“My
husband used to eat here. Years ago. He always spoke highly of the fish stew.”
“Then try the stew,” he said. “So you can tell your husband that your cooking is better.”
His innocent remark hurt, but I nodded, concealing my tears.
I finished every bite.
Afterward, I photographed the harbor and the vacant chair opposite me. Leaving the chair out somehow felt wrong.
Between eating the bread and finishing my stew, I realized I’d actually enjoyed myself.
Guilt immediately followed.
How could I find pleasure in anything when Martin was gone?
Back aboard, I encountered Thomas near the elevators.
I told him about the café, the photograph, and how I’d managed to stay for lunch instead of immediately returning.
“The empty chair… Martin talked about that.” He smiled. “He kept your picture on the bridge, you know, right beside the compass.”
Right beside the compass.
Oh, Martin.
