Less than an hour after takeoff I walked out through the terminal’s automatic doors at McCarran and was hit with the oven-dry blast of heat that signaled arrival in Las Vegas. It didn’t faze me. My eyes intently searched the vehicles stacked in the pickup lanes until they held on a silver car with its lights on. The sunroof was open and the driver’s hand was reaching through it and waving. She was flicking the brights at me, too. It was Eleanor. I waved and trotted to the car. I opened the door, threw my bag over the seat into the back and got in.

“Hi,” I said. “Thanks.”

After a moment’s hesitation we both leaned to the middle and kissed. It was brief but good. I had not seen her in a long time and I was suddenly shocked by the realization of how fast time could slip between two people. Though we talked every year on birthdays and Christmas, it had been almost three years since I had actually seen her, touched her, been with her. And immediately it was intoxicating and depressing at the same time. For I had to go. This would be quicker than any of those birthday calls we made each year.

“Your hair’s different,” I said. “It looks good.”

It was the shortest I had ever seen it, cut cleanly at the midpoint of her neck. But it wasn’t a false compliment. She looked good. But then again she would have looked good to me with hair to her ankles or even shorter than mine.

She turned from me to check traffic over her left shoulder. I could see the nape of her neck. She pulled into the through lane and we headed out. As she drove she reached up and held her finger on the button that closed the sunroof.

“Thank you, Harry. You don’t look that different. But you still look good.”

I thanked her and tried not to smile too much as I got my wallet out.

“So,” she said, “what’s this big mystery that you couldn’t tell me about on the phone?”

“No mystery. I just want some people to think I’m in Las Vegas.”

“You are in Las Vegas.”

“But not for long. As soon as I pick up the car I’m heading back.”

Eleanor nodded like she understood. I pulled my ATM and American Express cards out of my wallet. I kept my Visa card for the car rental and anything else that might come up.

“I want you to take these cards and use them over the next couple of days. The ATM code is oh-six-thirteen. Should be easy enough to remember.”

It had been our wedding day.

“Funny,” she said. “You know, this year it falls on a Friday. I checked. That’s bad luck, Harry.”

Friday the thirteenth somehow seemed appropriate. For a moment I wondered what it meant that she was checking on when future anniversaries of a failed marriage landed on the calendar. I dropped it and came back to the present.