The usual disclaimers here. These characters don't belong to me. I just take them out to play every once in a while.
A video preview by Elin for Jan's latest story: The Widower

The Widower

by

Jan

Max fidgeted with his tie in the foyer mirror. He adjusted it three times before realizing that no matter how good he thought it looked, Miss Fine would come down those stairs in a few minutes, dance her fingers quickly over the knot, and it would be perfect.

Then he caught the look of apprehension in his eyes and suddenly turned from the mirror to resume his pacing back and forth through the foyer. Just what the hell was the matter with him? There was no reason for him to be so edgy. Well, there was the fact that he’d fallen deeply and passionately in love with his children’s nanny, and he’d come to realize just that day that he couldn’t deny it anymore. And there was the dilemma that they came from two different worlds and if he pursued this thing with her, those two worlds were bound to collide. And, of course, there was the problem that he really didn’t know for sure if she returned his feelings. That last one had him wringing his hands.

"Calm down, old man," he told himself. If she didn’t feel the same way, why would she have followed him to London? And she did appear pretty damn receptive to his advances in that hotel room. But today in that hospital room as they set aside their differences for the sake of Niles, who lay there recovering from a heart attack, the central truth of all the emotions they’d been dealing with came out.

Max took a deep breath and stopped pacing for a moment as he recalled Miss Fine’s words: "I’ll tell ya, it really makes you think, doesn’t it, how unpredictable life can be?"

He was amazed by how she’d managed to put into words exactly what had been weighing on him. "That’s right," he had replied. "That’s why you have to live every day to the fullest." God, did he need to be smacked in the forehead too?

He recalled turning to her as they had sat side by side and being struck by the look in those shining chocolate jewels of hers. At that moment, he could think of nothing other than capturing her beautiful mouth with his. He had barely heard her say, "You never know when it’s going to be your last."

Max couldn’t help smiling to himself as he thought back to the moment when he had pushed her back onto the bed and drawn the curtain. Her body had felt so good, so perfect, beneath him, and he remembered thinking that he would never in his life be able to get enough of it. He sighed deeply as he recalled getting so lost in her that he was certain he would have just ravaged her there on the spot had C.C. not interrupted them.

He was startled out of his reverie by the voice he had come to crave. "I’m ready, Mr. Sheffield," Fran said sweetly as she started down the stairs. Max looked up and suddenly forgot to breathe. He stood entranced as she descended before him, an absolute vision in pale yellow. Her dress clung to every enticing curve, and the neckline plunged to reveal nearly too much. A tingling sensation shot through Max as his eyes fixed on her milky breasts, and he was overcome with the memory of how glorious it had felt earlier that day to slide his hand under her jacket and cup one of them and knead it gently.

Swallowing hard in an attempt to recover his senses, Max held out his hand to her as she stepped down the last few stairs. Briefly, he allowed for how little chance there was that he would be able to hold back declaring his deep and overwhelming love for her until they got to the Rainbow Room.

Fran’s hands immediately went to his tie and worked their magic in only a few seconds. "What’s say we dispense with formalities this evening, Fran?" he suggested, his emerald eyes glowing.

Her face lit up at his use of her first name. "Ok, Max," she said stifling a small giggle.

Max couldn’t fight the undeniable force drawing him to her mouth. Their lips whispered against each other at first, and then again, each time with more passion and energy until he plunged his tongue seeking hers. Feeling her arms slide around his shoulders, he put his hands behind her back and drew her snugly to him. He thought he would pass out from the sheer joy of holding her so close and feeling her luscious mouth on his. At last, he pulled away just enough to press his forehead to hers. His heart felt as though it was going to burst with the outpouring of pure love she elicited from him.

"Fran, I love you so much, I can’t even find the words to tell you," he confessed breathlessly.

"Oh, Max, I love you too," she said, sincerity making her voice catch.

Max closed his eyes against the bliss that consumed him upon hearing that she returned his love. It was the first time she had uttered those three precious words to him, and he knew that he would savor the moment the rest of his life.

"Dad?" Maggie’s whispered voice broke through Max’s dream-filled consciousness. "Dad? Are you awake?" He felt his oldest daughter pick his hand up from his chest and entwine her fingers with his. At the same instant, he was filled with a pain that coursed through his body and then settled in his gut. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times against the harsh light.

"Hello, sweetheart," he eked out, his voice weak and hoarse.

"How are you feeling today?" Maggie smiled down at him.

"Oh, about the same, I suppose." Max looked around a little. "Where’s Michael?"

"He’s home with the kids. He sends his love. Brighton will be by later this afternoon, and Gracie’s coming tonight after dinner."

"What are you all doing? Taking shifts at my bedside?"

Maggie smiled sheepishly. "Um, no," she stammered while searching for a good excuse. "We just want to keep you from getting too bored," she lied.

"Well, that’s very sweet of you all, but it’s not really necessary. You’re all are so busy with your own families now. There’s not much need for you to be hanging around this place."

Maggie dismissed her father’s protests by changing the subject. "Listen, Dad, Gracie and I have been talking about plans for your birthday. You know, it’s only a few weeks away, and we’re not really sure if you’ll still be in the hospital or if you’ll be home by then. So, we were thinking about having a Plan A and a Plan B. You know, just in case."

Somehow, Max found the strength to reach up and stroke his daughter’s hair. "Thank you, sweetheart, but why don’t we just play it by ear? Let’s just see how things go in the next week or so, and then we’ll talk about it."

"But Dad…" she started to protest.

"Margaret, sweetheart," he said, pausing and taking a breath. "Let’s be honest here. We both know there’s not much chance I’ll even make it to my next birthday. So, why don’t we just hold off on those plans for now? I do appreciate your thoughtfulness, but really, it’s better for everyone this way."

Maggie swallowed hard determined to fight back her tears. She was trying her best to show her father that she could be strong. She was the oldest, and she felt a need to set the example for her younger siblings. They had lost their mother when they were all so young, and even though they were grown up now, losing their father wasn’t any easier. She knew it was foolish to go on pretending that he was going to get better. Instead of all this useless birthday planning, they should be discussing what would make him happy during his last remaining days.

She tightened her grip on his hand. "Dad," she ventured. "Please let me call Fran."

Max understood what she was trying to do. He smiled at her weakly and shook his head. "No, Margaret."

"Dad, please," she urged. "Don’t pass up your last chance to see her again."

Max turned his head away. "There’s really no point."

"You should talk to her, Dad. You know, explain things. Besides, I think just seeing her again would make you so happy."

Max looked into his daughter’s eyes. She had grown to be so wise, and he knew just who he had to thank for that. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, and he squeezed her hand gently. Just as he felt himself drifting off, he said softly, "Don’t worry about that, Margaret. I see her every day. In fact, I see her every time I close my eyes."

******************

Max pushed through the kitchen door on his way to refill his coffee. He stopped suddenly when he saw Fran standing at the sink. He stood mesmerized for a moment, drinking her in. She looked up from what she was doing and said, "Hello, Mr. Sheffield. Do you need something?"

Collecting himself, he walked on over to the island and set down his coffee cup as she came around to stand right in front of him. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do." He leaned in and met her mouth in a kiss that warmed him throughout. "Mmm—much better," he said, his green eyes crinkling.

As they stood there with their arms wrapped around each other, Max smiled a little recalling the conversation he’d had with Niles that morning. Fran’s eyebrows drew together in curiosity. "Care to share?" she prompted him.

"Oh, I was just thinking about something Niles suggested this morning. I made the mistake of asking his advice. He said I could either admit that I love you and marry you, or I could invent some stupid ploy like redecorating a room and buy myself some more time."

Fran let out her signature laugh. "I’ll take door number one, Monty!" she offered enthusiastically.

He gave her a sweet kiss and said, "Well, you can’t have it because I already chose it. I love you, Fran. I love everything about you. You’re a beautiful woman. You’re warm, tender, caring. I want this relationship to grow, to blossom. And if you feel the same, well, that would make me just about the happiest man on earth."

"I do love you, Max," she said, leaning in for another kiss. She reached up and ran her fingers lovingly through the streak of gray that adorned his thick, black waves of hair. "Although—"

"What?" he said, a hint of concern in his voice.

Glancing around, she said, "This kitchen is starting to look a little shabby. It hasn’t been redecorated in ages," she pronounced with a teasing little gleam in her eye.

"Darling, you can do whatever you want with the kitchen. Or with any room in the house, for that matter. It’s going to be yours soon—very soon, I hope."

"Mr. Sheffield, it’s time for your pain medication," the nurse said gently, bringing him back to reality. Max thought briefly about the fact that as long as he was dreaming of holding Fran in his arms, he barely noticed the pain. But as soon as he became cognizant of the emptiness of his life without her, the nearly unbearable pain shot through his disease-ridden body.

The nurse changed his pillow and then checked all the monitors connected to the numerous tubes flowing into and out of his body. "Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"No, thank you," he said. The nurse slipped silently from the room, leaving him alone again with his thoughts.

He lay there wondering how many different ways his mind could come up with to recreate that fateful day. The many different paths he could have taken instead of the one he had chosen. Oh, it had been easy at first to blame Niles for coming up with that redecorating ruse. But deep down, he knew it was his own fault for even thinking that he could pull that backpedaling routine again and expect her to go along with it. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to push away the memory of what had really taken place that day. The way the mixture of shock and hurt in her brown eyes had quickly changed to seething anger. And the way he had felt slammed in the gut when she told him what he could do with his shabby kitchen just before walking out of his life forever.

He was sure she and the kids had kept in touch for a while behind his back. The three of them knew better than to mention her name around him, but there had been times when they had told him they were out "with friends," and he figured they had been having lunch with her. And there were those gifts that had arrived at birthdays and Christmases, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were from. But no matter how devastated he had been by her leaving, his sorrow was always compounded by the thought that her walking out on him had meant leaving the children too. What kind of a father would allow his beautiful children to lose a second mother they loved so much? God, he was such a fool.

And he was fairly certain that she and Niles had remained in contact, at least for a while. That’s how Max had learned that she had moved to Boca with her parents. And it was also how he’d found out, once when he’d been thinking about contacting her to see if there was some slim chance of a reconciliation, that she was married. A successful Florida businessman, and she was apparently very happy. Well, he was happy for her—at least, he was trying desperately to be. She deserved it, he rationalized, especially after everything he’d put her through. And besides, here he was, sick and dying. She had too much life, too much joie de vivre in her to have become a widow at such a vibrant age. Yes, she was much better off with the way things had turned out, he told himself. He loved her so much that he just wanted her happiness. He only wished that he had been the one to give it to her.

He lay there wondering where she was, what she was doing now. Maggie had not given up urging him to let her call Fran, although no one had heard from her in quite some time and they weren’t really sure how to get a hold of her. He understood what Maggie was trying to do and he was touched by it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look into those sparkling brown eyes again. It was painful enough dealing with the memories.

Besides, there was no way in hell he wanted her to see him like this. Frail and ill, a mere shadow of the man he had once been. If on the off chance she still held fond memories of their time together, he wanted her to think of him the way he was then. Not like this. Besides, it would be absolutely unbearable to look at her and see even a trace of regret on her beautiful face. She had nothing to feel remorse for. It had all been his fault, and he was more than willing to carry the burden of that blame with him to the grave.

Just then, he heard someone come in, and he turned to see Niles and C.C. quietly approaching. "How are you feeling?" C.C. asked as she reached out to touch his arm gently.

Max took a deep breath. "You know, I really do wish people would quit asking me that. My body is wracked with pain and I’m dying, and there’s really not much more to say."

C.C. turned away so Maxwell couldn’t see the tears that sprang to her eyes. The tough persona she had built up over the years as his business partner couldn’t possibly serve to hide the overwhelming grief she was feeling at the impending loss of the man she had worked with so closely for so long and loved as a dear friend. Maybe her marriage to Niles had softened her some, or maybe it was all just too much to bear, even for her.

Needing to change the subject, Max turned to Niles. "Did Nigel and Joc get off all right?"

"Yes, sir. We dropped them at the airport on our way here. And your brother asked me to reassure you that he has everything taken care of there in London as far as your family’s estate is concerned. There’s absolutely nothing for you to worry about."

"Thank you, Niles. You know, it seems a little strange to think of Nigel as the patriarch of the family now. I’m sure it’s not a role he ever aspired to."

"No, sir, but I’m sure he’ll do well. He told me that he has only to follow your example."

Having recovered her composure, C.C. cleared her throat and said, "Speaking of taking care of things, I have a few final papers for you to sign in regard to Sheffield-Babcock Productions. Chandler told me he spoke to you and that you are satisfied with the children’s holdings in the company and the agreements to all the production rights. Do you feel up to signing them now? I have them right here."

"Yes, of course. I’ll rest more easily knowing that everything is settled." C.C. handed him a pen as Niles helped him into a sitting position so he could sign the papers. Glancing at them, Max said, "Sheffield-Babcock Productions, huh? You’re not changing the name of the company?"

"No, Maxwell. Even though Niles and I have the controlling ownership, we still think of it as your company. As a tribute to all your work, the company’s name will remain."

Niles eased him back down onto his pillow as the pain made him wince. "Thank you, both," he barely managed.

"I believe that takes care of everything, sir. Unless—" Niles paused, a bit hesitant to mention the topic that had been much on his mind of late.

"Unless what, Niles?"

"Unless there’s anyone else you’d like me to contact for you? Anyone at all?"

Max managed to toss a perturbed look at long-time friend and butler. "There’s no one else," he stated flatly. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling quite exhausted." There was no question as to whom Niles was referring, and the mention of Fran made Max anxious to get back to his dreams. In them, he was vital and healthy, and Fran was always by his side.

Niles thought briefly about going ahead and calling her anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone against his boss’ wishes. But Maxwell was so sick and in so much pain, Niles didn’t want to cause him any more distress. And besides, it had been so long since any of them had heard from her, it was impossible to know if she would even come. Sighing resignedly, Niles said, "Yes, of course, sir. I’ll check back in with you later today." Niles and C.C. tip-toed out of the room as Max slid effortlessly back into his fantasies.

"Do you, Maxwell Sheffield, take Francine Fine…" Just before succumbing to sleep, Max mouthed the words, "I do."

******************

Niles closed the door behind the last guest. With a deep sigh, he turned to C.C. and gathered her into his arms. They held each other for a moment, each drawing strength from the other. A ragged sob rose from C.C. just before they turned to look at Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie, who were standing around the living room staring blankly, uncertain what to do next.

Arm in arm, Niles and C.C. walked over to where the children were standing. "It was a lovely ceremony," Niles pronounced. They all nodded, none of them wanting to face the sad irony that tomorrow would have been their father’s birthday.

C.C. attempted a smile as she put her arm around Gracie’s shoulder. "And could you believe the people? Your dad would have been so pleased. I think the entire Broadway community came to pay their respects. Just about everyone whose life he ever touched was there."

All of them tossed uneasy glances at each other. Everyone except one particular person, they were thinking. The one person who had touched all of their lives so deeply. At various times throughout the day, each of them had found themselves scanning the crowd, hoping against hope that she had somehow heard. That the news had spread all the way to Florida and that she had felt compelled to come to his funeral in spite of everything that had happened. They would never stop wondering if they had done the right thing by complying with their father’s final wishes not to contact her. But there was nothing they could do about it now. It was over, and she hadn’t come.

Gracie fought a huge lump in her throat. "I just wish…" she croaked before her voice gave out.

"I know. Me too," said Brighton wistfully.

Maggie took a deep breath. "Look, you guys, I know we were all praying that somehow Fran would be there today, but we had to do as Dad requested. Besides, I don’t know how we could have found her anyway." She walked over to Brighton and Gracie, and the three embraced. "Come on, you two," Maggie urged them. "We did ok after mom died, and we’ll get through this too."

Brighton and Gracie looked at her skeptically. "But—" Gracie ventured.

"I know what you’re both thinking," Maggie said. "We survived last time because of Fran. I realize she’s not around anymore, but we’ll do all right as long as we remember everything she taught us. And if we forget, we’ve got each other. We’ll all be fine, I know it."

Niles watched the exchange among the three of them with a tear in his eye and wondered if Miss Fine had any idea what a profound and indelible mark she’d made on the entire Sheffield family.

*******************

C.C. sat back in her chair and rubbed her neck muscles. She’d been sitting at her desk all morning taking stock of the state of Sheffield-Babcock Productions in an effort to make a decision as to where to go next. Although running the company had mostly been in her and Niles’ hands during Maxwell’s illness, now that he was gone, she was beginning to realize just how much she depended on his guidance in making all the important decisions. She felt a strong sense of responsibility weighing on her. Maxwell had poured his whole life into that company, and she was determined to make sure it continued to thrive. Their next production just had to be a success. She had to prove to everyone that she could carry on, but mostly she wanted to do it to honor Maxwell.

Uninspired by any of the unsolicited properties they’d been receiving, C.C. pulled out the list of those they already held the production rights to. Slowly, a germ of an idea formed in her mind as a slight smile crept across her face.

Niles came strolling into the office bringing some tea. He poured them each a cup and settled into the chair next to the desk. "Well? I can tell you’ve got something churning around in that brain of yours. What gives?" he asked.

C.C. took a sip of her tea and looked at her husband and partner. "I think I’ve got a marvelous idea for our next production. What would you say about a revival of ‘The Widower’? It was a huge success during its first run, and I know we could do it again. But mainly, I want to do it as a tribute to Maxwell. After all, it was his play and, as it turned out, his life imitated his art. It just seems fitting to put it back on the stage now."

"Well, I agree that it would be a splendid tribute to him, but aren’t you forgetting something? The character in ‘The Widower’ vowed never to love again. You and I both know that Mr. Sheffield was very much in love with Miss Fine."

C.C. nodded in agreement. "Yes, I know. But he did forego his chance to remarry and remained a widower until the day he died. It’s such a sad tale, but a beautiful love story. I really feel it’s an excellent way to pay homage to Maxwell’s life and his work."

Niles pondered his wife’s idea as he sipped his tea. Then raising his cup, he pronounced, "To the widower, both the man and his play."

C.C. touched the rim of her cup to his. "To the widower," she repeated as a look of eager anticipation lit up her eyes.

******************

The Sheffield clan made their way down the aisle of the Forty-sixth Street Theater toward their seats in the second row. They had attended many opening nights over the years, but this was the first without their father. While they had been dreading the mix of emotions the evening would bring, instead they found themselves sharing sense of calmness as they felt his presence all around them.

Brighton looked around at the packed house. "Can you believe all these people?" he asked to no one in particular. A feeling of pride welled up in him to see all who had come to pay tribute to his dad. The first month had sold out almost immediately, and there was already talk of extending the run.

When they got to their seats and began to settle in for the performance, Maggie counted heads and realized that there was one extra seat. "Let’s leave the aisle seat empty," she suggested. "Maybe C.C. will be able to join us later in the performance."

Gracie looked anxiously at her watch. She had been so young when "The Widower" had first run that she hadn’t quite grasped its true significance. She was anxious for the thing to start, looking forward to watching with a more mature eye as her dad’s words came to life. The house lights dimmed and brightened twice, signaling time for the curtain. The audience became hushed and seated, looking expectantly toward the stage. In the few brief seconds between the last dimming and the curtain drawing open, a shocked gasp issued from the second row as the Sheffield children turned to see the person who had slipped into the empty aisle seat.

Gracie was absolutely speechless as Fran reached over and hugged her. Maggie and Brighton, shocked looks on both their faces, reached out their hands and Fran squeezed them each in turn. A million questions displayed in their expressions, the three of them could do nothing at that point but say a quick prayer of thanks and turn their attention back to the stage.

Fran took a deep breath and laid her hands in her lap, concentrating on keeping them from trembling. She still wasn’t absolutely sure she’d made the right decision by coming. But something undeniable had drawn her there. Despite her fierce determination to keep that part of her life in the past and move on, she just felt in her heart that there was a very important reason for her to be there that night. So in the face of every logical argument to stay away, she found herself sitting there, about to relive a very painful period of her life.

When the actor playing the widower came out on stage, Fran’s hand instinctively reached up and clutched her throat. His physical resemblance to Maxwell was uncanny. Same height, same build, and thick black waves of hair. And he was either from the same part of London as Max or a master at English dialect because when Fran closed her eyes, she could have sworn she was listening to Maxwell speak. She sat mesmerized watching him bring the widower’s character to life. Grabbing her program and scanning it in the dim light, she found the actor’s name but didn’t recognize it. The likeness, though, was astounding.

She’d seen this play before, but this time it seemed as if she were watching a chapter of her own life unfold before her on the stage. Closing her eyes and trying to calm her breathing, she just prayed she could get through watching the whole performance without falling apart.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the curtain closed on the first act, having just portrayed the widower’s abject grief at the death of his beloved wife Sara. Before the enthusiastic applause had died down, Maggie, Brighton and Grace pounced on Fran, bombarding her with questions. She gave each of them a warm and loving hug before explaining, "Something just told me I had to be here tonight. I’ve missed you all so much."

"Did you come alone?" Brighton asked.

"Yes," she replied, hesitant to give details.

Unable to control his curiosity, Brighton said, "I guess your husband couldn’t make the trip then?" It was obvious from the expectant looks on the children’s faces that they would have liked to meet the man who had replaced them and their dad in Fran’s heart. Maybe it would have helped them understand why they hadn’t heard from her for so long.

After a slight pause and a sigh, Fran explained, "Tom and I split up a little over a year ago. We’re divorced now."

"Oh," Brighton offered. "Sorry. Any kids?"

Fran gave them the best smile she could muster. "No, you three are still my only kids." A warm feeling rushed over them hearing her call them "her kids." Any hurt feelings they may have been harboring over her absence from their lives the last few years was instantly washed away by her statement. Noting the looks on their faces, she added, "Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your dad’s funeral. You guys know I would have been there if I’d known."

"We understand," Gracie assured her. Then a look of curiosity crossed her face. "But Fran, how did you know about tonight?"

Before Fran could answer, the curtain began to open on the second act, and they all turned their attention back to the stage. Fran’s nervousness having subsided somewhat, she became engrossed in the performance. For the time being, she was able to push aside her apprehension about how she would react when the beautiful "governess" appeared in the third act.

At intermission, she was anxious to learn from the children what had been going on in their lives. As each of them were attempting to catch her up, Niles and C.C. appeared, and Fran found herself wrapped in a warm and comforting hug from her long-time friend. Then she turned to C.C. "Thank you," she said.

"Thank you for coming," C.C. replied before turning and addressing the curious looks on the children’s faces. "I simply felt that this tribute to Maxwell wouldn’t be complete without Nanny Fine—pardon me, Fran—so I hired an investigator. She wasn’t really that difficult to find."

"I wasn’t trying to hide from you guys," Fran explained. "It’s just that so much has happened since—" Fran felt her words catch in her throat.

Niles spoke up. "What’s important is that you’re here," he said, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Again, the house lights flashed, and everyone settled in for the third and final act. Fran steeled herself, knowing it would be the most difficult part of the play for her to watch. When the governess appeared, Fran was once again taken aback by the resemblance to the real-life person portrayed—herself. Gracie and Maggie kept glancing over at Fran to judge her reaction to the scenes being played out between the widower and his children’s governess. It was clear that she was having a hard time keeping the tears out of her eyes as so many poignant memories came flooding back to her.

At last, a lone spotlight came up on the final scene: the widower’s soliloquy. Fran breathed a sigh of relief. Only a little while longer and her emotional roller coaster would be over. Only a few more minutes of having to deal with witnessing the reincarnation of Maxwell before her. Suddenly, one melancholy line from the actor’s speech caught her attention. What was he saying about regrets? Instinctively, she leaned forward in her seat, hanging on every word. She’d never heard these lines before, she realized. This wasn’t the original ending. Spellbound, she focused every ounce of her attention on each emotion-laden word that fell from the actor’s lips.

Alone on the darkened stage, the widower uttered his deepest and most heartfelt thoughts as he faced the prospect of his own death:

The widower walked to the other side of the stage and dropped his head in thought. When he looked up, he seemed to be focused on one particular spot, and Fran drew in a sharp breath as she felt his piercing eyes on her.

So, am I a victim or a fool? There’s only one answer: I am a victim of my own foolishness. I have kept my vow to remain a widower until the day I died. And now that I am facing death, I wonder what did it gain me? Nothing, except a heart in which my love for her and my remorse over losing her do constant battle. I have no one to blame but myself. I chose to live my life a lonely fool, and now I will die the same way.

As the final curtain drew closed on the heartbroken widower, the audience shot to their collective feet in thunderous applause that continued through four curtain calls. Fran sat in her seat, stunned by Max’s revelation, a million questions, all starting with "Why?" deluging her brain. Finally, gripping the seat in front of her to support her shaky knees, she managed to stand and join the enthusiastic ovation.

When the applause finally died down and the audience began to make their way to the exits, Brighton turned to Fran and said, "Fran, please come to Sardi’s with us. I don’t think there’s much question as to what the reviews are going to be like, but still, we really want you there with us."

Fran blinked and swallowed a few times, at last finding her voice. "Excuse me for a minute," was all she could manage before she turned and disappeared through the crowd. She needed some time to gather herself. She had known when she made the decision to attend the play that watching it would be difficult, but nothing had come close to preparing her for what she’d just learned.

She ran until she came upon an out-of-the-way corner near the theater’s office. Once there, she allowed her tears to freely flow. Leaning against the wall, she permitted deep sobs to wrack her body. Max’s words reverberating through her head, she tried desperately to wrap her thinking around the concept that he had loved her so much and regretted his inaction so deeply until the day he died. And she was filled with a profound sadness at the tragic irony of it all. That soliloquy would have been heart-rending enough had it been simply theater, but it was her life portrayed just then up on that stage, and the overwhelming impact of that realization was simply too much to fathom.

Just then, she heard the office door open and she raised her tear-stained face to see Niles coming toward her with arms outstretched. He gathered her to him and she laid her head on his shoulder, the tears still cascading down her cheeks. Niles patted and rubbed her back soothingly until he felt her calm down. At last, she raised her head and looked directly at him. "Niles, did you know?"

"Yes," he stated simply.

"Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t HE tell me?" she begged to know.

Niles took a deep breath and thought for a moment. There was no simple answer to her question. "Well," he began, "I suppose it took him a while to get over your leaving, and then just as he started to entertain the notion of trying to see you again, we found out that you had married. I guess in the end, he convinced himself that it was all for the best because he really didn’t deserve you and that you were better off without him."

"Did he have any idea how much I loved him? How much I still love him?" she asked hopefully.

"I’m sure he does now," Niles told her, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her remaining tears before she said, "God, it’s just so unbelievable. To think that all these years…" her voice trailed off. "Niles, when did he rewrite the final scene?"

"I’m not sure," he said thoughtfully. "C.C. and I found it among his papers when we were preparing to mount the revival. But if I had to take a guess, I would say he probably penned it about a year ago, just after he learned his diagnosis but before he became too ill to write."

"Why didn’t you call me when you found out he was so sick?" she asked.

"Believe me, we all begged him to let one of us contact you, but he wouldn’t have it. He had made up his mind to leave things as they were and carry the burden of what he’d let happen to the grave. I suppose he felt destined to fulfill the role of the widower." Niles paused for a minute to give her a chance to process what he had just told her. "I’m sorry it was such a shock to you, but we really didn’t know if you were even coming until you slipped into your seat as the curtain opened."

"It’s just all so tragic," she murmured as she let go a ragged sob and took one last dab at her damp cheeks. "When I think about what he and I could have had…"

Together, she and Niles rejoined the group, and they all made their way to the limo for the ride to Sardi’s. Fran squeezed in between Maggie and Gracie, who clutched Fran’s hand and looked at her through water-filled eyes.

"I never knew I could feel so happy and sad at the same time," Gracie said. "I’m so happy you’re here, Fran, but I wish Daddy was here with us too."

"I know just how you feel, angel," Fran told her.

Squeezing Fran’s hand, Gracie said, "I’m so glad I got to see this play again. I guess I never really understood before everything Daddy went through losing mom and why it was so hard for him to…" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Brighton added thoughtfully. "It explains a lot."

Maggie looked at Niles and C.C. "Thanks, you two."

C.C. just smiled her response as Niles said, "It was a very special endeavor for all of us."

Fran turned her head and swallowed hard as she attempted to deal with the conflicting emotions running through her. Watching the city sights pass by the window, she felt a strong sense of nostalgia wash over her as she pondered just how much she had left behind there in Manhattan.

The rest of the evening at the restaurant was a bittersweet reunion for Fran as she took joy in reconnecting with her kids and catching up on all that had transpired in the intervening years while at the same time sensing the overriding sorrow that Maxwell wasn’t there celebrating with them. At one point, she found herself momentarily overcome as she stood staring at the very spot where Max had grabbed both her cheeks and bestowed his very first kiss on her so many years before.

When the reviews came in, as expected, they were glowing. The critic proclaimed "The Widower" a surefire hit and predicted that the tribute to the life and work of Maxwell Sheffield would take its place in Broadway history.

Fran stayed a few more days, visiting with each of the children, becoming close to their spouses and falling in love with their children. She made it a point to sit down with the three individually and apologize for allowing her drive to escape her painful past weaken the bond between them. And while there, she and Niles enjoyed a heartfelt reconnection, as she and C.C. forged a newfound friendship.

She spent one afternoon alone at Maxwell’s grave, reminiscing about all they’d once had and telling him just how much it had all meant to her. Unable to hold back the tears, she voiced those three precious words that she’d never said to him when he was alive.

Then, with promises to stay in contact and visit regularly, Fran made plans for her return to Florida.

By the time she boarded the plane for her flight home, she carried a measure of serenity in her heart that she had achieved some sense of closure on an emotional chapter of her life. And although she would always hold a profound longing for what might have been, she had come to accept the fact that she and Max just were never meant to be.

Nearly six months had passed when one day Fran heard the doorbell and was surprised to find a package for her with a Manhattan postmark. Taking a deep breath in preparation to deal with the powerful emotions that were sure to engulf her, she settled onto the couch and opened it slowly.

As she reached into the box, a lump formed in her throat and tears immediately sprang to her eyes as she pulled out the elegant statuette and held it up to read the inscription: Best Revival of a Play 2007: "The Widower." She turned the Tony to admire it from several angles before reaching into the box for the note. Opening it, she read, "This award really belongs to you. We know that Dad would want you to have it. He loved you so much, and so do we. Always your kids, Maggie, Brighton and Gracie."

Managing a smile through her tears, Fran took the well-deserved award to her mantle, where she set it lovingly in a place of honor. It sat there for many years afterward, cherished by her as a symbol of Max’s life and his life’s work. But mostly it stood for a beautiful, yet sad love between two people who by an ironic twist missed out on sharing the love of a lifetime. Yet, somehow, each knew in their heart of hearts, that in spite of all that they had missed, they had truly loved each other. And both took comfort in knowing that they had been made the richer for it.

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