“I’m just going to run down to J’s, he wants me to see some things at his place, it’s not a date," you said; "he’s going to bring Emma by to spend time with Max, and then I guess he will bring me home." Brilliant you waited until after dark, and until after the rain started; only his truck parked in his drive so the neighbors, more specifically, Mark & Janet, wouldn’t get any ideas, or worse pop in on your “see some things, not a date” evening. Did he light candles, pour wine, cook dinner, and did you insist on talking about The Fountainhead? You said I sounded funny on the phone. I spent a glorious evening planning my departure, and dreamed of moving into my new brownstone where you have never been. I would have shared that with you to put your mind at ease, but you didn’t come home from your “see some things, not a date” assembly.
George is writing to relieve the pressure in her head, because the Advil isn’t working, and a gun is out of the question. She is the author of Certified Mail.