He was, on paper, wonderful.
But at 7:29 p.m., he’d be gone.
He was, on paper, wonderful.
Chloe caught my eye across the kitchen while Richard was in the living room with Mom, but didn’t say anything. She just tapped her wrist, mouthed the numbers seven-three-zero, and raised one eyebrow so high it nearly touched her hairline.
I turned back to the stove and stirred the gravy that didn’t need stirring because, somewhere in my chest, a small, tight knot had started to pull.
Chloe caught my eye across the kitchen.
***
The Sunday after Chloe’s little Cinderella joke, I watched Richard like a woman studying a suspect through a two-way mirror. He was carving the roast beautifully, but also checking his watch between slices.
“Big plans tonight, Richard?” I asked, sliding the potatoes over.
“Oh, nothing exciting. I’ve got a client in Singapore, believe it or not. Eight o’clock call.”
