother.
Ray stood beside the Harley.
Sarah looked toward pump six.
“That's where she said your name.”
“Yes.”
“You dropped the nozzle.”
“I was surprised.”
“You looked terrified.”
“I was terrified.”
Sarah smiled.
“So was I.”
Ray stepped closer.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Me too.”
Sarah appreciated that.
No brave speech.
No guarantee.
Just truth.
Ray lifted one hand.
Touched her cheek.
Stopped.
Sarah closed the remaining distance.
The kiss was gentle.
Brief.
Then longer.
When they separated, Ray looked genuinely stunned.
Sarah smiled.
“You're sixty-three.”
“Why do you look surprised?”
“I had forgotten that could happen.”
“So had I.”
They laughed.
Ellie came out of the store.
She saw them.
Stopped.
Her face twisted.
“Ew.”
Sarah stared.
Ray stared.
Then both began laughing so hard Sarah had to hold the car.
“Ew?”
Sarah repeated.
Ellie looked horrified.
“You kissed him!”
Ray wiped his eyes.
“Most normal thing she has said in years.”
Ellie crossed her arms.
Sarah pulled her close.
“Come here.”
“No.”
Sarah kissed her cheek repeatedly.
“Mom!”
More normal words.
More complaints.
More life.
That became the real ending of silence.
Not the first word.
Not Ray.
Not Daddy.
Not Mom.