I just knew I’d be gone.

* * * * *

I was on my chaise lounge under an afghan with my book, and I was taking a sip from a glass of wine when my phone rang that evening.

I looked down at it on the table beside me, saw who was calling, set aside my wine and took the call.

“Mickey,” I greeted.

There was a pause before he said, “Hey.”

I said nothing.

“You there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I lied.

“The kids with you?” he went on.

“No,” I told him.

He fell silent.

I didn’t jump in.

He ended the silence with, “We’re back tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Early flight here, get back late there.”

“Yes.”

A pause before he asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You don’t sound right.”

I wasn’t.

I was head over heels in love with a man who no longer wanted me for no reason at all.

“I’m fine,” I lied again.

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well, I am.”

“Amy, what the fuck? Talk to me,” he ordered.

Now, after weeks of me gently trying to get him to talk, he wanted me to talk to him?

“About what?” I asked.

“What’s up your ass,” he answered irately.

I would not rise to the bait. I couldn’t imagine why he wanted a reaction from me, but he couldn’t have it because I didn’t have it in me.

“Nothing’s up my ass, Mickey. I was having a glass of wine and reading when you phoned. And it isn’t exactly early here.”

“It’s nine thirty,” he stated.

“Yes. And I’m relaxed and was into a book. I had lunch with the girls today. No Dove House. Not a big day. Nothing to report. I’m mellowed out and am probably going to go to bed soon except I’m into this book so it might keep me up reading.”

He took a moment as if to digest that while assessing its veracity (and there was absolutely no veracity) before he said, “Then I’ll let you get back to your book. But I gotta ask you somethin’ tough and that is, keep your kids at your ex’s tomorrow. Once I get us home and the kids settled in, I’m comin’ over. We gotta talk.”

So he wasn’t wasting time.

“Text me when you’re on your way over,” I told him.

“Will do. Now I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. Enjoy your last few hours of cactus and sunshine.”

“Sun went down already, baby.”

There was humor in his tone. I hadn’t heard that in over a week.

It pained me.

“Then enjoy your last few hours of cactus and warmth.”

“Will do that too. Later, Amy.”

“Good-bye, Mickey.”

I didn’t hang up.

He didn’t either.

“Babe?” he called.

“Yes,” I answered.

“That it?”

What could he possibly want?

“Sorry, was juggling wine, didn’t hit the button,” I lied. “Anyway, ’bye again, Mickey. See you tomorrow.”

Then I hit the button and set the phone down.