Therese was returning to their table when she noticed Richard surrounded by three people. She recognized Phil and Dannie, but the third one was a stranger.
"Terry, I'm so sorry, but I have to go" Richard said as soon as he saw her coming from the bathroom. His voice carried an excited urgency. "It's an opportunity I can't miss. They're looking for someone to teach painting at that school near Phil's house. We're all applying. If I get it, we won't have to worry about money for the trip." He stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor.
"Okay" Therese replied, her voice flat.
"I'll make it up to you later, I promise" Richard added, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek before rushing off with his friends, their laughter trailing behind him.
Therese sank into her seat, staring at the half-finished dinner before her. One evening they could have spent together, and he'd left her alone. She knew she should be upset—and she was—but beneath that was calmness, maybe even a flicker of relief. She ordered tea and gazed out the window.
Eating alone was nothing new to her. Well, not entirely alone. In the Catholic orphanage where she'd spent part of her childhood, meals were shared at a single long table, but no one spoke. They ate in silence, each child isolated in their own small world.
The memories resurfaced unbidden: cold rooms, even colder eyes of the nuns, and the day her mother left. She could still see the black car pulling away through the tall iron gates, its tires leaving ripples in a puddle on the drive. The image should have made her sad, but all she felt was an expanding void, her emotions drifting further away like leaves in water of the puddle after the black car went through it.
She sipped her tea, her eyes scanning the room for the waiter, she wanted to pay the bill and leave. But as she turned her head, she froze.
Gray eyes met hers, direct and unwavering. The grey eyes were colorless, yet filled with light that seemed to pull her in. She couldn't look away.
The eyes grew larger, closer, as their owner approached. A tall, graceful woman stopped before her, her presence quiet but commanding.
"May I?" the woman asked, nodding toward the chair opposite Therese.
"Yes," said Therese quietly, though everything in her was screaming. The void inside her was beginning to fill with the presence of this beautiful woman. Those eyes. Therese couldn't quite face them, nor could she look away.
The perfume—she recognized it. It was the same one from the restroom. A dizzying mix of familiarity and newness washed over her.
"I'm sorry to bother you," the blonde woman said, her voice smooth, deliberate. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here alone, lost in thoughts, I suppose?"
Therese didn't answer immediately, still caught in awe. But the woman's words anchored her, drawing her back to the moment. Embarrassment flickered across Therese's face—how pitiful she must have looked for this stranger to feel compelled to approach her.
"Excuse me," the woman continued, her tone softening, "I shouldn't have assumed you'd want company."
"It's fine. Please, sit," Therese said, the eagerness in her voice surprising even herself. "I'm sorry, I was… thinking too much and got lost in my own head," she added, her words trailing off nervously.
"Oh, don't apologize. I'm the one intruding," the woman replied, brushing back a loose strand of blonde hair that had fallen over her thin eyebrows.
For a moment, silence settled between them. Therese could feel the faint sweetness of the woman's perfume drifting toward her again, a dusky scent that seemed to pull her closer.
"Your perfume… it's nice," Therese ventured at last.
"Thank you," the woman said, smiling faintly. "Harge bought it for me years ago, before we were married. I've been wearing it ever since."
"Harge is your husband?"
"Yes. Well, technically, we're divorcing."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." The woman smiled again, a flicker of warmth crossing her face.
"We've been talking for some time, and I don't even know your name."
"It's Therese. Therese Belivet."
"Therese," the woman repeated slowly, her voice caressing the syllables. From her lips, it sounded French, elegant. Therese had heard her name pronounced a hundred ways before, but this was different. Watching the woman's lips form her name sent a surge of longing through her—an absurd, embarrassing desire she shoved aside.
"What's your name?" Therese asked.
"Carol," the woman said simply. The name echoed in Therese's mind, reverberating with a strange power that made her shiver.
"Can I ask you something?" Carol's tone had dropped, becoming softer, more intimate.
"Yes."
"Are you alright? What were you thinking about?"
Therese didn't know how it happened, but she found herself telling Carol everything. About Richard. About how he treated her. About how she felt—or didn't feel—for him. Carol listened quietly, without interruption or judgment.
By the time they finished, Therese felt lighter, as if emotions she had pushed far into the distance were finally drawing closer but still not quite there yet.
When the bill was paid, they stood to leave.
"Thank you for the talk," Carol said, her eyes warmer than before. "Could I—may I have your phone number?" She asked and for the first time Therese saw nervousness in her eyes.
"Of course."
--
Outside, the cold air met Therese's cheeks, and as she walked away, she felt a single drop of icy water land on her skin. It slid down her cheek, cold and sharp, dripping from the rooftop above. How strange, she thought.