A Single Step

by J. E. Dyer

Angie sat across the restaurant table from him wringing her hands in her lap. She caressed the naked ring finger on her left hand. Could she go through with this? Should she? She glanced to her finger, then into his (Carl? Charles?) alluring stare.

He sipped his soda. “Everything all right?”

“Fine…”

“Carlton.”

Embarrassing warmth invaded Angie’s face. She prayed her blush concealed it. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

Carlton straightened his bundle of silverware and napkin for the seventh time in the last five minutes. “Me, too.”

“It was my daughter’s idea.” She pointed to the tabletop. “This date. The app membership. A Mother’s Day present, allegedly.”

A server stopped beside Angie. The tag affixed to her suspenders read, Trish. “Y’all decided?”

Angie looked to Carlton who, in turn, raised an eyebrow. “I suppose.” She put in her dinner order and handed over her menu. It didn’t matter. She was making a fool of herself---again. Leaving the situation immediately mattered more.

After Carlton placed his order, Trish thanked them and said their dinners shouldn’t take long. Angie pulled her phone from her hip pocket. The notion of faking an emergency crossed her mind.

“Still good?” His tone was comforting and sincere.

She pocketed her phone. “I’m going to go freshen up.”

He smiled. “I’ll be here.”

Angie hustled into the restroom and stared down her reflection. A panicked woman of fifty-three glared back at her. Strands of black fell from her banana clip framing a sallow face and hazel eyes. A wave of cold sweat beaded. This was too much too fast. Their conversation would turn to their former spouses. Would she tell him the truth? Bring up all the suffering again?

She marched toward the entrance. The walls closed in on her. Her inhalations were shallow. She stumbled through a family of four entering and hurried outside. She found a seat on the wrought-iron bench and hunched over her knees. The breaths grew shallower. Black and yellow stars spun in her vision like water flowing down a drain.

“Am I that repulsive?” The bench beside her sank. It was Carlton.

Her voice was frail and uneven. “No.”

“Putting yourself out there again is tough.” He took her left hand between his. Their warmth, their gentleness soothed her. “It was for me, at least.” He patted her hand. “If you’re not ready---”

“Maybe…”

“Let me say this.” He inched closer to her. “My ex and I were together for thirty-seven years. I wake up one day, and she claims we don’t know one another anymore.” Carlton chuckled. “After nearly four decades, we knew each other so well we wound up complete strangers.” His breathing hitched. “We decided going our separate ways was best.” His palms grew sweaty. “I’m not perfect. That’s my point.”

She readied to leave. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sure you’re a genuinely nice guy.”

Darn him and his soothing touch. “We all have baggage, Angie.”

“I’m afraid.”

“That once you tell me yours, I won’t want to be seen with you?”

Her chest deflated. “Something like that, yeah.”

He met her gaze, then said, “Try me.”

She drew her hand away. “I lost Jerry, my husband, to Alzheimer’s.”

Carlton reached for her hand again. “I’m so sorry.”

Angie held her ground. “At first, things were manageable. Toward the end, though.” Tears stung her eyes. “I had to put him in a facility. Who does that?” She blotted her eyes on her knuckles. “I abandoned him.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what that was like,” he said. “Sounds like you did what you felt was best for your husband and yourself.” She let him drape an arm around her. “That doesn’t make you a horrible person.”

“But it does.” She searched the clouds for forgiveness. “I left him there to die.” Her sobs spilled out. “His mood swings. The outbursts and fights. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“I doubt Jerry saw it that way.” He rubbed her back. “He probably knew it was the disease, too.”

She leaned into his embrace. “I don’t abandon people.”

“Well…”

She laughed between sniffles. “Today is not indicative of the real me.”

He cupped her shoulder and held her closer, melting some of the hurt from her spirit. “What do ya say we go back in and try this again?”

Angie sat up, her mascara running in gothic trails down her cheeks. “I’m a wreck.”

“You’re authentic.” He wiped a line away on his thumb. “The worst is out of the way, and I’m still here.” Carlton stood and held a hand toward her. “What’s that saying about a journey of a thousand miles?”

She blotted her face and set her hand in his. “It begins with a single step.”

🩷🩷🩷

Joshua Dyer writes short stories and novels in various genres. Several of his works have earned national and international recognition in competitions and appeared in numerous publications. He is a full member of SFWA and RWA.