She always prepared the table for two, set her hair and dressed each night for dinner.

Her mother’s china with the gold rim framed with good silver from the wooden box.

The wine goblets filled with iced water from the wine decanter glimmered in the light from the candle flame.

She served two plates and ate from one, then covered the other with foil.

She imagined who might join her; a gentleman caller, former classmate, a neighbor or a stranger passing through town.

She read the paper each day, so she could discuss current events with the companion that never materialized.

When dinner was finished she cleared the table and knew that her lunch the next day would be the same meal, eaten standing at the kitchen counter surveying the visitors at her bird feeder.

Once done she would begin preparing the evening meal and mentally organizing her topics for discussion.

Then she busied herself with choosing an outfit and accessories for the evening.

Her days were full, her hours ticked by to the pendulum swing of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

The only thing that remained empty was the seat across from her own at dinner each night and the space in her heart that she had reserved for one.