Doing the Math

       Mr. Took-the-Bait morphed into Farmer.  Talk about farm life, cattle, his shooting prowess, trips, my book and assorted topics made phone conversations delightful.  Emails flew with daily reports.   Weekly he was in town for engaging lunches at numerous new restaurants.  My fave was Stronghill.  One dinner invite I declined as I’m never available for a last minute engagement after Wednesday.   (A single woman rule learned from a single mentor.)
       Farmer accepted my invite in early August to go to a friend’s wedding in DC in late August.   Then I heard nothing for three weeks.  “Should I email? Should I call?”  I wondered.  “What is this all about?”
The wedding date was getting closer and if he wasn’t going, I was taking a girlfriend.  I had to know.  Enough of this silence. 
      “Would you come to my place for a visit? Come for the weekend and we’ll go on to the wedding on Saturday.” his email said, replying to my inquiry “Do you still want to go to the wedding at the end of the month?”
      “Something’s missing” was a hunch.  No contact for three weeks and I wasn’t about to get myself in a bad situation.  Carefully I crafted my reply “Let’s meet in Fredericksburg at 0 dark early and make it a day trip".  He agreed.
      At the wedding, Farmer was charming.  He declined my request for a dance to check out dancing skills he claimed to have.   Chats were on a variety of topics and engaging, especially over the omission of the word “obey” from the vows.  Note to self – what’s the big deal?
      On the return drive to Fredericksburg he invited me to his home for the weekend.  This time I accepted for mid September, three  weeks later.    A wave to each other in our separate cars headed to our respective homes was “Goodbye.  It was fun.”
      When in Fredericksburg, I always get a Carls treat.   Savoring Carl’s dessert, I relived the day.  The wedding was beautiful, the most exquisite I’ve seen, no detail left out; being with Farmer;  seeing old friends all in the lush setting of George Washington’s River Farm were as delicious as the frozen treat.
      “Something’s not right. Something's missing. ” my intuition strongly resounded.   I added up the numbers – years married to first wife,  years married to second wife left an 8 year gap, no matter how I added.    “Something’s missing. ” was the echo. 
      “No kidding” I replied.  “But what is it? I'm no math whiz but 8 years is a life span. What in the world....”