“That’s it?” I asked.
Walter smiled at me with the serene confidence of a man who believed he had just done something very clever. Then he walked out.
It was the most grounded exchange that had happened in the last hour.
I left that house confused, annoyed, and thinking about Timothy’s eyes, which I immediately tried to dismiss as irrelevant.
Going back wasn’t an option.
Becoming part of whatever story Walter thought he was writing wasn’t going to happen.
***
Two days later, Timothy appeared at the grocery store during my afternoon shift.
No suit this time. Just a jacket and a queue number, waiting in my line like anyone else.
