Free Once a Widow by Lee Roberts Page A

near Harbor City and was therefore aware of the biological processes of birth, although at the age of forty-five she was still somewhat puzzled at certain aspects, particularly the initial maneuvers which eventually produced the calf, chicken, colt, kitten or human baby.
    Even so, Coral Thatcher had kissed a man once, less than two years before, after a church supper. It was the first and only time such a thing had happened, and even then she had not really kissed the man—he had kissed her. He had been drinking (a filthy habit, indicating weakness of the flesh, her mother always said) and after he’d kissed her he’d touched her with his hands and had attempted to escort her from the rectory lawn to a tall hedge bordering the church cemetery. But her screams (why had she screamed?) had alarmed the people attending the potluck in the church basement and they had rushed out to the lawn. The man had said reproachfully, “Why did you do that? I wouldn’t hurt you.” And then he had fled.
    As the church members gathered around her, Coral pretended to be slightly hysterical. She knew the man, but pretended that she did not. She was ashamed and at the same time happy, glad that she had stepped outside to be alone, to smell the dogwood and look at the moon. She had recognized the man as he approached from the street, a nice black-browed young man (not so young, really—maybe thirty-nine or forty) who worked as a meat cutter in the Erie Market, a bachelor named Arthur Standish. He had always been especially nice to her when she went to the market to buy four pork chops or a pound of hamburger for supper. She had even dreamed about him, but had been ashamed of the dreams and had never related them to anyone. His sudden appearance in the moonlight on the rectory lawn had surprised her. And she knew he had been drinking; she could smell it when he was five feet away, but she did not know that he was drunk.
    “Hi, Coral—thought I recognized you.” His voice was slightly slurred, but somehow she had not minded and was even pleased with his use of her first name. In the market it had always been “Miss Thatcher.” He loomed before her, smiling. “Out here all alone? Listen, Coral, I—I like you.” He touched her shoulder.
    Coral stiffened, but did not move away. He was the first and only man who had ever said he liked her. The touch of his hand was like fire on her shoulder, burning through the thin summer dress. She had never been popular, not even with the girls in high school who knew that she would never be any competition to them. She was too withdrawn most of the time, too tart when her mood would change, too superior-acting, even though she did not feel superior at all. Usually she felt inferior and sorry for herself. And she was not pretty; her nose was too long and sharp, her hazel-tinted eyes too small and close together, her mouth too tight and thin. This was unfortunate, because her body was marvelous, a young woman’s body still, tall, long-legged, with full breasts and gently curving hips below a slim waist. But Coral did not appreciate her body; she hated it sometimes and hid her curves with drab severe clothing.
    The meat cutter leaned closer, swaying a little. In addition to the liquor fumes Coral smelled an exciting blend of after-shaving lotion and tobacco. She shivered a little, keenly aware of his hand on her shoulder. He said, “I see you in the store all the time, always liked you. Wanted to ask for a date, but never had the—the nerve. Would you kiss me, Coral?” Clumsily but gently he pulled her to him.
    Coral had been startled and confused. She had let him kiss her and the warm pressure of his lips had strangely excited her. Her heart pounded and she had not minded the odor of whisky. He pressed her body against his and the potluck supper had seemed far away, fading to nothing in the May moonlight. His hands went over her, caressing her back and the soft curve above her hips, and then she felt