Pamela drove toward the restaurant that Sébastien had chosen for their first date. Five years past her divorce, she was sixty-five years old, and two years into the tedious world of online dating. Old memories swirled; her first kiss, first lover, her ex-husband’s courtship, their wedding, five years of happiness, thirty years of gradual hollowing out of their affection, her two daughters and their unqualified love, his affair, the divorce, loneliness. She’d feared that her time to find love had passed. And now hope, from Sébastien, a man she had not yet met. He was seventy-one years old, fit and handsome, a retired cardiologist, intelligent, and in their communications, thoughtful.  He came to America from his native France forty years ago. During their one brief phone conversation, Sébastien told Pamela that his wife, Hatsue, died three years ago, that he was ready for a new relationship. She smiled in anticipation of hearing more of his elegant accent.

She took in the restaurant, tastefully romantic with high ceilings, dark oak wood, white table cloths with candles on the tables – then walked over to Sébastien, who was waiting at the reception stand, even more handsome than his online dating picture. 

“Pamela, a pleasure,” he said.

He did not presume to hug her, as had so many of the insufferable men she met online, and accompanied her with the waitress to their table. Sébastien pulled her chair out for her, and waited until she was settled before sitting down himself. They ordered the French wine that Sébastien recommended.

“It’s wonderful to meet you in person,” Pamela said. “I want to say that I am sorry for the loss of your wife.” 

“Hatsue,” Sébastien said. He settled back in his chair, and gazed upward for a long moment before looking again at Pamela. 

“There has never been a woman like her. I was thirty-five, on a solo vacation in Japan, a break from medical school in America. Hatsue was giving a violin performance. She was ten years my junior. I could barely concentrate on her divine music. She was surely the most beautiful woman in Japan.”

Pamela wondered at this strange opening to their first date. Sébastien continued.

“I waited for her for an hour at the front of the concert hall, and introduced myself in my halting Japanese. Hatsue answered in perfect French, which she spoke fluently, as she did English and ten other languages. I invited her for a drink, and she accepted. From the moment our eyes met, our souls were bonded forever.”

“Love at first sight,” Pamela offered.

“Far deeper than mere love,” Sébastien said, “far more consequential. Hatsue came with me to America, and we married within a week. She continued her ascendancy in the violin world. Hatsue never sought mass appeal like Perlman or Bell. No matter. Among true violin cognescenti, she was a goddess. When Hatsue practiced in our living room, I swear that angels danced.”

Sébastien paused his reverie, as the waitress came to take their orders.  

“Hatsue always ordered the duck au poivre for us at this restaurant,” Sébastien said. “It’s quite good here. Not like the duck au poivre that Hatsue made at home, but for a restaurant, more than passable.” 

They each ordered the duck au poivre and another glass of wine.

“Do you know,” Sébastien said, “Hatsue was a master chef. If violin had not been her life, she could have owned a five star Michelin restaurant. Our meals were symphonies for the eyes, for the nose, for the palate. Hatsue’s understanding of food as a messenger of love could not be taught. She was born with a masterful instinct.”

By now, Pamela understood that this increasingly odd date would not be about her. She should have been annoyed. Despite herself, she was drawn to Sébastien’s tales of the 

near-mythic woman who had been his wife. She settled in for the journey. There seemed no end to Hatsue’s virtues. Pamela studied Sébastien’s face when he spoke of Hatsue. Beatific was the word that came to her mind. He was seated across the table from her, and speaking, but he was not truly present.

“You worked in retail?” Sébastien said.

“I’m a buyer for a mid-sized women’s clothing chain,” Pamela said. “I plan to retire in a year or two.”

Sébastien raised his glass of wine as if for a toast.

“What an extraordinary coincidence. Before I met Hatsue, when she was eighteen years old, she briefly despaired of earning a living playing violin, so took a job in retail. She said that it was soul draining. After less than two months, she vowed never to compromise her violin playing, even if she had to live in poverty. Of course, her talent was too immense for that outcome, even if she had not known it as she entered adulthood.”

When the meal was served, they ate in silence for awhile until Sébastien asked Pamela, 

“Do you like to travel?”

“I enjoy drives to the shore,” she said, and foliage trips in the fall. The last time I travelled overseas was during a year between college and graduate school.”

“When I met Hatsue,” Sébastien said, “I imagined that my trip to Japan might be my last venture overseas. I was pretty much a home body. Hatsue would not have it. By the time I had met her, she’d already undertaken a solo backpacking circumnavigation of Iceland. She climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro at age twenty-one. We took many adventures together. The Galapalagos, of course, and many less-traveled parts of the world, where we trekked and backpacked and stayed in hostels while learning the culture of the locals. At the beginning, I traveled scared, afraid of some mishap away from first world care. Hatsue was intrepid. She pushed herself and me along with her. With Hatsue by my side, I could do anything. I became fearless.”

Pamela wondered if Sébastien would notice if she left the table, immersed as he was in memories of his wife. The waitress came by and asked if they cared for dessert.

“We always order the taramisu here,” he said. “At home, Hatsue puts a Japanese twist on the Italian classic that is extraordinary. Here, it is pure Italian, and large enough to share.”

Sébastien had slipped into the present tense with no irony. “Shall we order the taramisu?” he asked.

Pamela had been fighting a growing sense of unworthiness throughout dinner. She feared that if she heard much more of the legend of Hatsue, she might shrivel to nothingness like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. 

“I think that I will skip dessert,” she said, “and head home.”

Sébastien hung his head.

“I am ashamed,” he said. “I have spoken only of Hatsue for our entire meal. I did not mean to be so rude. When Hatsue contracted the merciless illness that took her life, 

I was certain that she would beat it, and survive. It was not to be. She lives within me. Perhaps I am not yet ready to begin dating.”

“You seem a fine man, Sébastien,” Pamela said. “No, you are not ready to begin dating.”

Sébastien placed on the table enough bills to cover the meal and a generous tip. He rose,  and with a flourish, placed his hand to his heart.

“Pamela,” he said. “Je suis désolé. Au revoir.”