9
I thought I’d cried myself out upstairs, but I found a few more tears. Okay, a lot more. By the time I finished crying, the coffee I’d put on when I came downstairs had brewed.
Why didn’t she come say goodbye upstairs? I knew so little of all of this—the strange metaphysics of multi-part souls and their manifestations. Maybe dashing off the note and pulling the cookies out of the freezer was all she’d had time for, and she couldn’t get caught by my questions. I read the missive again.
What does Giancarlo, my alcoholic Italian boyfriend who sucks in bed, have to do with this bizarre situation?
I shook my head. Too many questions, too little time for answers.
“Well, it looks like I’ve got my agenda set for the day,” I said out loud to combat the quiet in the house. Nothing, of course,
