A jangle to her right made her whip her head around. Keys? He had always hung his keys from his front pants pocket. She heard the sound again. It was the woman at the next table. She wore a grey collared jacket--the kind business women used--and she gestured emphatically with Starbucks coffee cup in hand so that her dainty silver watch clinked on the glass-topped table.
She looked away from the woman and to her own square-faced digital watch. She had bought it at a yard sale for seventy-five cents. Then her eyes drifted to the wedding diamond on her ring finger. It didn’t glisten now like it had that morning as she held it up to the apartment window, debating whether to wear it or not.
The door behind her whined open. She tensed. Her eyes flitted from her dusty red Converse sneakers, to her faded black pants, to the ring on her hand. It didn’t fit. It wasn’t right. She yanked the ring off, stuffed it into her purse pocket. Who did she think she was, anyway? Why was she here? How could she believe he loved her still? Heat and pressure built around her eyes. He couldn’t see her cry. Without looking behind her, she stood, flung her purse over her shoulder, and rushed forward to the only other door leading out.
“Carla!”
She looked up. It wasn’t the person from behind. It was him – on the street side of the partially-open door, hand clutching the handle opposite hers. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t look into his eyes, couldn’t search to read sarcasm in his smile – so she looked through the glass to his hand. On it was his wedding band.
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