Click.I hung up again. I don’t care what she says. Graham is honorable and I am fortunate to have a man like him in my life. Honorable. Fortunate. Honorable. Fortunate. Honorable. Fortunate.

I kept repeating those words over and over as I grabbed my coat and headed back down the elevator toward the front desk. Honorable. Fortunate.

“Excuse me,” I said to the front desk attendant. “I’m trying to reconcile my credit card accounts and I’m not sure which credit card my travel agent used to book this room. Do you mind if I see the printout?” Honorable. Fortunate.

Looking at me like I was crazy, the front desk attendant punched in the room number and handed me the printout.

“Thank you so much. Happy Thanksgiving.”

I had obviously hit an all-time low. There I was, huddled up in a corner of the hotel lobby, scanning the hotel printout for Graham’s credit card information, hoping to find his home address. What little class and dignity I had left was slowly vanishing into the night.

This is ridiculous, Montana. Put down the hotel printout and pull yourself together. Put down the printout and reclaim your pride. I said all of this to myself while still scanning. Put down the printout and reunite yourself with the respect you once had for yourself. Bingo! Reunion cancelled. His address: 3546 Mike Circle, Olympia Fields, IL, 60461.

Quickly, I hopped in a cab and was off. At 2:45, we reached a residential neighborhood. I had done the unthinkable. I was in front of Graham’s house.

“Girl, I’m here,” I whispered into the cell phone to the only person who could relate firsthand to the hellish depths I had descended.

“Here where?” Gail responded, sounding too happy to have received a returned phone call.

“At his house.”

“Whose house?”

“Graham’s house.”

“Graham’s house?”

“Yes, Graham’s house.”

“Oh…he came back and picked you up?”

“Well…yeah…kinda sorta.”

“Guuurrrlll, please tell me you did not go over to that man’s house without being invited!” I pulled the phone from my ear as Gail shouted loudly, even startling the cab driver who by now was staring at me through the rearview mirror wondering if he may possibly be part of some FBI sting gone bad. I handed him an extra twenty-dollar tip.

“You said something was fishy.”

“Yeah I did, but I didn’t tell you to buy a pole and go fishing! Girl, I hope for your sake he lives alone.”

Knowing Gail, her concern was merely a smoke screen, an obligatory lead-in to getting the information she was really seeking. After several moments of silence she could stand it no longer.

“Girl, how many square feet is it?” I was right.

“About four thousand,” offered the cab driver. “I visit a lot of these homes, so I know.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“You’re welcome.”

“About four thousand,” I repeated to Gail.

“Four thousand?!Guuurrrlll …”