Gesturing at the card, I asked, “Do you count every day until the weekend to see all your clients?” For once, he had no ready response.
His phone buzzed, and LAURA HAYES illuminated the screen. He let it ring unanswered. Eleven years suddenly stood between us: our mortgage, jobs, breakfasts, illnesses, Christmases, grocery arguments, Sunday coffee, his father’s surgery, and Daniel’s hand in mine at my mother’s funeral. Laura needed no physical presence. Her name was sufficient.
Looking again at the bouquet, I said, “It seems the florist sent the
