She walked toward the pile of scattered cups and got down on the floor to collect them. Soon Matilda was beside her, matching her movements, and when she looked up, Tim and Barbara were gone. They didn’t speak about it, and even if they had, she would not have known how to explain herself; she didn’t completely understand the feeling of betrayal that had tucked itself inside of her. They made dinner and ate and carried on as if nothing had happened, but when Therese woke in the early hours of the morning, Tim was gone. She knew he was in the shed, and when he came back to bed she pretended she was asleep. He tiptoed around in the dark, pretending not to wake her.

The next morning at work, she tried to distract herself. She ended up in the storage closet, searching for pens. The dust in the room clung to her skin, making everything she touched feel dry and brittle. She sneezed and continued rummaging through boxes looking for supplies. Her search proved mindnumbing, and once again she was thinking about Tim. They didn’t say much to each other after what had happened, and she replayed the events of the day in her head, but mostly, she thought about triangles.

A box slipped off the shelf and she kicked it hard, leaving a satisfying dent in the corner. Dusting herself off, she remembered she forgot to pack lunch, so she gave up on her pen search and went to look for something to eat in her desk drawer.

He was standing in the office when she came in, looking like he had just pulled over for directions. She walked toward him, covering her surprise with a cough and trying to ignore the obvious amusement the situation provided for Maryann, the secretary who sat behind her.

“You left your sandwich on the counter at home. I thought you might like this better.” The plastic grocery bag he opened made a crinkling sound like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Tim pushed a container of food toward her. “Here.”

She didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. Baked ziti, still warm from the oven. Her favorite—a peace offering. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He crumpled the bag into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket and stood with his hands at his side.

It suddenly occurred to her that other than dropping her off, he had never come inside. “This is where I work.”

He nodded and looked around. Maryann stopped typing. Her expression sent the tiniest little sparkle down Therese’s arm. “This is Tim.”

It took a few moments for Maryann to reset her lips, but once she did, she smiled. “Hello, Tim.”

“Tim was just bringing me some lunch,” Therese said.

“Isn’t that sweet.” Her pretty manicured fingers perched over the typewriter keys, calculating when next to strike.