All This Time

After the death of her husband, Lorenzo did not dare console Roberta, but instead chose to accompany her silently, bearing witness to her grief as though it wouldn't have been real otherwise. He watched her weep incessantly over his old clothes, avoid his side of the bed and set his place at the table. Whether the latter was out of habit or a fear that he might rise from the dead without warning – because Lorenzo imagined Daniele Dionisi to be as impulsive in death than he was in life – Lorenzo was not sure, but he never discouraged Roberta from doing so.

The winter that had claimed Daniele melted into spring before Lorenzo had even begun to contemplate his own process grief at the loss of a friend. He had, just like many decades before, been so completely besotted by Roberta that he had neglected himself. His children fussed over him, but he dismissed their concerns.

He knew, deep down, that Daniele had always known. He knew, deep down, that Daniele had not sought Roberta because he had been so struck by her beauty that he could not live another day without her, but because he could. Daniele; tall, charismatic and smart, could have had any women in Italy, but he chose Roberta. He chose Roberta out of spite. Lorenzo didn't remember what had caused that brief spell of tension in their friendship, only that his heart had sunk at the sight of Daniele and Roberta, the only girl he had longed after since he was fourteen, kissing in the park.

He learned to live with the disappointment in the beds of ugly women and whores, briefly finding stability in a woman called Ilenia with a beautiful body and a beautiful soul. They would marry and have two daughters, but he did not truly love her despite never sleeping with another woman for as long as he lived. The doctors told him that she had died of pneumonia, but he was almost certain she'd died of a broken heart.

Though life had worn down her beauty and bones, Lorenzo could not shake the thrill of Roberta's presences as she adapted to the rest of her life without her husband. They filled their lonely hours together down by the seaport on which Daniele and Lorenzo had worked their entire lives. The northern winds brought cool air from the surrounding valley as they walked, arms linked like lovers, along the sprawling promenade until they had to rest, exhausted by the weight of old age.

They were, perhaps, too old to make love, but young enough in each other's presence to love without having to. Love, after all, grew less about physical attraction and more about a mutual dependency between two people as they got older. Though they met everyday for the rest of their lives, love was never spoken of, only assumed. This, although so unlike Lorenzo had imagined it to be, staring at Roberta across the classroom more than half a century ago, was enough.