Prairie Hamlet: River's Edge

Fiona wasn’t sure how he managed it, but ever since the Monday after Thanksgiving, she would exit her building and there Brian would be standing his legs crossed leaning against a two-seated barouche. And, when she left work each evening, there he’d be, standing or leaning against a lamppost waiting for her.

“My goodness, Brian, you’re spoiling me. I’ve not had to catch an omnibus in ages. I know people are beginning to talk.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No - yes! It’s just that I’d rather they talked about something, or someone, else, and left me alone.”

“Ahh, and what is it they’re saying? Does that bother you too?

“No, not really.” Fiona sat quietly for the next four or five blocks. As the brougham rounded the curve at State and Archer, “It’s embarrassing to me, Brian. It’s only a short time since I lost Jon and my boys…”

“Fiona, my love, I don’t mean to make light of your losses darling, but that was three years ago.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, perplexedly. “Anyway, Brian, I think maybe I need to be more respectful of their memories and not be cavorting about with you as I have been.”

“Cavorting? You call my picking you up and dropping you off cavorting? My dear, Fiona, if only you’d given me the least inkling that you were willing to cavort, well, then we’d have something to be embarrassed about. Cavorting! May the saints preserve us!”