We had spent the previous year planning this anniversary.
Robert had sat beside me looking at hotel photographs while apparently knowing every hallway already.
“How young is she?”
“Early 20s, maybe.”
I had to grab the railing.
Robert was 65.
I felt sick.
“Did they stay together?”
Evan’s expression changed.
“You think they were having an affair?”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Mr. Harris booked the room under his name, but he never stayed overnight.”
“How do you know?”
“I work late. I’ve seen him leave.”
“Then why was he paying for her room?”
Evan hesitated.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice came from behind me.
“You really want to know?”
I turned around. Robert stood in the doorway.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I said, “Who is she?”
Robert looked at Evan. “You should go.”
Evan didn’t argue.
He disappeared inside.
I folded my arms. “Who is she?”
