I held back, watching as you raised a camera to your face, checked the lighting (I assumed), and then walked to the long glass-paneled room called the Shed. You didn’t wait for the passengers to leave but started snapping as they hugged, stood alone checking tickets, and walked to their train car.

Was this your artist’s way? You were a bit of a voyeur, like me.

There’d been no distance between us when we’d been in bed. You’d enjoyed our lovemaking. I knew when a woman was having fun and when she was not. And you’d come. I’d felt the orgasm ripple through your body as you’d clung to me.

After it was over, we’d both dozed. I’d gotten up to go to the bathroom about 2:00 a.m., but when I returned, I discovered you’d left. Had you been pretending to sleep when I’d kissed you on the cheek? Were you just waiting for your chance to escape?

Frustration simmered. You owed me some kind of explanation. You don’t just fall into a man’s bed, make him feel things he’d not felt in too long, and leave. It wasn’t right. Cruel even.

You kept shooting pictures for another half hour, catching the light as the clouds outside parted and the sun shone through the open glass.

I could confront you here. Seeing me face-to-face would make it impossible for you to dismiss me. But that felt too public. Too dangerous. There had to be a way to get you alone. We needed privacy so I could prove to you how much I loved you.

27 MARISA

27

MARISA

Tuesday, March 15, 2022

9:15 p.m.

When I arrived back at my apartment, I paused by the door and tried the knob. It was locked. Good. Because I knew damn well that I had thrown the dead bolt when I’d left. I twisted the key, and inside the apartment I switched on the light. As I lingered in the entryway, an odd sense that something was wrong washed over me. Everything was as I’d left it. The half pot of coffee rested on a cold burner. My computer screen was off. Dishes stacked in the sink. Shit, not again.

I moved to my desk drawer and opened it. The file Richards had given me remained as it was. So why was the air charged with a strangeness that was unsettling? Had Brit returned?

A cool breeze rustled over my skin, causing me to turn to the window facing the river. It was ajar. Open only a few inches, but I knew for a fact I’d not opened it. Maybe in the late spring or fall, but today had been too cold, even for the radiator heat.