Woman in Red by Eileen Goudge

you?” He sipped his coffee, eyeing her thoughtfully over the rim of his cup.

    “My son. His name is Jeremy. He’s sixteen.” He saw something flare in her gray-green eyes. “He’s living with his father right now, but I’m hoping . . .” She bit her lip, and fell silent. After a moment, she said, “What about you? There must be a reason for moving here besides the fact that you inherited a house.”
    “I’m not sure I have one, unless it’s that this just happens to be the last stop on the line.” Colin zipped up his jacket against a sudden gust of chill, and sat gazing out vacantly over the green. “If you know so much about me, you probably also know that I lost my wife. Things kind of went downhill after that.”
    “I’m sorry.” He could tell from the way she said it that she was no stranger to that kind of loss.
    “She died on 9/11. She was in the North Tower when it went down,” he went on, finding it strangely cathartic to be talking about it with someone who wouldn’t wrinkle her brow in an attempt to understand the unfathomable, who wouldn’t be looking for a graceful way of segueing to a less painful topic. “After that, I started hitting the bottle, until it dawned on me one day that the problem wasn’t what was eating me, it was me .” He gave in to a bleak smile. “You’d think that’s when I would have known it was time to quit, but it actually took a little longer than that before I finally decided to get sober. I had to lose my job first, and pretty much every friend I ever had. That was six months ago. I haven’t touched a drop since.”
    They exchanged a look that communicated more than any words. She wasn’t like most people he met outside of AA meetings, those for whom a life crisis meant getting laid off from their jobs or having their mother-in-law
move in with them. Alice Kessler knew what real suffering was.
    Now her mouth hooked up in a mirthless little smile. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? They say misery loves company, but right now I wouldn’t wish either of us on anyone.”
    “It must be some comfort, at least, to know you’re not the only one being talked about,” he said, with a laugh.
    “Fortunately that’s not the only thing we have in common,” she replied, her expression sobering. “I don’t know if you were aware of this or not, but apparently your grandfather was a friend of grandmother’s. In fact, he painted her portrait. The famous one, of the woman in the red dress. I was wondering if you knew what became of it.”
    Colin jerked upright, nearly spilling his coffee. “You’re Eleanor’s granddaughter?” He could see the resemblance now, and he wondered if perhaps that was why he’d been drawn to her from the beginning. Alice’s coloring was darker than Eleanor’s, her eyes more gray than green, but it was the same face: fine boned yet strong as tempered steel. The face of someone who didn’t tread lightly through life. “What an amazing coincidence. Now I know why you looked familiar. You’re the spitting image of her.”
    Alice looked pleased. “So you’re familiar with the portrait.”
    “I ought to be. I own it.”
    Now it was her turn to look surprised. “Really? Would you mind . . . I mean, I’d love to see it sometime.” She seemed hesitant to impose.
    “Anytime you like,” he told her. “I’m usually home. Just give me a call whenever you feel like stopping by. Here’s my number.” He scribbled it on the back of his napkin.

    She carefully folded the napkin and tucked it into her pocket. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be a bother?”
    “Are you kidding? You’d be doing me a favor,” he told her. “It’s so quiet out there, I can hear myself think. Which in my case tends to be dangerous.”
    She broke into a smile, a genuine one that for a dazzling instant lit up her whole face, like when the sun made one of its rare appearances from behind the clouds. In the parking area at the other end of the green, music