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she looked so good for her age. After that, she went to the gym every single day, even on Sunday. She must write all of these things down somewhere, have something to show for her relationship with him. His own children, those two fabulous, intelligent beings, they would want to know someday, wouldn’t they? To know what kind of son their father had been?
    She tried not to think about the past year, how her relationship with Jack had changed, unspoken events that would change them forever. No unpleasant memories would be allowed admittance that day.
    She shook out the afghan and folded it into a neat square. How long would this scent stay in it? A week? A month? It would grow stale before long, and Pam would take it and throw it into the washing machine. She would ask her daughter-in-law if she could have it. It still had traces of his DNA on it, maybe a stray hair, a dried tear, or a skin cell. She thought of the sheets on his bed in the apartment. Oh God, the apartment . Pam had to deal with that as well. If she were smart, she wouldn’t sell it. She would keep it, just in case. But that was not her business. She must say nothing but loving comments. She thought Pam silly, shallow. But Jack had loved her, and she loved Jack. Her daughter-in-law must be feeling about the same way she did last year at this time when Harold died.
    She worked her way to the end of the chair and struggled to get up. When did I get so old? She wanted to be with the rest of the family now, to hear what they were talking about. There was plenty time of to be alone. She had the rest of her life to be alone.

7
    S andra struggled with the key, willing the woman to leave, to get back to her cab and be gone. How much could one person tolerate in a day? She stumbled to her own door after slamming the hallway door shut. Once inside her apartment, the terror of the moment subsided. She took a deep breath. Here was safety. She smelled the clean smell of the house. The order around her brought her peace and she was glad she’d cleaned that day. What could be worse? Jack was dead. Thank God we had last night together. “Thank you, God. But why did her have to die? Why now?” she said out loud. Her momentary peace escaped her, and she fell apart. Sliding down the door to the floor, she crossed her legs and put her head in her hands. She was alone in the world. There was no one on earth who she could call right now and say, “Jack is dead,” who would understand, who would care. The impact of it brought her to tears again. No one knew. Well, not exactly no one. Those women who she had earlier wished be gone might know. They cared.
    How lucky am I that the woman, Jack’s wife, was so lovely! Could it be she was under medication? Was she in shock? Sandra certainly didn’t expect that sort of greeting, that much caring. Jack never bad-mouthed her, but he also didn’t go into a lot of detail about the kind of woman she was—a gracious, giving woman. One who could put aside her own feelings and embrace the woman who had been sleeping with her husband. Her grief, compounded by guilt, paralyzed her. She lay on the floor in front of her door in the dark for the rest of the night.

    The next morning, stiff from the hard floor, Sandra got up, put her purse in the closet and walked to her bedroom. She pulled the shades up. It was a bright, sun-filled day. Picking up the bedside clock, she saw that it was eleven already. How’d that happen? She felt lightheaded, strange, probably from sleeping on the floor. She remembered that she hadn’t had dinner last night. But, first, she would have a shower. She gathered up clean underwear and a robe.
    The hot water felt good on her skin. She couldn’t shake the lightheaded feeling. Hurrying to get finished, she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She was concentrating on the mundane tasks of her morning. It was Sunday. She would take care of herself and wait for the call. Her life would be in bondage to the