Ray picked up the flash drive and held it in his closed fist. He thought about the kitchen table eight months ago. Diane’s hands around a coffee mug, telling him seven months was long enough, asking him if he could just show up for once.
He thought about walking her down the aisle, the weight of that, the particular quality of her look at the end of the garden path that he’d been replaying like something he could keep. He thought about her voice four days after the wedding, flat and careful and already somewhere else. It just isn’t working. Four days. Samuel had been planning the exit before he’d even said the vows.