Chapter 3 Table for Four

I was the first one to the restaurant.

“The lunch crowd is usually busy, but we reserved the table for your party in the back.”

The hostess prattled on, her voice reaching my ears in waves of clarity dependent on the turn of her head, as we wove between tight table groupings and through doorways into smaller and smaller dining rooms until we reached a room with one table in the center.

“Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“Water only, please.”

Left alone in the tiny dining room, I wondered again why I agreed to meet them. How long had it been? Two years? Three years? I caught myself, feeling foolish for pretending to myself I didn’t know exactly how long it had been.

Three years next May. May 29th to be exact.

I changed seats so that I would face the opening to the room. On the same wall of the door was a painting. Or was it a print of a painting? No, the artist was heavy handed with the blues and greens of the sky and the yellows and browns of the tall grass.

Even though I don’t wear a watch, I still pulled the sleeve over my wrist to check the time. I knew I was early. But the table was ready for the party. Realization dawned on me. He knew I would be early. Jack knew. A small smile grew on my face at my own predictability and his foresight to reserve the room for earlier than the announced time.

The familiar voice of the hostess floated into the room. I stood as she led the other three into the room.

Table for four.