A laugh escaped me.
It was wet and ugly, and it turned halfway through into something else.
I put the heel of my hand against my mouth.
David looked at the puddle.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me be sorry for a while.”
Footsteps hit the pavement, quick and unsteady.
Carl came across the lot with his blazer hanging open, and his tie was gone.
His hands were out in front of him as if he were approaching a dog.
“Laura. Laura, please. I was drinking. I didn’t mean any of it.”
I stood up.
My knees were stiff from the cold.
“Which part?”
“What?”
“Which part didn’t you mean? The part where you’re not attracted to me? The part about Sheila? Or the part where I’m a housekeeper?”
“All of it. Honey, come on—”
“Don’t call me honey.”
He stopped.
