She searched for an excuse. None came. She couldn’t use the one she had used for a decade—it wasn’t true anymore. And she hadn’t been alone long enough to brush up on some new lies. In fact, she felt that she was somehow being unfaithful to Robert just by talking to this guy. But she was a single woman. Finally she wrote her phone number under the map on the napkin and handed it to him.

“My number’s on the bottom. Why don’t you call me tonight, around five, and we’ll take it from there, okay?”

Travis folded the napkin and put it in his shirt pocket. “Until tonight,” he said.

“Oh, spare me!” a gravely voice said. Jenny turned toward the voice, but there was only the empty chair.

To Travis she said, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Travis glared at the empty chair.

“Nothing,” Jenny said, “I’m starting to go over the edge, I think.”

“Relax,” Travis said. “I won’t bite you.” He shot a glance at the chair.

“Your order is up. I’ll be right back.”

She retrieved the food from the window and delivered it to Travis. While he ate, she stood behind the counter separating coffee filters for the lunch shift, occasionally looking up and smiling at the dark, young man, who paused between bites and smiled back.

She was fine, just fine. She was a single woman and could do any damned thing she wanted to. She could go out with anyone she wanted to. She was young and attractive and she had just made her first date in ten years—sort of.

Over all of her affirmations her fears flew up and perched like a murder of crows. It occurred to her that she didn’t have the slightest idea what she was going to wear. The freedom of single life had suddenly become a burden, a mixed blessing, herpes on the pope’s ring. Maybe she wouldn’t answer the phone when he called.

Travis finished eating and paid his bill, leaving her far too large a tip.

“See you tonight,” he said.

“You bet.” She smiled.

She watched him walk across the parking lot. He seemed to be talking to someone as he walked. Probably just singing. Guys did that right after they made a date, didn’t they? Maybe he was just a whacko?

For the hundredth time that morning she resisted the urge to call Robert and tell him to come home.

ROBERT

Robert loaded the last of the laundry baskets full of dishes into the bed of the pickup. The sight of a truckload of clean dishes did not raise his spirits nearly as much as he thought it would. He was still depressed. He was still heartbroken. And he was still hung over.