Henk knocked at the door, paced a minute, no noise. He knocked again, harder, flowers behind his back. Paced.

One more time, he knocked, neck reddening. Maybe I should just turn around and leave, he thought. Maybe I should just start walking and not look back.

She came to the door in a bathrobe, hair wrapped in a towel. Henk, she said, what are you doing here?

Thought I’d surprise you.

I was in the shower, she said. Come in. I’ll go get dressed. He followed her in. She went into her room, closed the door. He put the flowers on the dining room table. He walked around the room, picked up a magazine, flipped the pages. Put it down. Voices from her room. He put his ear to the door, heard the lilting treble of her voice. Maybe she was talking to herself.

She came out in sweatpants and a tank top. You should put those flowers in water, he said.

She put her arms around his neck. Why?

They’ll die, he said.

They’re already dead, she said. They died a long time before they got here, she said.