PART 4
The parking lot smelled like wet asphalt and burning leaves.
It had rained while we were inside, and the lamps threw long orange streaks across the puddles.
I made it as far as the curb beside my minivan before my legs gave out, and I sat down in my clearance-rack dress with the two halves of a photograph pressed against my sternum.
Everything in me had gone very cold and very quiet, like a house with the power cut.
The restaurant door opened behind me.
I knew his uneven step without turning around.
David stopped a few feet away and did not come closer.
“May I sit?”
“It’s a public curb.”
He lowered himself carefully, one hand on his knee, and sat a full arm’s length away.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
“You decided,” I said finally. “In a room full of people. You decided I’d find out in front of the whole company.”
