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down?”
    Esther squinted through the sun’s glare into liquid pools of pleasure. His eyes were a gray-silver that spoke of an ancestry from other lands. In contrast, his skin reminded her of her favorite Starbucks latte with a dollop of caramel on top. There was a negative; he was tall but too lean for her taste. However, he carried a carefree attitude and a teasing grin that added to the positive side on his balance sheet. Esther looked around at all the vacant benches and knew his game. She uncharacteristically decided to flirt. This had never been her skill, and if nothing else, she could practice.
    Esther batted her eyelashes. “Well, I don’t know. I was enjoying the solitude. Are you guaranteeing me something better?”
    â€œWell, if I’m not better than nothing at all, I need to kill myself now.” Confident, he began to sit.
    â€œThat’s not even a little funny,” Esther fumed.
    Shocked, he sprang back up. “I beg your pardon. Let me begin again. I’m snapping a few pictures with my new camera. It was a birthday gift from a friend. I’m really a harmless guy who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet such a lovely lady. My name is Roger.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “I never joke about a subject as morbid as death. If you can handle that, then I’m Esther. Please have a seat. Looking up at you is making me dizzy.”
    â€œThen we’re even ’cause I got dizzy the moment I saw you.” He jokingly acted out a dizzy spell resulting in a smooth move to sit down next to her.
    Later, Roger bought her an Italian ice. As she enjoyed her lemonade-flavored treat, they strolled along the riverfront and he took pictures of her and passing boats. At one point, he asked a passing stranger to take their picture. At the end of their time together, he wanted her phone number but had to settle for her taking his. Thirsty for attention, she called him the next day and over the next ten months they were inseparable.
    Esther sighed heavily into her pillow. She should have read the signs: his moodiness, folded scraps of paper with numbers in his pockets, and his inability to keep a job. Her newly acquired tolerance had her making excuses for him. She felt that he just needed her steady influence and encouragement. Sheri’s suicide made her second-guess her ability to distinguish fact from fiction; a valiant effort versus a waste of time. She was too naïve to understand that some drowning people will take down the one trying to save them too.
    Esther flipped over onto her stomach and bunched the pillow beneath her. She flung the picture across the room. It landed facedown. Some memories were too painful and regret was a wasteful emotion. She picked up the second snapshot; she kept both pictures for different reasons. The first picture revealed how they got together. The second picture illustrated why the relationship ended; it was cliché and tawdry. Only her fingerprints gripping a photo of herself, tearful, holding her bruised shoulder was unique.
    Soon the night breathed her name, and her lids drifted shut. In slumber, she rolled over on the picture burying it beneath her.
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    The morning tapped on her shoulder much too early. “Ugh . . .” She was tired after a nightmarish slumber. “Move it, girl.” Sleep-deprived, Esther rolled out of bed. She staggered into her bathroom and plopped down on cold porcelain. The toilet made a rumbling noise through the house when Esther flushed it. She didn’t mind because it was her place; therefore, her noise. When she shared a house with her ex-husband, Roger, nothing with the house ever went wrong . . . just everything in the marriage.
    Esther spoke into the quiet of the morning, “Lord, I can handle a loud toilet as long as I have a quiet life. Mother Reed has stirred up some mess.” She rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes in frustration. She was not about to sit back on her assets