“I will be at the office most of the day,” he said. “We have the third-quarter audit coming up.”
“I thought the accountant finished that last week,” I said.
“There were some loose ends,” he said, turning toward the door. “Do not wait up for lunch.”
The kitchen seemed too large after he left, the hum of the refrigerator filling the empty space between the oak cabinets.
The physical therapy clinic break room always smelled of cheap hazelnut coffee and chlorinated pool water from the rehab tubs. I sat at the laminate table at two in the afternoon, rubbing cream into my dry hands.
Marilyn, the senior physical therapist who had worked the desk next to mine for five years, sat down across from me with a plastic container of salad.
“I saw Daniel yesterday at the organic market downtown,” Marilyn said, unscrewing her water bottle. “He looks different.”
“He’s been working eighty hours a week on the new development,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“Well, he’s lost some weight,” she said. “His face looks much thinner. Is he sick?”
