“Sylvia,” he said, his swollen throat unable to say more.
He saw the hot tears boil up in her eyes as, trembling, she held out her hand. He took it, held onto it.
“How… how… have you been… Tod?” she asked in a voice so low that it was almost inaudible.
He nodded his head several times rapidly, not trusting his voice, and seated her beside him. Then he said, uncertainly, “How have you been?”
She bit her lower lip and used the back of her hand to wipe away one tear that had begun running down her nose. “Do you want the horrible truth?” She gazed at him, the truth in her eyes… the truth, her own being, her hopes, her future, all mirrored in her eyes.
They were so engrossed in each other that neither noticed Tom Morse slip from the booth and make his way toward the exit. He stepped outside. The rain had stopped. Here and there the sun was breaking through the clouds. He took a deep breath then whistling jauntily, he crossed the street toward his offices. It was, he thought, turning out to be a fine day after all. A splendid day, one he was sure he would remember for all the rest of the days of his life.