Lewis tried a new approach.
"Well, maybe you could give us some guidance on this, Doctor. I'm sure you've been . . . ah . . . romantically involved more than once. What's it like for people . . . well, not that you're my age, but you have to admit we're both certainly past prime for dating." He felt a bit mean, putting her on the spot like that, but he couldn't see any other way around her steady refusal to take the bait and discuss James.
She took a tone of mock offense. "I'm not sure I consider myself quite that far gone." Then, after a bit of silence, more gently, "It's really not so difficult, you know. Most people just want the same thing: a kind word, a gentle touch, a little company. It's not good to be alone so much."
"Are you alone much, Laura?"
"Mmm. A bit more than I'd like. You?"
"S'pose so." More silence. "The thing is, I don't want to start all over with a brand-new relationship. I don't really want that . . . thrill, I guess, that there is with new love. What I miss is the comfort of someone who knows how I'm feeling, what I need, just by the way I breathe, you know? Someone I can have a whole conversation with, just with me eyes."
She looked thoughtful, but didn't answer. He again found himself needing to fill the silence.
"It's like shoes – you can't buy shoes that are already broken in to your own feet, but that's what I want. Nah, I'm pretty much resigned to doing without from now on. I know it's daft. Not much chance I'd ever find another woman who could give me that feeling of being a perfect fit, right from the gate."
Why was he talking so much? It was that old interview trick, say nothing and eventually the other person will say anything to break the silence. How come she was so bloody good at it?
Laura poured the last drops of wine into his glass – when did they drink the whole thing? He'd never be able to drive home in this state. He silently cursed himself for letting this get totally out of control.
Then, unexpectedly, Laura stood up, crossed over to his chair, and held out both her hands. Just as unexpectedly, he found himself taking them and she pulled him to his feet. For the first time, he heard the slow two-step playing on the stereo. It was just the kind of thing he and Val would dance to quietly after the kids had gone to bed. But he was wary of touching those painful memories, and sighed heavily with the effort of mentally trying to veer away. Laura said nothing, but he realized she was looking deeply, seriously, into his eyes, all laughter gone. In her gaze was reassurance that the pain wouldn't be as bad as he expected, if he would just trust her to soothe it. He wanted to trust her that much, very badly. Then she smiled slightly and he couldn't help but smile back. He was relaxing, breathing steadily. She reached her arms up to his shoulders and he enfolded her waist with his hands, holding her body close, listening for the pulse of the music. He closed his eyes, noticing that he was still in the present, instead of imagining it was Val's head on his chest. It felt so good. This was exactly what he needed.
No surprise, really. Laura was good at reading people that way. And she knew what he had been through in the past several years. He remembered that night at the Bird and Baby, when he finally had won his promotion to Inspector. It began as a happy celebration, with much toasting and back-slapping. But after his glass had been refilled a few times, Lewis fell to reminiscing about Morse and his spirits sagged. He was certain he would never live up to filling the great man's shoes. It was Laura who finally pried the glass out of his hand, took away his keys, and delivered him—crying, stumbling, and reeking of sick—to Val's anxious care.
And, much too soon after that, it was Laura who regularly came 'round the house after Val was killed and he no longer cared to function. She would bring groceries, or fix a meal, or do the washing, or just sit with him. Eventually, he was compelled to take care of himself, in part because he was embarrassed to have her doing so much for him. Caregiving was not her natural habit, and he recognized it must have taken supreme effort on her part to be so domestic on his behalf. And when he returned from the Caribbean a few years later, her sass was a welcome landmark in a place where it seemed everything else had changed.
He looked down at her hair as they swayed to the music, conscious that she was probably the best friend he had. She turned her head to look at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in an impish smile. She looked as if she might kiss him.
And then he realized with a visceral jolt that he very much hoped she would.