“What do you think you are you trying to do with this?” she stepped forward. Sam backed away, fearing a knife or gun. Instead she withdrew a newspaper. “Is this some kind of joke? What, did you rent out a press or something?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, you idiot,” she thrust the newspaper into his chest. When he flipped it up, he saw a wedding announcement, circled in thick red ink, Sam Bowers – Amy Donovan.

“Cute joke, real cute. You know if you wanted to get back together you could have called me. I almost called the police. I talked to Maria, I thought you were going stalker on me, and then she said she thought it was cute, and I said why do you think it’s cute, and she said because he went to all that trouble, and you can barely put your underpants in the hamper, why would you-”

Sam ignored her, as he often did. Knowing what he might see, he moved his eyes to the top of the page. The date read September 12. One week from today.