He never spoke much of his wife, only said they were having problems communicating. He said Junior was their one and only shared happiness, that their marriage was approaching its end. It was just a matter of time.

And I nourished my hope on whatever spare amount of time he could come and see me. But crumbs, I soon discovered, only leave you hungry for more.

*
It is Friday and I am waiting with blood-red fingernails and matching heels by the elevator of Dave’s apartment complex. I am supposed to be outside waiting in my car, but I want to surprise him. And secretly, I am hoping for a glimpse of the elusive Junior.

There is a list of tenants posted next to the elevator. I look for Dave’s. Dave and Marisa Sutter it reads. Apartment # 2A. I finger the buzzer lightly, wondering if I should, and before I can decide, I do it anyway. BUZZ . A woman’s voice on the other end, the same voice that sometimes answers when I call and ask for Dave. Always without suspicion, suspiciously cheerful.

“Hello!”