Following is work submitted by a person who seems to have potential as a writer. The writer wishes to remain anonymous so going forward the name ‘Liber Incognito’ will be the name of this author. I think this writer shows promise and I would like to know if you agree. This piece is untitled by the author but I have given it the title “The Companion”. Read it and tell me if you think this writer has the makings of a good author. – Sheniqua Waters

The Companion
  

             He sat across the restaurant table and looked into her eyes. She was not aware that her eyes reflected the candlelight in much the same way that they did the flames from the fireplace last night. As she spoke, the occasional ring from other people’s crystal glasses added a subtle percussion to the musical lilt in her voice.

            Though he knew she was speaking, he was lost - not in what she was saying, but in how she was saying it: the way that her breath delicately emphasized the accents of her words took him back to last night, when they were sharing wine and the warmth of a fire, sheltered from the snowstorm that had suddenly arrived from the north. He had arrived at the house last night while the storm was at its peak; she was huddled in her car on the side of the beachfront road with a flat tire, trying to find a tow truck in town. As it was, he pulled up at that time and offered her a respite from the snow while waiting for the driver. His thoughts were on his fortune that the tow truck could not come tonight due to the storm, and was not aware that she saw his eyes drift from the conversation while she spoke.

            She, too, remembered the fireplace and the wine and was hoping that this was where his thoughts were drifting while she spoke. If that were the case, then it was all right, because she was also reliving those same memories even while speaking about something that she, herself, was not paying attention to.  Last night had ended with the empty bottle of wine, when fatigue from the day’s events had forced them both reluctantly to bed – him to the large bedroom that faced the beach, her to the warmth of a very large, very comfortable bed in one of the guest rooms.

            Their attention was brought back to the present by the discrete cough of the waiter, who had approached the table unnoticed. She looked across and saw that he, too, was returning back to this time and place in the conversation. She thought that she detected a slight change in his visage, as if mutely irritated by the interruption.

            “Is there anything else that I can get you?” inquired the necessary intruder, clearing away the remains of tonight’s dinner (the dessert had gone largely untouched, ignored not by dissatisfaction, but by the reticence of not wanting to pause the conversation long enough to eat it). Glancing at his companion, he asked for the check as he handed the valet ticket to the waiter. “Please have the car brought around”, he stated with what she thought was a touch of impatience.

            The bill paid, they were getting in to the car as the snow began to fall once again. Looking over at his passenger, he dialed a number into his cell phone. “We will be there within the hour. Have the fireplace going and set out the Bordeaux that I asked for. Once that is done, you are through for the evening. Good night and thank you.”

            As they drove along the snow-covered road, her mind drifted back to the wine, the fireplace, and the stunning moonlit view of the winter’s beach, which could easily be seen from the wall-to-wall plate glass windows that adorned that side of the house.

            A smile played slightly across her face, reflecting back into the car’s glass by the headlights on the snow that piled waist-high on the side of the road. Nearing the house, they passed the spot where her car had been stranded last night. It had been picked that morning, towed back in town. As they drove by, neither one of them was in any hurry to have her car repaired.   - Liber Incognito