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I don‘t reether in the cold for almost two more hours: him in his sweatshirt, me wrapped in a warh that when I looked up, the waitress was eyeing us through the restaurant‘s tinted s

Like ere the ones in glass rather than the other way around

31: a

Mr Anderson dropped me back at the McMansion a little before 7 PM The kitchen‘s handset display said I‘d nized

First e andwell, I could be wrong, but I’ more for Nate So(Pause) I don’t knohat he’s talking about Unless he and your ive his publicist a call and see what the story is Justthis isn’t worth bothering your e: Hi, sweetie, it’s your ht I know you don’t er wouldn’t kill for a week off froood week Love you

Click Dial tone

Moht, too: I didn‘t mind I didn‘t care

At All

I tuned my radio to a station Mr Anderson liked, the one we‘d listened to in his car

They were playing a Bach fugue I thought about how Mr Andersonat this very ether, even if eren‘t in the saood

As I listened, I unfolded the papers I‘d palmed from his pocket He‘d written theht There was so about the shape of the letters that reraphy and was so different from his familiar scrahich I‘d seen a hundred tiraded papers It was so each letter with exquisite care One was obviously a grocery list: eggs, strawberries,he‘d need for pancakes Whichof me when he wrote it That feltprivate and special, like this was a note only I would understand

The other note was very brief: a single letter and then a word

J

And: lover

I read it twice over but knew there was no et it

I was J And lover was

This was about me, Bob

It was about me

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