The next morning, I’m one hundred and ten percent certain something’s wrong. It’s 6:17 A.M. and I’m waiting for Lee in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, trying to make my glass of water last so I have an excuse for hanging around, doing nothing but staring in the direction of his bedroom.
Every morning, we go out running together at six on the dot. Without fail, come rain or shine, weekend or workday. The only exception is if either of us is sick or if it’s a world-ending kind of storm outside. And Lee is a stickler for being on time; between him and me, I’m the one who’s always late and leaving him waiting impatiently for me to get ready.
And now it’s almost twenty-past six and he hasn’t shown his face yet?
Outside, it’s a lovely May morning. The birds are chirping, waking up the
