She hadn’t realized that he’d experienced the loss of his spouse. Those depths of grief, she understood. The crawl of time. The year after Graham’s death seemed to last forever.
No wonder Professor Farrow’s students didn’t know if he was attending the literary panel. He probably had days when the world seemed to flip upside down, and he couldn’t quite find his way to the top.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” she said even though she’d long tired of that sentiment. He’d probably tired of it as well.
His eyes found her face again. “Thank you.”
“How long were you married?”
“Four years.”
Losing one in the early years of marriage did nothing to diminish the pain. If anything, it made it worse. Their lifetime together had been cut devastatingly short.
Olivia cupped her hands over the menu’s leather cover, searching for better words to console this man. Three years had passed since she’d kissed Graham’s cheek and whispered that it was time for his Savior to welcome him home. After the fullness of two decades together, she’d wanted totravel the path after him but the journey into the waiting life was one they all had to travel alone.
Alone.She still couldn’t imagine living the rest of her decades, if God gave her that many years, without him. She missed talking story, partnering together at church, the steady love between them at home. Even when their hearts broke, after they lost their sweet Annabelle, they held each other close.
Safe—that’s how she’d felt with Graham. Even in sorrow, they’d never wavered in their care for one another. He always supported her endeavors. Loved her as she had loved him.
The man in front of her must also miss his wife terribly. “Professor Farrow—”
“Simon, please. The professor bit makes me sound like my father.”
“It’s a title you should wear proudly.”
“Oh, I do.” With his smile, light returned to his eyes. “Perhaps a little too proudly.”
How refreshing to hear his honesty. And the change in conversation was welcome to keep her from derailing a pleasant dinner with memories of Graham. “It’s quite an accomplishment to teach at an institution like Winfield.”
“Still,professoris not a label that I prefer to have with friends.”
Could she and Professor Farrow—Simon—really become friends? It was fascinating, a girlish notion really, that he thought more of her than his many other colleagues, but still, her heart skipped a beat.
The waiter interrupted their conversation to inquire about their meal. Olivia ordered quiche Lorraine while Simon chose the beef bourguignon with potatoes and mushrooms.
“Would you like a glass of Bordeaux?” the waiter asked, and Simon glanced at Olivia.
“Just water for me, please,” she said, waiting for him to scoff at her teetotalism, but it didn’t seem to rattle him.
“I would like an iced tea.”
She was relieved that she didn’t have to defend her abstinence.
“Were you angry at God when your husband died?” he asked.
The question startled her at first, so personal in nature, but then she pondered his words. He wasn’t a church member or relative whom she had to feign what had dampened her heart and mind. Instead of pretending, she decided to be honest. “I was all jumbled up for months. Hurt, confused, angry.”
“The full range of emotion.”
“Except joy,” she said. “And in those first days, I didn’t feel much of anything. I was like a hollowed-out log, rootless while trying to stand tall. Then came the hurt and frustration.”
“I’m still trying to reconcile why God took Ruthie so early in life.”
“You’re angry as well...”
“Some days,” he concurred. “I guess I’m still sorting it out.”
Someone lit a cigarette to her right, and she scooted her chair as if she could block the smoke from their table. “Do you have children?”
