AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The next bite I tried tasted awful—my punishment for self deceit.
After peeling a Benjamin out of my wallet, I stood, left the bill on the table, and walked back to my car.
Kelly’s house was fifteen minutes away in this traffic, and I tried formulating the words as I drove. It didn’t go well. We needed to talk, but everything I came up with sounded lame.
I reached her address and parked across the street and down two houses.
She probably isn’t home yet, I told myself. That gave me time to work on my speech: the most fucking important speech of my life, the words that would win her back.
I banged my head against the wheel when inspiration wouldn’t come. Opening my eyes again, I looked up.
A dumpy, older, balding guy walked down the sidewalk carrying flowers—a nice gesture for his wife.
I rubbed my eyes for a second, trying for the words to start with. When I looked up again, he’d stopped at Kelly’s house.
He walked to the door and rang the bell. Obviously the guy was senile and couldn’t even find his own house.
The door opened.
Kelly smiled and let him in.
The door closed.
What the fucking hell?
* * *
Kelly
I’d gottenhome and finished my first glass of wine when the doorbell rang. Putting my glass down, I went to the peephole and was surprised to find Mr. Heiden outside, with a bouquet of flowers.
I unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door.
He spoke first. “I’m sorry I was short with you this afternoon.” He held out the flowers. “May I come in?”
I opened the door further and took the flowers as he passed. “You didn’t need to.”
“I thought it appropriate.” He wore the face of sadness, of loss.
I closed the door, latched the deadbolt, and carried the flowers to the kitchen to locate a vase. “I’ll just put these in water. Can I get you something to drink?”
It was a standard offer, but so lacking. A glass of water or cup of coffee wouldn’t heal the wound he carried. Nothing I could offer would provide an escape from the pain of his loss.
He followed me into the kitchen. “No, thank you. I remember you have a roommate who also works with us, isn’t that right?”
I pulled a vase down from the cabinet and settled the flowers inside. “I did. Yolanda is a curator in Natural History.”
He moved to the back door and checked outside.
I went to the sink and started adding water. “But she moved out.”
He sighed impatiently. “It’s all your fault.”
I turned off the water and set the vase on the counter. “Pardon?” When I looked back, he had turned away and leaned on the table.
“She’s dead because of you,” he snarled.
My eyes went wide, my heart raced, and I screamed louder than I ever had before.
