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classically elegant man’s watch that I’d discovered in a pawn shop in Philadelphia one Saturday afternoon while on a break from a design expo.
    “Of course I still have the watch. Until I found you here in Dallas, it was the only thing I had from you. I wasn’t sure if you were going to be receptive to me showing back up in your life.”
    “How did you find me, Brad? It’s not like I left a forwarding address.”
    “Mr. Pierot told me.” He tipped his head down and smiled, then looked back at me. His face softened as he talked about the man who had trained him. “I went to see him a couple weeks ago. He turned eighty-eight. Turns out he read something in the papers about you. I didn’t know what you’d been through. He gave me the article, and I tracked you down.” He reached a hand across the table and rested it on top of mine. “When I heard about the pillow stalkings, I realized I might really have lost you forever.”
    “Brad, I have a life here. A life I’m used to, a life I like.”
    “Is there room for me in that life?”
    “I don’t think so.” I knew it sounded harsh, but it was the truth. I needed Brad to hear it. “The way you showed up at my apartment, I can’t handle that. Right now I come and go as I please. I’m still getting my business off the ground. I can’t drop it all for you.”
    “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I’m here now. I’ll be here until you’re ready for me.”
    “That’s not good enough, Brad. Where have you been? How long are you planning on staying in Dallas? Where are you staying?” My voice rose with every question and when I stopped, I looked around to see if anyone else had heard me. The waiter stood a few feet away getting drinks from the bar. He looked away and carried a tray of wine glasses to a table of college-age girls. “You can’t expect me to not ask questions.”
    He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve moved around a lot in the past couple of years, but spent most of my time in Virginia. Right now I’m staying in The Brite House Apartments by White Rock Lake. It’s a short-term lease and a bachelor apartment.” He pulled the black plastic stirrer out of his glass and took a drink. “How long I stay in Dallas has a lot to do with you.” He lifted my hand and I pulled it away.
    Unlike Brad’s sentimentality with the watch, I’d parted with everything he had ever given me. After the lie, I packed the things that I couldn’t replace—mostly vintage items I’d collected from estate sales—filled out a change of address form, and left my life behind.
    I hadn’t been looking for the message from Brad when the police found it in my trunk. If I’d have known it was there, I probably would have thrown it away without watching it, never being the wiser.
    What struck me now about that six minutes of film wasn’t that Brad had bothered to hide it. It was that his confession had been interrupted by someone who never appeared on film. Six minutes in the camera tipped over. There were four gunshots and then the film went black.
    Four gunshots.
    Volunteering at that theater had been one of the highlights of my life after moving to Dallas. After viewing that film strip, I never returned. Like owning my building, establishing Mad for Mod as my mid-century modern decorating business, and swimming every morning at Crestwood pool with the elderly set, being involved with the theater had become part of my routine.
    Brad’s confession had tainted the theater for me. There was no way he would have known I was involved with the newly-renovated classic theater, or known I’d be watching his filmstrip confessional there. That’s the way life had played out.
    Until the moment Brad showed up at my apartment, I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. I’d been going through the motions of my life, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And here he was, sitting across the table from me, telling me his troubles were behind him.
    “I thought you were dead,” I