On the counter that divided the kitchen from the den she found a note that read, ‘Hi honey, took the kids to see Santa one last time. Stopping for p...zza and will be home around seven. Love Alan.’ It was well after seven o’clock when she arrived and then the concerns set in. She called his cell, but got the voicemail and left a message. ‘I’m worried about you. Call me when you get this,’ she said and ended the call. The moment that call ended another came in. ‘Alan?’ she answered. The silence. “Sam, we need to talk. Whatever you think of me there’s the children, our girls, to think of,” she said. She waited. It was clear to me that she was waiting for me to respond to her last gambit.“One question, you answer me honestly, and then maybe we can talk if you want,” I said.“Okay,” she said.“Mia and Sarah, what do they call your new man?” I said. She looked away. I smirked and nodded.“I don’t have children anymore. But, for whatever reason, you seem bent on talking to me, and I’m sure. But it wasn't me she was really referring to. I could hear the edge of nervousness in her tone of voice. She really did hate thunderstorms, always had and probably always would."Come lay by me," I answered her in response. Though it was early evening, she was already wearing a simple throw over nightgown that she quite often wore to lounge around the house in at night as a way of making herself comfortable. As the next timely crack of lightning lit up the night sky, its brief dazzling. Finally, she looks down to his keyboard, places his fingers on the keys.It is time.I know. I don’t want to go.It’s the rules. It’s time to go home.Yes.Will you be thinking of me when you fuck her?Yes. You know I will.Yes.The resultant pause fills with something neither of them can quite name, a little like joy, a little like remorse, a little like the half remembered bits of a dream fading the instant you awake.Will I ever talk to you?You know the rules.Will I ever touch you?The rules, dear. We.
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