an exerpt from "her silver lining"

page 26:

gertrude held an off-white object under the water flowing out of the tap, and quickly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. the dim light that surrounded her face cast shadows, unflattering patches of dark, which swept across the side of her nose and down toward her jaw. still, time had been kind to her - kinder than it had been to others she knew.

give us a smile, she thought to herself as she placed the dentures into the roof of her mouth. gertrude still wasn't comfortable with this set. she loved her real teeth, but it made sense to go ahead and have them replaced. a sly smirk started to poke at the corner of her mouth as she thought, these might get in the way tonight.

jameson, gertrude's husband, had died just over two years ago, and not a day passed where she didn't think about him. at the same time, she had often told herself, a woman's got needs – even at 73.

eugene was charming, had all of his original teeth, and at 75 was the talk of all the single ladies at piney shores. he had made his money early in life as a podiatrist, and after a couple of failed marriages, found himself gravitating to the life of a bachelor. at piney shores he had his own place to live, he bought his own groceries, chose what to watch on tv, and didn't have to share his bed... unless he wanted to.

eugene loved the way the gals glanced at him through their blinds as he and old carl batted the shuttlecock back and forth out on the badminton court. he also loved how the arts n' crafts ladies always called him gene, before offering to pose nude for one of his sketches. eugene was a stallion amongst old and broken down workhorses, and tonight he had chosen a new rider – gertrude.

sitting at the end of gertrude's bed, eugene felt a bit out of place. perhaps it was the photos of gertrude with her deceased husband that were framed and displayed across the top of her dresser. or maybe it was the religious iconography that dotted the walls – a crucifix over the doorway, a painting of the virgin mary over by the window. eugene never fancied himself a religious man; he believed in creating his own fortune, his own fate, and no one else (heavenly, or otherwise) had any bearing on his life's direction.

it certainly wasn't performance anxiety that nagged at him as he grabbed at the afghan that covered the bed. gene was proud of his ability to become erect. in fact, he had always thought that his boners would be envied by men half his age. he just couldn't understand what was tearing at the back of his mind.

before he could give it anymore thought, gertrude stepped into the bedroom, dressed in a silky nightgown. just as gene began to feel the blood rush to his groin, his mind cleared. was he in love?

gertrude moved towards the bed.