He got to see it, too—you-know-who—as Fe would have been so glad to hear, thanks or no thanks (depending on which of the two you talked to) to his cashier who had been with him for years and therefore remembered that ex-fiancée of his who she had always thought was wound up too tight.

What’s-his-name was busy working on the Big Slurpy machine that had been giving out more slurp than flavor all day. The repairman had not showed up after three calls in to his beeper. Meanwhile our efficient and dedicated convenience store manager was losing business, so Tom had decided to tackle the job himself when Luella looked up from the Daily she was reading between customers and said, “Well, look at this, Tom. Your ex-girlfriend’s getting married this Saturday!” And then added, not being able to resist a dig at her uptight boss, “You invited?”

Tom left the machine to see if in fact what his less-than-brilliant cashier was talking about was true. Sure as sure, there she was, once his Fe, still lovely, hair perfectly styled, next to a guy that the paper was saying had graduated from the University of Arizona and who was going to be her husband, and meanwhile the Big Slurpy machine was letting loose all the cherry syrup and ice slush on the floor, so that la Luella did not get much pleasure out of Tom’s miserable expression since he sent her to the back room for the mop to clean it up while he took over the register.

He said nothing about it but rang up six-packs and the Sunday edition of the Daily in total silence, and when Luella finished the KP-type assignment, he went back to working on the Big Slurpy machine. The rest of the day he almost did not speak at all and Luella kept out of his way, all too glad when her shift was over and she could take off to the more pleasant atmosphere of her trailer home, with the teething twins and her pain-in-the-ass old man.

Luella didn’t bring it up no more but she knew and Tom knew. It was over. It was official. It was in the paper. Not even in the dreams he used to have about Fe after crying himself to sleep on most Saturday nights, after a double shift at the store and a few whiskeys at a poker game with friends, would Fe ever be his again.