The Honest Truth

I was on the plane back to Halifax and I heard these people talking behind me. The lady had a loud drawl and smacked her lips between words. The guy was a chatterer, one of those story telling types that could go on forever. They were old friends, both over 60. They had just come back from a business trip she accompanied him on to Ottawa. He was a sweet looking old man, with kind eyes and a nice smile. She was a short-haired woman, with a sharp goldish blazer who looked great for her age. At first I thought, ‘This is going to be fucking annoying.’ But once I tuned into the chatter, it was the sweetest conversation between old friends:
“I hope you had a good trip,” the guy said humbly. “I knew you would be melancholy but that’s why I wanted you to come.”
“I lost my whole family,” said the woman, shakily. “Four deaths is too much.” She starts to cry.
“We’re best friends,” says the man after a pause. “I’m so glad you came with me.”
“We’re soulmates,” she says, and then, getting some energy back into her voice. “Maybe we go to price club tomorrow?”
“If that’s what you want,” he replies.
“I see God’s light when I look out the window,” the woman says, getting distracted. “It always haunts me.”
Then they talk about taking a trip to Las Vegas, and the other people they want to invite.
“Who needs acquaintances when you have friends?” she says.
“I hope you had a good trip,” he says again after a silence, in the most genuine voice.
“I did. I did. It was a lovely trip, just what I needed,” she tells him. “I’m just so sad.”