Page 9 of Just Ten Seconds

“Three,” I correct and continue to form a knot.

She’s giving me the very Jackie-like puppy-dog face. Scrunching my eyes closed, I try to muster up the desire she wants me to have. Meeting someone else, falling in love with another man … I just can’t.

“Appreciating a good-looking man is one thing. Moving on … it’s not so simple,” I explain.

“I’m not saying, get married again, but you can go on a date. You’re so young. You have your entire life ahead of you.”

My entire life seems so long ago, considering it was already planned out. Benjamin was my life. And then it was destroyed in one selfish act.

As I walk back toward the tables, I glance at the television. The soap opera that was playing earlier is long over, but my mind wanders back to the opening credits and the sand trickling through the hourglass.

So much can happen in an hour.

In a minute.

Even a second.

A few miles from the café is a charming Victorian I call home. Not the whole house. I merely occupy the side-entrance apartment.

It’s a long way from the Park Avenue condo I shared with my husband. The one with a doorman, three bedrooms, gourmet kitchen, parquet floor, and walk-in closet. Benjamin loved that house. I would have been happy in a cardboard box as long as he was there with me.

Instead of a doorman, tonight, I’m greeted by Rita Bonaparte, an equally friendly older woman who is my landlady.

“Faccia bella,” she calls in her thick Italian accent. It’s a kind endearment that means “beautiful face.”

She’s sweeping the walkway in front of our house. I try to take the broom from her, but she swats my hand away.

“You work all day. This is my job,” she says, brushing the few leaves that fell from the trees onto her front walk into the street.

For a woman approaching seventy, she does all her own cooking and cleaning. Ironic since just three years ago, I was a twenty-six-year-old with a maid. Against my insistence that we didn’t need one, I might add.

In my hand is a shopping bag from the Italian delicacy store in town. “I bought you a few treats for lunch tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

I grin. “I enjoy treating you. They had the cherry tomatoes you like, and I had them slice the fresh mozzarella.”

She gives me a small pat on the cheek. “You’re a good girl.”

I roll my eyes and hand her the bag.

She takes it and motions in the air for me to come inside. “Go change. I made lasagna.”

After the talk I had with Jackie, I’m not up for company tonight, and I don’t want to tell her I have a Lean Cuisine waiting for me in my apartment.

“I already ate.” It’s only a half-lie. I did eat. Breakfast.

“Then, you come in for a cuppa coffee.”

“It’s okay. I just—”

“You change and come up!”

I might have a full foot on the woman, but she’s feisty as hell and relentless. Plus, she’s been good to me since I moved in.

I lower my head and smile. I can only hope I have half her moxie when I’m her age. “I’ll change and be right up.”

I grab the mail out of my mailbox, let myself in the side door, and walk into my one-bedroom abode. It’s not much, but it’s secure, and thanks to Rita’s cooking, it always smells like Italy.