Love, sorrow and undimmed stars: Part 1

She sat on his lap with her arms wrapped loosely around him. Inching even closer, she rested her head against his, and drank in the fresh, clean scent of his hair, and of him. Of all the ways she thought this day would unfold, she never imagined they’d be here, sitting on the top deck of a tourist bus invaded by a German travelling group of all things, and sitting on David’s lap, at ease in his embrace.

She never was one for public displays of romance, not even with Peter. Though life had a funny way of making relativity relevant. She had been alone with David on the upper deck, sharing soft warm kisses and in being close to one another, until a throng of tourists joined them. Soon, an increasingly flustered elderly gentleman looked like he needed a seat. Moving to offer hers she was stopped by David, motioning that the tourist take his instead. Their non-existent German and his scraps of English meant that no one was going to come out of this more chivalrous. Katherine, never one for indecisive politeness, quickly decided this needed intervention. She motioned David to sit and promptly took a seat on his lap, leaving a free space. Older men are strange creatures, such polite manners, she mused, as everyone settled down. She smiled at this, kissing her older man just above his ear, slowly, as his arms circled her waist and back.

The gentle wisps of wind were barely enough to temper the hot and humid New York summer. The slow grind of traffic and the whirring hum of the bus’s engine should have made the trip unbearable. The tourists with their gushing enthusiasm of all things Big Apple should’ve made it downright hellish. But right now, he noticed none of that. Instead, he felt a calm and easiness unmatched during all his years. Because of her, this woman whose embrace felt like perfection.
He could be here forever he thought while pulling her closer, touching his lips to the warm skin of her neck. His hold was urgent, and surprised them both. He noticed the quizzical concern on her face as she shifted to look at him, not understanding. You don’t know the power you wield over me he thought, and smiled as he reached up to steal a slow, tender kiss, tasting the sweetness of her lips, her momentary concern wiped away. He really could be here forever in the stillness surrounding them.

“I know this is no notice at all…” she said softly, with the faintest of hesitancy, as she once again looked at him, reluctantly breaking their hold on each other. He noticed her not-quite biting her lip in the way she always did when she seemed unsure of herself “…but, if you don’t have any plans, or you’re… not doing anything, I need to see you tomorrow night. There’s something I need to tell you, something I need for you to understand. About me.” The last words rolled out at once and he noticed the weight of it she’d carried with her all day. She took a deep breath and looked at him, this time with conviction.

“You don’t have to ask, you do know?” His words came out quietly, but he wanted her to understand how much he meant it. He wanted for her to know, to realise, that she only need say and he’d rearrange the world for her. “And even if I had plans,” his tone changing to playfulness “you need only say the word….”, purposely trailing off, giving her his best mock-seduction gaze and smiling generously, trying to ease her tension. He was still amazed that she could think he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to be with her. But he reminded himself, again, of the gulf between them. He needed to, or he was sure he’d push her away.

He loved her.

He’d told her this, even though the how and why of it was something he never exactly planned on. He also knew that she didn’t love him. Not yet, clinging to hope as this reminder sent anew a quickening wound through him. He knew it wasn’t perfect. But what he did know was that whatever complexity of emotion swirled within her, whatever she did feel for him, the reason she was here today, on this bus, with him, was inextricably tied to her putting away her past. And for that he would not for all the world rush her. Not now. Not ever.

“So it’s a date then. seven-thirty, my place” she grinned playfully. He laughed in return, sharing in how far they’d come; her inviting him over. It sounded so casual, so off-the-cuff, but it carried with it the promise of a gulf filled.

“It’s definitely a date” he said as he looked at her, taking her in, eyes darting about her beautiful face, “unless you’re going to tell me this has been the Crying Game come to life, in which case I’d pretty much like to know right now, you know, so that I can get my Shrinks-R-Us coupons out before they expire.” He deadpanned like no one she ever knew, and it sent her into generous laughter. It was one of the many things he loved about her, her laugh, how her whole body shook with the joy of it. His joke was a gentle release for the tumult of emotions they'd been through that day. The emotion and tension of earlier in his apartment, when Katherine's feelings threatened to overwhelm her.

She kissed him again, softly at first, but then more urgently, fully, not caring where they were, concerned only with tasting the warmth of his lips and holding him close, ignoring the nagging questioning of her mind.

It wasn’t always like this, they both knew.

*****

It had been more than four years since Peter’s death when Katherine visited his insurers. Peter, the man she married four years before that. Katherine didn’t want to be there that day. She didn’t want to be sorting out the intricacies of a policy previously lost in the mundane detail of a life no more. This was meant to be handled years ago. This was meant to be finished. Life insurance, she scoffed, but not much insurance against death. She’d lost track of the number of times she had been called in to sort out what would be ‘the final paperwork in the estate of Peter Sanderson.’ It never was as they promised. Though it didn’t matter to her. Not anymore.

She should be angry and upset and infuriated that her husband’s matters were so poorly attended to. She wasn’t. This constant battling had been insurmountable challenges followed by newly formed obstacles, leaving her resigned to the stop-creep of a glacial process.

What did anger matter when her life and memories had been taken away from her in every way? Why fight, when there was no prize? She was tired and needed to stop. And four years later, stopping was all she wanted.

It was this resolution that brought her to the offices of Unsworth and Emerson, LLC. She waited patiently in reception, the legal papers ensconced in their manila resting unobtrusively beside her. She had made sure of every detail, crossed every ‘t’ and dotted every ‘i’, jumped through and tied close every loophole in anticipation of anything that could be thrown back at her. It was the only thing she could do, she thought, as she waited to see today’s appropriate mid-level insurance account manager whom she’d inform of her decision. She needed to let go and this was the perfect way.

Her attention was grabbed by Mr. Edgerton as he strode over toward her, in his typical swagger, doing his routine. So it was Edgerton’s turn today she thought, inwardly sighing as she stood to meet him, dreading these encounters. It was closing in on lunchtime, a fact she was grateful for; she needed only a few minutes to explain her decision before leaving the documents with him. And it meant she'd be spared his company for very long.

Shaking his hand while cycling through greetings, she quickly explained herself -She wished for all monies from Peter’s policy to go to his parents, and that she had the necessary documentation legally ceding her rights and any future claims, which would also apply to the benefits that will be paid out to her from his other policies.

There.

It had taken less than a moment to tell him what she wanted done, belying the never ending years of back and forth.

Mr. Edgerton looked mildly surprised at first, then back at the papers, as she prepared herself for the questions he’d no doubt ask: Why? Why now? Does she understand the consequences of such a decision? That it’s important, as a widow, not to get swept up by emotions when making financial decisions? That the policy value is quite generous? And does she know what she is giving up?

None of that mattered to her. She was done, and all she wanted was out. His face changed almost instantly though, as he realised the implications.

“Mrs. Sanderson...” he interrupted as she continued explaining, almost apologetically. She knew at once what his tone meant even as she adjusted to being called by Peter’s name after so many years. She would have to return at another time, because this was something he didn’t deal with, but some other random-but-appropriate-mid-level-insurance-account manager would be sure to help. After years of this, she might have guessed, she thought.

“Just tell me where and when” she said almost sighing as she resigned herself to one more trip to these stolid office suites, seeming to carry the weight of a thousand dead souls in the bland folders that held the minutiae of so many lives.

“Then again, just hold on a second” he blurted, a half-formed thought taking hold as he disappeared down the narrow hallway, the words barely out and her folder along with him. On days like this she was grateful for the numbness, or having to wait on Mr. Edgerton as he followed another ridiculous notion to its finality would’ve sent her over the edge. So wait she did. Again.

David Burrows tilted his head slightly, his eyes arching over his reading glasses as the young man entered his office. What does Joe Edgerton want now he wondered?

“I know that in all likelihood you have plans over lunch…” Joe started hopefully, an expectant tone clear in his voice.

“You do flatter, but I’m not available, Joe. Busy. And as much as I adore you, I cannot be party to office romances, especially in our circumstances” David mocked while maintaining a serious tone throughout. He knew he'd catch his colleague off giard.

Joe couldn’t tell if his boss was serious or not. He never really could and his face said as much. David could barely contain his amusement.

Deciding his best tactic was to brush that comment aside, Joe explained:
“I need you to meet with a beneficiary please, now over lunch, if you could.” Noticing David’s groan underneath his breath, he quickly added: “It’s not a big deal, for you to handle I mean.”

“Not going to happen, Joe.”

“Look, Sir, I know. I shouldn’t be bothering you with these old case records, but Mrs. Sanderson’s been in and out of these offices since even before I started working here, and frankly, I’m getting tired of seeing her pathetically depressed face around here so every few months.”

Misunderstanding his boss’s brand of humour, Joe as ever, played his game.

“It won’t take more than fifteen minutes, twenty tops, of your time. It’s just that as one of the partners you have the authority to just sign her problems away. And her out of my life, for goodness sake. And it’s what she wants, so she’s happy - though that’d be a stretch for her - then she’s gone and then I’m very, very happy to be rid of her.”

Sometimes, David Burrows really disliked the people he worked with. Especially Joe Edgerton, who never could remember that they were dealing with lives here, lost lives. And part of that was the pain of those left behind. And if they couldn’t empathise, at least be tactful damn it. He could only wonder if this same impression was conveyed to this Mr. Sanderson.

Sighing as he closed his folder, he realised his decision was made for him. Fixing Joe with a cold stare, he askedJoe to bring her to his office. He would’ve met her himself but knew he needed whatever time was given to him to quickly look over her file.

Moments later Joe returned, accompanied by what must be Mrs. Sanderson. David walked over to her and offered his greeting as Joe left, pleased that Mrs. Sanderson was no longer his problem and leaving him free to make advances on that new junior secretary, no doubt.

“I’m David Burrows” he said, as he held onto her hand, her skin soft and cool.

“Katherine” she replied, and continued “Yes, Mr. Edgerton explained to me that you’ve now been given the case file.” David noticed the soft tone of her voice. Not someone unsure of themselves, but picking up on something altogether different.

“Please have a seat, Mrs. Sanderson.”

His name again, she thought, as she moved to the tastefully picked out office couches she was gestured toward. Taking a seat across from her, David Burrows was struck by how very young Mrs. Katherine Sanderson was, the dark brown hair gently shadowing her face making her seem even more so. Looking at her, he wondered at her loss. He saw reflected in the far-away hazel of her gaze the hollow pain she surely felt grieving for her husband at such a young age. This thought intensified as he recalled from the quickly scanned case notes that Peter Sanderson died some years ago now. For her to still be feeling the pain now, visibly so, surprised him. In some ways death was his business. And the time people took to move on from it was something he always noted.

“I was happy to return at another time, Mr. Burrows, but Mr. Edgerton assured me that you were free” her tone smooth, not questioning. He realised that he’d been silent, staring at her. She mistook this for preoccupation with whatever he must’ve been working on before her arrival, unaware that he was momentarily captivated by her.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Sanderson” he started, unsure of himself but not knowing why. “We should’ve properly handled this. Joe mentioned that you’ve been in and out of these offices for a while now, and for that I apologise. Now, lets see what it is I can do.”

Thankful that experience allowed him to shift into professional gear with ease, he looked at her again. He couldn’t read the expression on her face though, and wondered why he found himself trying to do that.

“Mr. Burrows, thank you. But, respectfully, I’ve informed Mr. Edgerton of my decision; -what I need for your company to do. I’m not sure if he’s told you, but I want to exclude myself as a beneficiary of this policy. I have all the necessary legal papers as advised by my attorneys. All I need is for you as the insurer to sign in agreement. If you cannot help me now – I know you were just handed the file - I will come back, if that’s better for your time.”

Katherine’s voice was soft but her conviction strong. Her even directness left him embarrassed at how he’d started, disappointed in himself for making her think he was just another company drone, as she now no doubt did.

He looked at her with concern, wondering why a widow would forsake her husband’s money. Not true, he corrected himself. Instead, he wondered why this woman would. Reprimanding himself at these musings, he was also surprised that he had to remind himself to say nothing, and ask nothing. Suddenly aware that she was waiting for his response, he swiftly cast his gaze down at the file as he realised he was looking at her intently again.

She noticed this time.

“I assure you Mr. Burrows that this is not an impulsive decision, even though my previous meetings here may suggest otherwise.”

Again she misunderstood.

“I’ve come to the realisation that this money is not for me, and it would better serve Peter’s memory….my husband, that was his name, if it went to his parents. I’ve felt this was the best option for a long time – I was just going through the motions of what is expected. I know this is the right choice and I know that legally you are bound to ensure that I understand the ramifications, and I’d really appreciate it if we could just move on to that step of the process please.”

This time Katherine’s voice betrayed her, cracking slightly as she explained herself even through intentionally measured calmness. Was it because she said his name after so many years? How long had it been since it passed over her lips? Or was it because she had called him her husband, even if merely in explanation to an officer of an insurance company who no doubt didn’t even know his name yet? She steeled herself for his response, expecting more of the formulaic soothe-the-grieving-widow approach, and hated herself for playing a part in having him think that.

He’d long ago stopped feeling when he heard client’s stories. It was wrong to admit, but in the work they did it was inevitable. Yet looking at this woman, seeing the pain etched on her face and reflected in her eyes, he was moved to do everything he could to help her.

“Of course, Mrs. Sanderson. And there is no need to return at another time. I can see to this matter right now.” He felt compelled to say more, his response inadequate. Moving to his desk he set about the task of retrieving the necessary paperwork from his computer.

She was surprised by his reaction, prepared instead to answer a thousand different questions.

“Thank you” she said.

At these words he looked over at her, stopping his search.

“This is not an attempt at PR, or damage control, or anything like that…even though you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking that from my glib start.”

He paused, wanting to find the right words even though unable to explain why doing so mattered so much.

“You should not be thanking us, Mrs. Sanderson. “I haven’t had long to look at your file, but in Joe's unique style (they shared a smile at this) and from what you’ve just said, I do know that we should have treated you so much better. Which is perhaps the understatement of the year, and you’d be fully within your rights to howl with laughter at this. I am truly sorry, Mrs. Sanderson. I wish I had been informed of your file earlier. I wish I could have done more…”

He trailed off, forcing himself to fix attention on the papers or else he’d stand there, still, just looking at her. He meant every word.

She looked at him, surprised by his sincerity. She nodded in response. The generosity he showed was the complete opposite of all her experiences here. Still busy at his desk, he found himself stealing further glances at her as she stared at the grey edifices of the city skyline while she waited. It wasn’t just her beauty, though she was that and more. There was something altogether different that struck David Burrows about Mrs. Katherine Sanderson.

Katherine waited patiently, glad that things were finally moving in the right direction and grateful that there were still people like Mr. Burrows in the world. Maybe its age she thought, as Burrows was clearly older than Edgerton, though by how many years she couldn’t guess. Or maybe Joe Edgerton is just an ass, as she decided it was definitely the latter.

He returned and they started busying themselves with what seemed a thousand different forms. David realised this would take the better part of the afternoon. And then realised it meant he’d have this time in Katherine Sanderson’s company, and was grateful for it. Caught by surprise at his own thoughts, he tried to make sense of it, but failed. Instead, he pushed it from his mind.

Signing, dating, and detailing every form, they were getting somewhere, her relief growing with each paper she finished, closer now than ever before to her goal. And what that would mean to her.

They chatted comfortably, in fits and starts, when procedure dictated they wait for another department’s approval, as these things always seemed to work and Joe Edgerton’s assurances to the contrary. The Indian summer New York had been having, the latest ‘Nicks scores, everything bland and superficial when he, as the afternoon wore on, realised he wanted to know more about Katherine Sanderson herself.

This time he chided himself for his thoughts. She was after all a widow. And one who was still grieving. And more than that, the reason she was here with him was to sort out her dead husband’s affairs.

Had he sunk this low?

No, worse actually, as he reminded himself of her age. The figures of her birth date on file taunted him; she was just twenty-eight. He had no business looking at this woman, so young, so much younger than he, wondering about her and her life. Trying to banish these musings, he tried a new tactic. She was no different than any other pretty girl that make men do stupid things, rationalising away why musings on Katherine Sanderson filled his head in such an alarmingly short space of time. He didn’t think he was winning.

The afternoon wore on but they appeared to be making headway. As she was completing the last papers, he spoke:

“Mrs. Sanderson” he started slowly, his tone apologetic, “once we get final endorsements, the matter will be handled. But...” he so very much didn’t want to disappoint her, “when that happens we do need you to return to sign that document. We have to wait to sign and witness, we cannot do it now. This means you have to return one more time. Or I can bring the documents to you. But whichever way, until then, it’s still in progress...”

She smiled politely at his concern. Was he that transparent around her he wondered, suddenly nervous?

“That’s okay, I don’t mind” she offered. “At least I now know I have and end-date.”

She finished, rising to hand him the papers. She thanked him again and apologised for taking up his entire afternoon, and doing so unannounced.

“Mrs. Sanderson…?” He paused, wanting to find the right words for what he was about to ask, his instincts seemingly winning over his professionalism. He’s eyes were fixed intently on her. She couldn’t read his expression.

“If I may, why is it so important that you do this?”

He saw the surprise on her face.

“I mean, why not just take the money, have it paid out, and then give it to your in-laws yourself? I don’t understand.” His voice held no accusation, no exasperation. he just wanted to make sense of it, and understand her. Yet he wished he could’ve been more tactful.

The million-dollar question, Katherine thought. It was glaringly obvious to anyone who’d give her request the barest of attention. But now she stood there, in silence. Not because she didn’t have an answer. No, she’d asked herself this many times. And each time she decided that the trouble was worth it. Because of what it would mean to her. But how could she tell someone else this, when her reasons were so personal, cutting to the very core of her relationship with Peter.

David saw her discomfort and wanted to kick himself for causing it.

“I shouldn’t have asked something so personal of you, Mrs. Sanderson. I’m sorr-“

“No, don’t be. I think that….”

Her voice disappeared as she struggled with herself, so visible to David. She seemed to grow smaller, the hurt and pain clear to see. But then, almost imperceptibly, she regained her composure, and looked up directly at him, seeming to cast any demons away.

“This will, I guess, make no sense to you Mr. Burrows, but this policy…I didn’t want it, the money. Not even in name only, for a day or a few hours….” She wanted to flee this office, every second longer a struggle.
“It’s obviously silly to you, and a waste of your time," she continued, "but it was something that I wanted to have done.”

It was hopeless. An imperfect explanation but it would have to do, she decided, before adding:
“I’ve done exactly that with the other policies’ money – given it to the Sandersons…”

She could no longer speak. This explanation to a stranger seeming to grow more and more personal with each added word.

“I could never consider this afternoon a waste of my time” he offered, his voice soft, polite, trying to soothe her distress.

Katherine forced a smile and a nod of the head in reply. She didn’t trust her voice that instant.

“If there is anything else I can help you with, please, don’t hesitate.”

“Thank you Mr. Burrows” she managed to say as she extended her hand to him. Her words were hasty, every impulse wanting to leave.

David found himself disappointed that she was. When their hands met this time he was reluctant to let go. Quickly realising his irrationality, he greeted goodbye in return and gave nothing away. Her guarded smile, though, left him wondering just how beautiful she must be in joy and laughter, eyes sparkling in amusement and filled with life. He also wondered in that split-second if he could ever make her feel that, and shook off the folly before it fully took hold. Stupid man, he thought. Stupid, old man. He really wasn’t winning at all.

“David, please” he offered, almost whispering, wondering why he corrected her now, as she was leaving.

She nodded her reply and left.

*****

Crossing the street after leaving the building Katherine felt a mixture of relief, confusion and anger. Cautious by nature she was careful not to celebrate, even tempering the relief she did feel; she knew that until it was finally settled and filed and the Sanderson’s had the monies paid into their savings account, it would still be a last hold on her. She refused to be lulled into feeling she was free only for it to be snatched away. It mattered that much to her, though sometimes even she struggled to make sense of this.

Why was this cutting of ties so crucial to her?
Did it matter after so many years? What would it give her?

This was the gist behind Mr. Burrows’s question which she so miserably failed to answer in her abject, stuttering way. Damn you, Peter! Damn you for making me feel like this after all these years.

Getting into a cab she closed her eyes in thought, fighting the tears she could feel well deep within. She found her answer again.

It was because she was no longer Peter Sanderson’s wife. And she hadn’t been for a very long time. Sure, she could live comfortably with his money, as her family would no doubt plead once she told them. It was what was due to her after all, as Peter’s widow.

But to Katherine, that money was cold consolation of a life that would have been, of promises unfulfilled and broken, of years together as brown and blonde turned to grey while babies grew to shape their own lives.

Death changed that.

It ripped through her love and shattered her life. And money wouldn’t alter it, especially money that put a dollar-value on his life. No, Katherine was done with it all, glad for it even as these thoughts formed tears unshed in her eyes and grief and anger and sorrow and rage swirled into its perilous mix threatening to flex its icy grip on her heart. Resolute she would not succumb, she took a deep, slow breath and wiped away the moisture forming in her eyes as the cab inched its way out of Manhattan, battling a thousand yellow clones with exactly the same inclination.

*****

The sun had long ago slipped beneath the Hudson when David collapsed into his chair after what must have been his tenth meeting that day. He was exhausted, and hungry. And still at work. So much for promises to ease up he thought.

The day was a blur of operational strategies, growth markets, forecasts and everything else exciting in the highly fascinating world of insurance, he contemplated, a wry smile playing on his lips. Everything blurred together, one conversation seeping through the edges of the next.

There was a reason in physics for this he thought as he rested his head back in his chair, trying to remember what he’d read long ago. A light so bright in the night sky, it draws the gazes of those who search for it, a beauty immense and wondrous shown to the brave and willing. Unrelenting, its power dims its surrounds, making everything else harder to see.

Katherine Sanderson, David thought.

A beauty bringing light into his day even in her awkward sorrow. Blending into vague recollections everything that had come before and after, the reason he sat here long after the unseen stars of the city blanketed the evening sky, thinking of her.

He remembered the pain he saw on her face, and wanted to kick himself all over again for his lack of discretion. Clients do what they want to do. Isn’t that what he always said, his motto?

But how he wanted to understand her. Is Katherine Sanderson’s love for her husband still so real, so present that the act of taking money based on a value of his life is unbearable to her?

He moved to grab her folder which now rested on his desk. He stopped short of opening it, drawing his hand back at the last. Instead he fiddled with its thick spine, knowing that his wanting to do so was not related to any professional motivation, no matter how much he lied to himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose he tried to will this need away. Closing his eyes he laughed out loud at his foolishness, the fullness of the situation crashing upon him.

She was a policyholder’s wife, and a widow. He was old (never mind older), and she’d certainly want nothing of him. This was really, completely, utterly absurd, he thought. Abruptly pushing his chair back, he stood, grabbed his coat and briefcase and headed toward the door, and away from all thoughts of Katherine Sanderson.

*****

The cold snap set in as summer finally gave way to autumn. The unexpected loitering of warm and pleasant days only served to leave New Yorkers unprepared for the iciness of the coming winter. David Burrows quickened his pace to make it through the automated door as it slid closed, seeking the warmth of the climate-controlled foyer. Pleased to escape the chill convinced he could feel all the way to his bones, he headed to his office.

“Messages are on your desk” Lucy, his assistant said as he settled in, “The highlights: Mr. Unsworth wants a meeting, and you need to be present at a dinner Lewis is hosting tonight. He asked me to remind you” she added quickly, noticing his grimace.

Coming back to the office after meetings never ended well, he consoled himself as he reassured Lucy with a smile.

“Oh, and one more thing” the young woman added. She turned on her heels, making her way to her desk. “Payable Claims downstairs sent this” she said as she returned holding a document package. “They said it was to go directly to you, though this doesn’t make sense. I thought I’d ask you before doing anything. Shall I send it back?”

Taking the sealed package from her he realised what it was. The Sanderson documents.

“Thanks Lucy. No, don’t send it back. I asked that it be sent to me.” His voice was softer than usual.

He noticed the question forming on her face, trying to understand why a partner-director would be handling a benefit claim. Lucy, professional as ever, suppressed any curiosity and made her exit. She didn’t know how thankful David was for that.

Everything was in order. Procedure had been followed, forms stamped and papers filed. Just her signature was now needed.

Katherine Sanderson.

He contemplated the file, slowly fingering the edges of the paper as he sat down, almost as if winded. It took nearly two months, he calculated, but here they now were, ready. It was just a matter of informing her.

After his musings late on the night they met, he had more or less succeeded in not thinking of Katherine Sanderson. More or less.

As soon as he did he reminded himself of the grief he saw on her face, and then of the love that no doubt fuelled that grief. A love between a man and a woman, husband and wife.

But now, holding the papers loosely in his hand as it rested on deep mahogany, he found himself wanting so very much to see her again. Did part of him, he wondered, want to so desperately be that person who solved this problem for her? Why? Was that testament to something more, something deeper?

Unable to answer his mind’s insistent questioning, he reached for her folder. He needed her phone number. He opened it, as he’d done more than a couple of times. He’d given in a while ago, or explained it away. But he had opened it. And learned a little about Katherine Sanderson.

She was a young bride, he remembered, as the crude facts of her life came back to him. Very, very young. She was barely twenty-one when she married. And a widow at twenty-five. Her maiden name was McGregor; her file always noted her as McGregor-Sanderson. She was a writer and held a journalism degree from Columbia by the time she was twenty-three. Theirs was a joint policy, which means she noted beneficiaries should she die; she had two sisters and a brother. She was the youngest. Peter and Katherine Sanderson didn’t have children.

A chapter in her life, complete, enclosed, yet it told him nothing of her, the woman she is.

Were they childhood sweethearts, is that why she married so young? Or did they meet at college? He wondered why she didn’t have children, and decided that it was surely because they were so young, thinking they had their lives ahead of them. Did she now regret not having his baby? Did that cause her pain? What was she like with her family, her brother and sisters? And her mom and dad? Did she still have her parents?

What did she like? She must like books he thought, enjoying words and wit. Or was that too obvious? Did she dislike when everyone here called her Mrs. Sanderson, or did she prefer it now she was his widow? But most important to him, he realised as these thoughts swirled, happy at last to garner his attention after a long enforced dormancy, was whether she was ready to open her heart up to another? And if she did, was there any possible chance for him?

As his thoughts flowed, no longer bridled by his own restraint, he realised that he was enamoured. He paused. Could he be, after one day in her presence? Is that not the stuff of foolish romance, something so far from what he was, a man too old to get caught up in such whimsy?

What use was there in fighting his every instinct, he decided right then.

Katherine Sanderson captivated him, and he simply no longer cared whether this was right or wrong. For seven weeks he had tried to put her from his mind, but failed. What was it about this woman that touched him so? Yes she was beautiful, attractive and everything wonderful for a man to look at. But there had been more beautiful, more sexy, more beguiling.

This was different.

As he noted on that first day, there was so much more to Katherine Sanderson. And still he didn’t know what that was. What he did know was he wanted to find out.

Scribbling her number down he placed his hand on the receiver, ready to dial. Suddenly nervous, he stopped. Then, slowly he pressed the appropriate buttons, and waited.

“Katherine, hello.” Her voice just as he remembered. He smiled and was immediately thankful she couldn’t see this.

“Hi. Good Day, Mrs. Sanderson. This is David Burrows from Unsworth. How are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you. Mr. Burrows. And you?”

“Very good, thank you. David, please”

She said nothing in return, waiting for him to continue. He did.

“I’m pleased to tell you that the document has been delivered and now just needs your signature. I’m calling to find out if you’re available. To come in. We can finalise this matter then.”

“Oh, of course” she sounded confused, “I would go to Claims, correct?” He hesitated. She had understood fully the proper procedure. There was no reason for him to still be handling this matter.

“No, you would see me.” He felt suddenly lousy, acutely aware of what he was doing.

“Oh. Is there a further…?”

“Problem? No, none whatsoever.” He paused again. “I just want to ensure that nothing goes wrong this time” not a complete lie, but not the truth either. I want to see you. “I can happily meet you at your offices, or anywhere that’s convenient for you…”

“No, that’s not necessary, Mr. Burrows, umm, David.” She said his name. He’d asked her to, yet it pleasantly surprised him.“When would you like to do this?”

They made a time, exchanged thanks and goodbyes, and hung up.

Four days later Katherine was again seated in reception at Unsworth & Emerson. Early as usual for appointments, she stared ahead at nothing in particular while she waited. This day had arrived at last. Tomorrow the capital value would be paid out to Gaby and Alex Sanderson which means she’d visit them tonight to tell them. Should’ve told them earlier, she heard her conscience berate. But she knew why she didn’t; less time for them to fight her decision, and if they received the sum the next day they’d realise, she hoped, how much she wanted this. They’d understand, she thought, more in an attempt to convince herself than being entirely sure.

She had a faraway look in her eyes when David spotted her. He wasn’t prepared, though, for the somersault he felt in his chest as he did. Brushing it aside, he noticed the time. She was early.

“Mrs. Sanderson, hello.”

Her thoughts were far away, taking a beat to notice him standing there, his voice registering some seconds after he spoke.

“I’m sorry, umm. Hello”

She collected herself and stood to greet him. Her hand resting in his for that brief few seconds seemed perfect to David, very glad simply, to see her again.

“Shall we?” He gestured in the general direction of his office.

“I am early. If you have something else to see to I can wait.”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m more than happy to meet with you now.” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.

“All right then.”

Walking down the hallway they exchanged small talk and quickly reached his office. Gesturing her to one of two chairs by his desk, he gently pulled her documents across it and placed it before her. Indicating where she should sign, he took a seat in the chair beside her, ready to take her through the papers. She took the pen he offered brushing his hand as she did so. It was the slightest of strokes, yet David’s skin crackled at her touch.

She signed in all the appropriate places, David happy for the brief moments this took her attention, leaving him free to simply look at her. Her dark hair fell over her face as she bent forward slightly, signing and initialing page after page. He longed to brush away the silken chestnut, aching to see her, to continue his study of smooth, pale skin and big brown eyes, and pink lips he was sure were tender but now longed to taste. Sitting so close by, he couldn’t help but breathe her in, a heady scent of rose and apple igniting his brain.

“Is that it?” she asked as she reached the last page, an expectant smile playing on her lips.

“Yes.” He wanted to lie, procrastinate, do anything to prolong her presence.

She seemed immediately lifted, happy to have this sorted out. She was.

“Thank you David, for all you’ve done. I imagine that this isn’t normally part of your job. I am thankful for that, and appreciate that someone took this up or else I’d still be here, no doubt, filling in forms and signing them.”

“I am glad to've helped.” Don’t let her go.

Grabbing her bag she said goodbye and headed for the door. As David’s pulse quickened he was sure he could hear the pounding in his chest, his body seeming to know before his mind what he was about to do. She was reaching for the knob.

“Katherine….” He felt strange, as if he had no right to use her name. But he very well couldn’t do what he what he was about to using her dead husband’s. That, he was certain of, be it the only thing that made sense right now.

She looked back, puzzled.

“Yes?” She looked at him, waiting.

His face was taut with tension, betrayed only by the slight quiver around his mouth.

“There’s something I….” He trailed off, not finding the right words, not finding any words. He looked down, touching his knuckles on the gleaming surface of his desk. A slight laugh, more nervous tension than anything else, escaped his mouth.

“No, wait” she said, a disbelieving smile appearing. “There’s one more thing, right?” Her mild surprise now wiped away, her face almost expressionless, expecting the worst.

“No.”

She really had no inkling, he thought. No idea how she affected him. Of course not, there was nothing for her to think that he could want more from her. And why would she? This was a transaction, a process, something an officer in an insurance company had to sort out for her, a client. Routine. Business.

“I don’t understa—“ she started, filling the silence.

“Have dinner with me?” he didn’t let her finish.

She blinked. And did so again. He saw the surprise on her face, her brow furrowed; she could do nothing to hide it. He felt stupid now that he’d said it. Now that it hung there, making the distance between them seem a gaping void.

His request caught Katherine completely off-guard. He was asking her to dinner? Why? This made no sense at all. What possible reason could he have?…unless. At this, a wild thought sprung and she grabbed onto it, the only one seeming to carry any logic right now.

“If your company is concerned about any legal claims or suits” she started softly, “I can assure you David, that that is not the case. I really have no interest in that, and while I can agree when people say I should’ve complained about my treatment here, there is no reason for you and the company to treat me with kid gloves in this…..”

She saw immediately the shock on his face, preventing her from finishing. She didn’t notice how disheartened he was as he hid it by averting her gaze.

“You have this completely wrong, Katherine” he said gently and softly, unable to rid his voice fully of the disappointment he felt.

Was he so far off her radar, so old to her eyes, that the thought of him asking for her company sent her onto wild theories? And when you were a young man, how many older women made a blip, he asked himself, scoffing at his self-pity. This was a long shot, after all. He wanted to set the record straight, however.

“I wanted to…I thought that…we could have dinner someplace…somewhere quiet, where I could talk to you, find out about you…” He looked at her the entire time, the blue of his stare unapologetic but nevertheless wounded. He stopped, already feeling he’d said too much.

Katherine was perplexed. This was more than left-field. It wasn’t even in the park.

Looking at him she wondered if she should’ve picked up on something earlier. She was never good at that; someone would have to hit her over the head with such things. Which is clearly what happened here, she thought, and would’ve laughed at herself in any other situation. Besides, there was nothing to suggest in today's or their last meeting that David Burrows would want a date, which is why she thought of another reason, ridiculous as it may now seem, in the first place.

Why would David Burrows want to take her to dinner? She couldn’t understand and made ready to decline, thinking of something she’d offer in excuse, already feeling callous and stupid for blurting out her theory about lawsuits, clients and kid gloves.
She stood by his door, wanting desperately to go but also to find the right words before she did.

“I think that….at some point you’re going to have to leave, if only to put me out of my misery” David jokingly interrupted her thoughts though it wasn’t far from what he was feeling right then.

She looked at him again.

“I am sorry…” She bit her lip as if preventing herself from saying anything more, her mind still trying to make sense of David Burrows.

How old is he exactly, she wondered? Did he always date younger women? Or, how old exactly did he think her, her cynical side never far away.

“How old are you, David?” Katherine groaned inside, stupefied that her thought was voiced.

Her tone was soft, and he detected no mocking. He was grateful, if embarrassed and amazed at her courage to call out the elephant in the room.

“Far too old for you, I know” he started, resignation hinted. “I’m forty-eight.”
It came out quietly; fully expectant of her polite but reasonable rejection; she doesn’t date older men, especially not men who were almost fifty!

“And you’re not married?”

“No, never been.”

Katherine couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were as blue as ever as he looked intently at her, his mouth slightly open.

“I know this is ludicrous to you, and I know-" he started to pre-empt, but didn’t get very far.

“What quiet places do you know in New York, because, I’ve lived here my whole life and wherever you go, the buzz of the city never goes away?” she asked, interrupting him.

In those few moments, Katherine realised why she asked those questions of him.

Since Peter, she hadn’t really been on many dates. Actually, she hadn’t dated at all. She didn’t want to, not prepared for the messiness, even if it goes nowhere, the insecurities of men and women always at the forefront in those situations. She knew why; she could offer nothing. She was too numbed, too distant, still in too much pain. She knew she’d have to get over it.

Someday.

But what about David Burrows, right now? An older man, perhaps wary of commitment, wanting no strings…would it be so bad? After all, he’s never married. Surely he’d want the same from her. Expecting nothing.

Unsure of what she meant, he could do nothing but continue to stare at her. Was there flirtation in her question? Could it be? He found no answer, and so, said nothing.

Her mind made up, Katherine smiled generously and he had his answer. It was the first time he’d seen her smile like that.

Not a polite smile, not a smile in greeting, just her smiling at him and looking more beautiful than ever. The bright light of a star, drawing him in. He smiled in return, and he had his date. A week from Saturday. Could he bear to wait that long he wondered, and decided yes, he could wait forever for Katherine Sanderson.