The loud clang of wood against steel rang through the crowd and Tara winced, scared to open her eyes. The thunderous roar of hordes of people gathered around the field let her know that one of the horsemen was victorious.

Slowly, she opened one eye, looking for the familiar color of royal blue against canary yellow. Tara breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Morgan sitting atop his thoroughbred, his helmet under his arm and a wide grin plastered on his face.

Tara breathed a sigh of relief, smiled and waved. He trotted his horse over to the stands and stopped in front of her, his cerulean blue eyes glinting with excitement.

“I won,” he stated gallantly.

Tara clapped her hands together. “I see that. You proved me wrong.” Morgan nodded. “Next time when you tell me you want to try something, even if it is something as absurd as learning how to joust, I won’t say any word in protest.” She leaned over the wooden rail and placed a kiss on his warm lips. “So, do you get a trophy or something?”

“Yep, ceremony should be in a few minutes. Are you going to be in the front row watching, my lady in waiting?” Morgan asked, trying his best imitation as a royal knight.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Tara fingered the gold trophy from the New England Jousting Company. It depicted a jouster on his horse, as a tear slipped from her eye and down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away, just let it course slowly down her face until it dripped off her jaw-line and onto the carpet below.

“I miss you,” she whispered on a sob, curling into a fetal position on the brown leather sofa, trophy in hand.

Three days after Morgan’s jousting tournament, he was dead. Tara had come home after grocery shopping and found him in the middle of the kitchen floor, not moving, not breathing. She screamed his name and dropped the groceries, kneeling beside Morgan and feeling his cold skin, trying to breathe life into his blue lips. All to no avail.

The autopsy showed that he died of a brain aneurysm. The doctor explained that no matter what Tara had tried, nothing would have helped. Even if she had been home, he died almost instantly. That statement haunted her. Almost instantly. The doctor didn’t say instantly, he said almost instantly. Tara still believed if she was there, she could have saved him somehow.

“Mrs. Wallace,” shouted through the front door followed by a pounding brought Tara’s attention back to the present. But she still wasn’t attentive enough to want to get up off the couch and answer the door. “Mrs. Wallace!” The voice, more urgent this time, called again. “Please answer the door.”

“Go away,” Tara called from inside. “I don’t want to see anybody!”

“I have information,” the visitor would not go away. “Information about Morgan, Mrs. Wallace.”

Tara sat up quickly. Information? She wasn’t looking for information on Morgan. She knew everything there was to know about her husband of three years. He made it a point to be open in their relationship as far as life went between them. He never kept secrets from her. Her unwanted visitor was bluffing.

“Go away,” Tara called once more.

“I really need to talk to you, Mrs. Wallace. Please open the door.”

Tara reached for the remote control and powered on the stereo. She turned the volume up until the music drowned out any sounds coming from the front door. She didn’t know what the stranger wanted but she wasn’t going to give him the time of day. Her husband hadn’t even been dead for two weeks and weirdo’s were coming out of the woodwork, vying for her attention. It wouldn’t work.

A full hour passed before Tara turned the stereo off. She made her way to the kitchen. After scanning the barren refrigerator for something to drink, she settled for water from the tap. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror in the hall as she passed, and she stopped.

Her skin was sallow, her cheekbones hollowed and she had large, dark circles under her puffy, bloodshot eyes. Her brown hair was the biggest rat’s nest she’d ever seen. What would Morgan think? “You know what he would think,” she said aloud to the reflection. “He’d tell you to get off your butt and pull yourself together. The world didn’t end and he is most likely in a happier place.” She threw her glass into the mirror, shattering both into thousands of slivers of glass. She didn’t like it when her mind made sense.

As she turned from the broken mirror, a white square by the front door caught her attention.

Tara walked over and picked up the business card. Mark Sampson, Attorney at Law, was printed in bold typeface, with his office number, fax number and address. On the back he’d written another phone number, asking that she call him as soon as possible regarding Morgan.

What could possibly be so important that this lawyer couldn't call and leave a message? She had a perfectly adept answering machine. And what could he possibly tell her about Morgan that she didn't already know? She dropped the card on the table by the door where she kept her keys. It could wait. Whatever it was, it could wait.

She shuffled up the wooden stairwell, and into the guest bedroom, staying clear of the master bedroom. Tara hadn’t been in there since the first night Morgan was no longer with her. She couldn’t bear the pain that pierced her heart every time she saw a piece of clothing, a shoe, or a tie. Anything and everything in that room screamed Morgan and she couldn't handle it. The master bath was even worse. It smelled like Morgan, like his after-shave and cologne and shampoo. Right now, it was a part of the house that remained untouched, for her own sanity.

She drew water for a hot bath and after testing the temperature, she undressed and climbed into the tub. Wishing all the bad memories would evaporate with the steam. The heat lulled her to sleep and when she woke, the room was dark and the water frigid. Tara pulled the plug and shivering stepped out of the tub and wrapped into an oversized blue bath towel.

She padded into the kitchen and set the kettle on for tea. While she waited, Tara grabbed the broom to clean up the broken shards of the mirror and her glass. Out of the corner of her eye, the white square of the lawyer's business card grabbed her attention. Did she dare make the call?