by Barbara King

Created on: May 16, 2008

"Mrs. Marks! Mrs. Marks!

Heather roused herself from her whirling thoughts. "I'm sorry Mr. Jenkins, what was that you were saying?"

"I said now that you have picked out that beautiful black marble tombstone and decided on the white star bursts on the background, what epitaph would you like carved on your husband's monument?"

"MY husband's monument? Are you crazy man, I'm too young to be a widow. I'm only thirty-two and Michael just turned thirty-five last month. What am I doing here?!"

Heather half raised off the stiff uncomfortable upholstered arm chair ready to bolt for the door.

White-haired Mr. Jenkins, used to grief stricken hysterical widows, calmly reached across the large walnut desk and covered Heather's left hand.

She jumped from the unexpected human touch and quickly withdrew her hand, safely putting it on her lap as she resettled herself. "Heather get yourself together. You knew this would be hard, but you didn't want anyone else's input. Now here you sit all by yourself, without the calming influence of your mother and friends and you have no clue as what to put on that damn tombstone.", she thought.

"Do I have to put something on it? Wouldn't the name and date of birth and death be enough?" her throat was so dry she could hardly speak and the words sounded rather croaky.

Again Mr. Jenkins came to the rescue with a small plastic cup and a full pitcher of iced water.

Heather's hand was shaking so badly that most of the water landed on her coat but a small amount did manage to trickle down her throat."

"No, of course, you don't need to put an epitaph on the monument. I thought, maybe, because Mr. Marks was a writer you might want a few words on his behave."

"He wasn't a writer, a book writing writer. He wrote songs, not the melodies, but the lyrics." Heather had no idea why this was so important that Mr. Jenkins understand this, but she couldn't stop babbling. "We... we met in college at a poetry reading. He was a graduate student in literature and was giving the reading. I was trying to get extra credit for one of my classes by doing a critique. I went up after the program and told him how much I connected with his verse and he asked me out to coffee. We were together pretty much ever since, getting married two years later." What Heather did not tell Mr. Jenkins was how she had fallen in love with the serious young man with the unruly dark hair and even darker brown eyes that night. She didn't tell Mr. Jenkins about the deep wrinkle on Michael's

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