Tidal Choice

I. Reflection

A waiter dutifully approached the female patron seated alone at the window table of the Towerview Restaurant. She looked elegant, frocked in a red silk dress and possessing thick shoulder-length hair. She wore modest jewelry—a delicate white gold necklace and petite diamond earrings. Their sparkle drew attention to her beauteous face and neck. The rings on her left hand indicated she was married. Her youthful appearance disguised her middle age, partly the result of her fine complexion and pleasant countenance, and partly because her figure reflected her topnotch physical fitness. She had just answered a call on her cell phone and appeared somewhat disappointed yet resolutely patient.
“Good evening, madam,” he greeted.
“Good evening,” she replied.
“You’re waiting for your husband? May I bring you something to drink?”
“Yes, thank you,” she answered gratefully. “He might be a little while. There was a collision on the bridge coming into the city because of a squall. Cars are backed up. I think I’ll have a glass of wine to bide the time—a pinot grigio, please.”
“Of course.”
The waiter smiled and left, and she gazed out the window. The city lights were glowing, and in the distance, there were colorful illuminations from scattered holiday displays. It was December, 2009, a couple days before Christmas. The weather in Pennsylvania had been mostly mild. It was an unfortunate happenstance, she thought, that winter arrived the same time her consort traveled from the airport on his return from a business conference in Florida. Today marked their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and all day she had been eagerly anticipating his company and their celebration.
He told her when he called that he had been looking forward to the romantic dinner they had planned last week and that he would do all he could to shorten her wait time by the continuous use of the car horn to prompt traffic along, the thought of which made her laugh to herself. She pictured him behind the wheel with a scowl, muttering all kinds of choice words and phrases she had heard over the years while they drove places together, and decided she was much better off by herself at the table. She reflected on their marriage and wondered how time could have passed so quickly. She was happy, more than happy. He made sure that she was—not by deliberately planning daily events, but by demonstrating constant consideration of her desires. He was her relentless wooer who somehow consistently found ways to interject dalliance into mundane chores and routines, as when just last month he bombastically bet her that he could clean the gutters of the entire house before she could clean the tile kitchen floor so that after she won, she could pick the dinner he would have to cook or buy for her. She loved him for it, and their married life had turned out to be everything she craved when she settled on the fact that he was the one, two and a half decades prior, following a summer weekend stay at the Jersey shore.
She also remembered what an emotionally turbulent chain of events choosing her life’s love had been. She had loved another man as well, a very good man destined to achieve, and he had loved her. Complications had existed and arisen: her family had expectations of their own, occupational demands had been heaped upon her, and shocking coincidences affected events. Soul searching under difficult circumstances and extreme emotional pressure, she recalled, had required enormous strength. After much introspection and evaluation, she eventually made her choice, and in the end, she had let herself be guided by pure feeling and trust. She had broken the other man’s heart in order to release hers, and after making peace with herself about it, she pursued her true love. She had since lived in gladness with her decision, and now she eagerly awaited toasting their shared life.