An Affectionate Farewell, by Tony Covatta

Driving North with my wife. “Have you heard from Cousin Cynthia, and Bob?”
“No. Bob’s Parkinson’s can’t be good.”
We arrive, settle in. Next morning at the grocery I see--
“Cynthia?” Hesitation. “Cynthia?” It’s she:
“Bob died yesterday.”
“I’m so sorry.” Blonde daughter Anne appears. “So sorry.” And brunette daughter Caroline. “Sorry.”
Can’t I say something real to these desolate women, tears welling in their eyes?
Then I see the Bob of years ago. A wedding. Elegant attire, charming manners, he flatters each woman of our four with a graceful dance, one after another.
“Ladies, Bob was a lovely man.”