“That’s convenient, isn’t it?”
His hand closed around the keys.
“Good night, Rachel.”
The door shut behind him.
For a while, I just stood there.
Then I picked up his coffee mug and washed it.
“Good night, Rachel.”
It was already clean.
I washed it anyway.
By one-thirty, I had typed and deleted six messages.
“I’m sorry.”
“Please come home.”
That last one made me stop. I didn’t want fear to turn my apology into begging.
“Please come home.”
So I pulled on a coat, grabbed my keys, and drove across town.
***
Tarryn still lived in the house she’d shared with Ben’s father. Years after both women were widowed, her best friend Marcia moved in.
Ben called them a marriage without paperwork.
Marcia once threw a napkin at him for saying it.
When I pulled into the street, Ben’s car sat in Tarryn’s driveway exactly where it always did.
I pulled on a coat.
Relief hit me.
He was there.
I could fix this.
I walked up the path with the spare key Tarryn had given us years before.
Then I noticed a faint light from the bay window.
The curtains weren’t fully closed.
I could fix this.
I saw Ben before I could look away.
He was sitting on the floor.
Tarryn was facing him.
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