She turned when she heard a knock.

Someone was at her door.

Now, this was a surprise. She didn’t get many visitors. She lived in a small neighborhood of old arts and crafts houses, an area that had become a little more fancy than when she and her husband, who had worked for the phone company, moved there. Her neighbors were mostly couples in their thirties and forties without children and commuter jobs that brought them home after dark. She’d never even spoken to her next-door neighbors, the Hansons, who moved in three years ago. But the fact that they’d told their lawn man to “keep their neighbor’s lawn neat too, for the sake of the neighborhood” spoke volumes.

But it got her lawn mowed for free, so who was she to complain.

She turned on the porch light, then opened the door. A short, square, middle-aged man with sharply cut dark-blond hair stood there. His slacks and shirt were wrinkle-free and his shoes shone like firecrackers. He had a small suitcase at his feet. “Fred!”

“Hello, Evanelle.”

“What on earth are you doing here?”

His face was drawn, but he tried to smile. “I…need a place to stay. You were the first person I thought of.”

“Well, I can see why. I’m old and you’re gay.”

“Sounds like a perfect relationship.” He was trying to be upbeat, but in the glow of the porch light he was as shiny as glass, and one small shove and he’d break into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Come in.”

Fred picked up his suitcase and entered, then stood in the living room looking like a little boy who had run away from home. Evanelle had known Fred all his life. He won the county spelling bee two years in a row, then he lost to Lorelei Waverley in the fourth grade. Evanelle had come to see Lorelei compete, and afterward she found Fred crying outside the gymnasium. She’d given him a hug, and he made her promise not to tell his father that he was so upset. His father told him he should never cry in front of other people. What would they think of him?

“Shelly came in early today. She caught me in my pajamas in my office. It’s been easier just to stay at work. I know what to do there,” Fred said. “But word is probably out now, and I can’t stay in a motel. I don’t want to give James that kind of satisfaction. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s noticed I haven’t been there. He hasn’t called to ask where I’ve been. Nothing. I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you talked at all?”

“I tried. Like you said. After that first night I slept at the store, I called him. He was at work. He said he didn’t want to talk about it, that just because I finally noticed something was wrong didn’t mean I could make it right now. I told him about the wine I bought from Claire. He said I was crazy, crazy for wanting things the way they were when we were first together. I don’t understand what happened. One moment we were fine. Six months later I suddenly realize I can’t remember the last time we had a regular conversation. It’s like he’s been leaving me by degrees, and I didn’t even notice. How does a person not notice that?”