Will, wide awake, rolled over in his sheets and dangled his torso over the edge of the bed. He heard breakfast noises in the background, and knew his roommates were scrambling around, getting ready for work. He reached for his cigarettes and pulled himself back into bed, tucking the sheet around him in a long-forced habit.

Terry knocked on the door. �Will,� she asked, �You awake in there?�

He closed his eyes against the memories of Maggie and rasped, �I�m up.�

�I have to go now, Will,� she said. He imagined her trim power suit filling the hallway, her perfect slingbacks clicking impatiently on the rustic hardwood floors. He imagined her grapefruit and nonfat yogurt smoothie grinding away in the blender, and he imagined Robert tying his tie over a cup of black coffee, unsuccessfully trying to drink coffee, dress, and read the Chronicle at once. With a curse he tossed his sheets off, ground out his cigarette and headed for the shower. In ten minutes, he was in her car.

She took corners too fast. �Was it Mags?� she asked.

�What if it was?� he countered, quietly.

�Will, I thought that was over. Why did she call?�

Maggie�s been gone for years, he ached to say. There are times she never even seems real. There are times I wake up in the night, next to this blonde or that redhead, but I always think I�m waking up to the ghost skin of Maggie, a pale wraith of soft fawn hair and unexpected dimples and grey eyes that seem so lonely but know so much more.

�She�s getting married,� he replied. Terry pursed her lips together. �So she called you. That�s excellent.� The car swung down a curve unexpectedly. In the backseat, Robert reached absently for the hanger handle and turned a page of the paper. �Downtown, honey,� he reminded her.

�I haven�t forgotten,� she singsonged.

Will looked at his sister-in-law and shrugged. �I suppose it is excellent, then. What am I supposed to do? I can�t just sever those ties.�

�Sure you can.� Terry�s voice was firm. The car turned a hard left. His stomach churned.

Will ignored her and looked out the window. Flooding images of Maggie came crawling back to him. He swallowed the sick in his stomach. Stop stop stop-

�Stop!� he hollered, pitching forward. He clutched his hand to his face and swallowed. His stomach tasted like fear.

Terry wrenched the car over to the side of the road, and Will opened the door and vomited onto the sidewalk. His hands shook as he fished a hanky from his suit pocket and swabbed the inside of his mouth. �Fuck,� he whispered into the asphalt. He stared at the ground. He conjured the years of Maggie. In his heart she was still the student carving her way through college, the shyly brilliant critical writer, fierce and smoking through intellectual debates while listening to Bowie on vinyl. He remembered her faded velvet green recliner, stained with many splashes of merlot and lipstick. His mind settled on the night of the piano, her face sticky with kisses, her fingers lingering over Wagner while her eyes stayed fastened to him. No one could ever love her like he�d loved her.

I have to go back.

He hadn�t realized he�d spoken the words aloud until Terry replied, �To what?�