me “critical negotiations.”
He gave me irritation.
He gave me the sound of the ocean and another woman’s laughter.
He told me his mother had bad nights before.
I listened until he ran out of patience.
Then I said, “Enjoy your trip, Christopher.”
“It isn’t a trip.”
“Of course not.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I looked at the urn, the divorce papers, and the silver key resting beside my bare hand.
“It means I won’t call again.”
He exhaled hard.
“Good.”
That word ended twenty years more cleanly
