She stopped breathing for half a second.
“I missed you too.”
“I tried not to.”
“So did I.”
“Terrible plan.”
“Awful.”
I moved closer.
“So what now?”
Karen looked at me for a long time.
Then said, “Now you take me somewhere quiet.”
My heart jumped.
I laughed softly.
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Where?”
She reached for her coat.
“You choose.”
We drove to the overlook.
The same place.
No rain this time.
The sky was clear.
The city spread beneath us like a field of stars.
I parked.
Karen got out.
We stood near the railing.
A cold breeze moved through her hair.
“I was a disaster the last time we were here,” she said.
“You were having a bad day.”
“My husband told me he’d wasted eight years pretending to love me.”
“Okay. Bad decade.”
She laughed.
Then the laughter faded.
“Do you know why I asked you to take me somewhere quiet that night?”
