Nicolle fumbled for her keys. The tears that blurred her husband’s funeral still glittered blindingly in her eyes. Nicolle felt jagged metal against her fingers, pulled and then the keys slipped from her gasp. They skittered across the blacktop. She swore in a raw voice and knelt.
There were black shoes beside her, polished to a mirror shine. Nicolle jumped and straightened. The newcomer was tall and handsome, with hair as dark and shiny and stylish as his shoes. He smiled sadly at her.
“Need a hand?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he fished under the car and held out the keys. “Here. If mourners can’t stick together, who can?”
She sniffed and took the keys. “Too many funerals today. I just lost my husband.”
“I’m sorry. I lost my lover, too. He was a good man.”
Nicolle sobbed, then sighed. “So was my husband, really. I… I think he was having an affair, but it doesn’t seem to matter today.”
The man with the shiny shoes brought his dark eyes up to Nicolle’s. “I understand you. My lover was married. I asked him to leave her, but he never would.”
“I still miss him.”
“So do I.”