Read The Widow's Season for Free Online Page B

and pants to the left; shoes were neatly stacked on shelves. “Have you been through these yourself?”
    Yes, she had set aside the items that were sacred: two oxford shirts that still smelled of David—she had slept with them in the early days of his absence; a favorite sweater she had bought for his birthday; a leather jacket from college; the tux he had worn for their wedding; a cashmere coat from a trip to China—he had been so proud of the bargain.
    “Take anything you want. Whatever’s left will go to Goodwill.”
    She left him standing in the closet under a skylight while she walked to the dresser and opened the second drawer. From beneath David’s socks and underwear she removed a cedar box, lay it on the bed, and opened the lid. Here was David’s small collection of jewelry, filled with items more sentimental than valuable: the pair of silver cuff links she had given him for Christmas, his ring from Williams. She put it on her index finger and held her hand away from her face. Through her spreading fingers she glimpsed Nate in the closet, pulling off his shirt, his muscles rippling like piano keys.
    She turned back to the jewelry. She would keep David’s Phi Beta Kappa key and the silver dollars he had collected as a child. Nate could have all of the extra tie clips, cuff links, and the gold pocketwatch that had belonged to their father. Beneath the watch she found a scrap of red silk, and unfolded a small treasure. Turning toward the closet again, she held out a gold ring and was about to speak when her breath caught in her throat.
    David was standing there, smiling at her. He looked as he had ten years ago, gray hairs returned to black, dressed in the dark sport jacket and light blue shirt that he always chose for special dinners. As he stepped toward her, reaching for the ring, their eyes met, and suddenly his face was swimming, changing into Nate’s, standing there in her husband’s clothes. Nate’s fingers touched hers as he took the gold band.
    “Dad’s wedding ring,” he said. “I’m glad David took care of it.”
    He slipped the ring onto his empty wedding finger, then held up his hand for Sarah to see. “The shape of things to come?”
    Her heart was still pounding. “The clothes fit you well.”
    “I think I can wear some of the shirts and coats. I don’t like sweaters much, but maybe this one.” Nate pulled out a dark blue woolen sweater, handmade in Scotland. Excellent choice. She could see his expert eyes assessing David’s wardrobe, settling on all that was best, and determining that most of it was not worth keeping.
    “There are some ties you should look at.” Sarah rose from the bed and walked into the closet, her left shoulder brushing against Nate’s chest. “A few of these also belonged to your father.” She pulled down a brass tie rack.
    “Yes.” He laughed. “The fat ones.” But again he was fingering fabrics, reading tags, assessing value.
    She had to escape this air of acquisition. “I’m going to get a box.”
    Downstairs in the basement Sarah settled onto the sofa and closed her eyes, struck by how Nate had looked like a beautiful young David. Again he leaned toward her, reaching for the ring with those immaculate fingernails. When she opened her eyes, she was confronted with all the leftover furniture that could accumulate in seventeen years of marriage. A pullout couch, a minifridge, old lamps and end tables, a TV with a twelve-inch screen. In the corner by the window, a large white bookshelf was stocked with paints, pencils, chalk, a portfolio of drawings and watercolors, and strips of wood that David used to hammer into frames. An easel leaned against the wall, and to its left, a long bin overflowed with oil paintings.
    Sarah walked over and began fingering through the portfolio. In college David had experimented with charcoal drawings of nude women—sleeping, bathing, stretching. She had never known the models, never asked for their names; they were