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So we went over the road. It was nice enough, slightly classier if anything than my choice, and was another Italian. Once we were settled at our table, I had to ask, "What's wrong with the one over the road?"She looked at me, still seeming to search my face for something, "Nothing. I don't particularly like it, that's all, but Peter likes to take me there. Did you know that?" How could I?" I could understand now, if she is well known as Peter's wife over the road, I doubted that she wanted to be seen lunching with another man in there.She smiled, and seemed to relax. I asked her what she would like to drink, and she asked for a gin and tonic. I ordered a bottle of red wine, excusing myself that I was driving, so I'd stick to a couple of glasses of wine. That led me to ask how she got to the factory, was her car parked there? No, she'd come in by taxi, so that she didn't have to go back there after we've finished.She opened the conversation once the drinks had arrived, "How are you. She couldn't lift herself up, she was crying too hard.She began murmuring again, this time making more of an effort to speak. Muffled by how she was speaking into her jeans, I just barely heard "I miss you," before she collapsed into another fit of crying. She began pawing at the tombstone with her hands, as if it might magically bring the mystery person back, before she lifted her head up and embraced the stone with her full body. Her cries became even louder, even more pained.In a sense, I was right. I was expecting to see Nicole end up getting hurt, and here she was, more hurt than I'd ever seen her. I wanted to go forward, to say something, but what could I have possibly said? I had no idea how to deal with this, how to deal with her. She had always helped me when I was feeling down, but this was something else. Something I don't think anybody could have fixed.Who was it, though? She apparently talked to her brother about video games, and both of her parents were alive. Was it a.
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