She finished the dishes and dried her hands.

“So I talked to my mom today. I was thinking of going home for a few days.”

“All right,” I said, beginning to understand why she had washed the dishes.

“Are you okay with that?”

“What do you mean? Are you asking me if you can go home?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, just wanted to make sure it was okay.”

“Why would you think you would have to ask me?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you went home?”

“Thanksgiving. It’s my parents’ anniversary on Friday. I kind of miss them.”

“Well hell,” I said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll just miss you. When are you leaving?”

“Not sure. I wanted to talk to you first and still have to figure out work. I’ll have to get my shifts covered since it’s such short notice, but I shouldn’t have a problem.”

3

She left three days later, on a Thursday. She worked the early shift and her bus was scheduled to leave at four. I left MDI at two so we could ride down to the station together. It’d be our first time apart. I was a little bummed, and wasn’t sure what I’d do during the six days she’d be gone.

I arrived home at two forty. She was packed and showered, looking vibrant and beautiful in faded jeans and a black tee. She had sprayed perfume on her wrists and neck.

“Why are you all dolled up?”

“I don’t know. Want to look nice for my parents. It’s been a long time.”

“Are you going out with friends tonight?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Stratton,” she said with hints of frustration. “I’ll probably go to dinner with Mom and Dad.”

“Alright,” I said. “All ready?”

We took the train down to Union Station. It was a nice day, the sun shining, spring finally waking from its long, insufferable sleep.

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” Carolyn asked.

“Cry myself to sleep at night.”

“Shut up,” she said, nudging me in the ribs.

“I don’t know. Have a ménage à trois.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“Are you going to be good to me while you’re gone?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Stratton. Quit worrying.”

“I’m not,” I said unconvincingly.

“What are you really going to do?” she asked again after a brief silence.

“I don’t know. Try to get some editing done, hopefully write more queries,” I said. On Tuesday another four rejections arrived, the next day, two more. Zero for fourteen with only one to go.

“Well, I’ll miss you,” she said.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“Do you realize that tonight will be the first night we’ve spent apart?”

“Yeah, I was thinking that today,” I said.

“It makes me sad. Are you still going to love me when I get back?”