“I am so sorry about your husband,” Jennifer continued. “Given my grandmother’s death only the night before, I can truly sympathize with you.”

“I’m equally sorry for your loss. It is such a tragedy, especially being so far from home.”

“Why I was calling in particular,” Jennifer said, “is the hope that you might feel like having lunch with me.”

Mrs. Benfatti didn’t respond immediately. Jennifer waited patiently, fully understanding that the woman was probably engaged in an internal argument with herself. Jennifer imagined that she probably looked a wreck from crying and being depressed, which was a big argument for her to stay in her room. At the same time, she’d be intrigued by the coincidence and would jump at the chance to talk with someone who was in the same awful situation.

“I need to get dressed,” Mrs. Benfatti said finally, “and to do something with my face. I checked myself out a little while ago, and as the expression goes, I look like death warmed over.”

“Take your time,” Jennifer said. She liked this woman already, especially if she was strong enough to mock herself at a very difficult time. “There’s no rush. I can wait for you here or in one of the restaurants, say the main one just off the lobby, or would you prefer Chinese?”

“The generic restaurant is fine. I’m not very hungry. I’ll be there in half an hour, and I’ll be wearing a violet blouse.”

“I have on a white polo and jeans.”

“I’ll see you there, and by the way, my name is Lucinda.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there, Lucinda.”

Jennifer slowly hung up the phone. She didn’t know why, but she had a good feeling about Lucinda and was suddenly looking forward to lunch. Somehow, the nausea had mysteriously disappeared.

Having taken a Seat in the multileveled restaurant that had a clear view of the hostess table, Jennifer saw Mrs. Benfatti the moment she entered from the lobby—a least, she was quite confident it was Mrs. Benfatti. The woman was wearing a carefully pressed violet top over a darker purple skirt. She was a large woman with an ample frame. Her mousy-colored hair was medium-length and tightly permed. If pressed, Jennifer would have guessed mid-fifties or thereabouts.

Jennifer watched as she stopped to speak with the maître d’. When the maître d’ motioned for Mrs. Benfatti to follow and turned to head in Jennifer’s direction, Jennifer waved and Mrs. Benfatti waved back. As they approached, Jennifer continued to watch the woman. She was impressed by the way Mrs. Benfatti was walking with her head held high. It wasn’t until the woman got close and Jennifer could see her bloodshot eyes that it was at all apparent she’d just lost her life partner.