"Who is it?"
Shaken out of her haze, Lois turns her head, and takes in the woman sitting next to her on the other side of the bench. She hadn't even noticed her until now.
"Excuse me?" and she's a little surprised at the hoarseness in her voice. Then again, she hasn't used it much, these days.
The lady gives her a gentle smile. A nice one, she decides.
"Experience has taught me to recognize those who grieve."
Her chest tightens at that, that painful way it's been doing non-stop for the past two weeks, that way that feels like it will never stop. There's no growing accustomed to that, apparently.
She tries a smile, but she knows it's probably not very convincing.
"It's fine: you can just say I look like shit," and her companion chuckles. Her hair's tied in a ponytail, her duffle coat hangs a little on her lightened body and her thick scarf tries to protect her pale cheeks (way to pale, he would say) from the biting cold.
Not that all of that it's of much use, anyway, because somehow, it seems like the cold is permanently set in her bones no matter what, now.
A leaf falls on her lotus position crossed legs. She takes it, passes it through her fingers. Leaning back on her seat, Lois' bench mate turns her head again, and they both turn their gaze back towards the almost frozen lake.
"I lost my husband," she says at one point. Her voice is quiet in the morning air, posed. "Years ago now, of course. But I still like to come sit here, from time to time."
Lois turns to look at her just in time to catch a soft smile forming on her lips. "It was his favorite spot." When their eyes meet again, she smiles as well.
"He had nice taste. It's beautiful, here."
"Yeah. Peaceful, too."
And it is. It's beautiful, and calm, and peaceful. Maybe that's why she chose that place: after losing of all those things so suddenly, maybe she subsconciously yearns for it elsewhere. She feels herself playing with her ring again.
His last surprise.
They're quiet for a while. People come and go, children, parents. Some are laughing, some are quietly arguing. Her thoughts go back to the only place they go now, to the only thing that was really important, the only one who will ever be. She wipes the tears from her cold cheeks.
"It's my boyfriend. Fiancé, I guess – I don't really know if I get to call him that." Her voice is steady. She feels the woman's eyes briefly fly to her before they settle back on the water and trees before them.
"And why is that?"
"He didn't really ask." Didn't have the time to. "His mother gave me the ring the day of the funeral, but – yeah."
"Well, I think you do get to call him that – without a single doubt. And he had very nice taste as well. It's beautiful."
"Thanks," she mumbles, and smiles as she allows herself to look at it again, the diamand burried in her palm. It is beautiful. Martha told her that he felt embarassed he couldn't get her something more fancy, but it's perfect. She wishes she could have tell him that.
She wishes a lot of things.
Looking up again, she shakes her head. "I don't even know what I'm doing here," she admits, her chuckle dry. "We never came here before. It doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to."
There's a small pause. This time, she doesn't bother to wipe the tears away.
"It's like nothing makes sense anymore."
She doesn't turn to her, doesn't even look at her. "I know." The gentle stroke of her wrinckled hand on Lois' fingers only lasts a few seconds.
"I'm sorry for you loss, dear."