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Chris asked.
    I paused a moment. Chris had no idea about my crush on Evan, at least I didn’t think so, but the mention of Evan’s name from my husband’s lips startled me.
    “Um, yeah. We did.”
    “How is Evan?”
    “He’s fine. Good.” I searched my mind for another topic, but finding none, I elaborated about Evan. “He’s got his promotion, and he’s bringing in business, so Roslyn loves him.”
    “And is Roslyn stil tough as nails?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Not like you, Treetop. You’re soft and sweet.” Treetop was Chris’s nickname for me, based on my maiden name, Tremont. I hadn’t heard him use it in a long time.
    I shifted closer to him, and Chris kissed the tip of my nose. It was an intimate gesture, in some ways more intimate than what had gone on in the shower, and the sweetness of it nearly made me cry.
    He grinned at me, real y looking at me like he used to, and I smiled back.

    “So enough about me,” I said. “What’s going on at the firm? Any news?”
    “Wel , you know that health care merger?”
    I nodded. I didn’t remind him that when I asked about it last night he hadn’t seemed wil ing to talk about it.
    “It’s a complete mess,” Chris said. “I’ve got to go to court this morning.” He lifted himself up and glanced over me to my alarm clock. “But I’ve got time.”
    This made me flip around. The angry red lights of my clock said 9:04 a.m. And that damned frog—somehow it was turned around and facing me again. No matter, I was late. Really late.
    “Shit, Chris,” I said, leaping out of bed. “I’ve got to go.”
    He groaned. “Another ten minutes.”
    “No!” I laughed. “You’ve got to be in court, and you know how Roslyn is about me being on time.” I’d been reprimanded more than once about my inability to get in before nine.
    I tore open the closet doors and rifled through my pants. I threw on a pair of wide-legged chocolate-brown trousers, trusty old favorites. I grabbed an ivory silk blouse and buttoned it up as fast as possible. I added a chunky silver necklace and grabbed my makeup bag and my purse.
    “Okay,” I said to Chris, who was stil lazing in bed, “I’m out of here.”
    “Give me a kiss.”
    I halted my frantic scrambling. “Of course.” I leaned over the bed. Chris sat up and stroked my face with his hand. Then slowly, slowly, he kissed me.
    “What’s gotten into you this morning?” I asked.
    He laughed. “I don’t know. Something good.”
    I had to agree.

    “Sorry,” I muttered to anyone who might be listening as I hustled out of the elevator and down the beige-carpeted hal to my beige-wal ed cube. A look at my watch told me it was 9:39.
    Not good.
    “Hi there, Bil y,” the receptionist said as I sped past her.
    “Hi, Carolyn.”
    “Bil y, I have messages for you!” she yel ed after me.
    That stopped me. Carolyn took messages for no one but the VPs and the higher-ups. The rest of us had to make do with voice mail. The only reason Carolyn might have a message for me is if Roslyn wanted to talk to me. Roslyn, who no doubt wanted to kick my ass, or my career, for being late again.
    I took a few tentative steps toward her and held out my hand. There were three slips, which couldn’t be good. Possibly the owner also wanted to fire me.
    “There you go,” Carolyn said. “Have a nice day.”
    Was she mocking me?
    I flipped through the messages as I retreated from her desk. Two were from clients. It was curious that she’d taken those. Maybe there was some kind of emergency. The last one was from Roslyn.
    Please see me, was al it said.
    I felt something quake inside me. Not at al good.
    But what real y made my stomach rattle was the sight of my cubicle. It was empty. Completely empty.
    The photo of me with my mom and my sisters was gone. Odette’s cookbook, my haphazard stacks of press releases, a stage bil from a musical Chris and I saw during our first year together—al gone. I cleared my throat. I tried to think of a