�Almost home,� he said, smiling at her from the corner of his eyes. It was late afternoon, and she was bone-tired and stuffed to the gills with seafood. Suddenly, she giggled, in a good mood.

�Can you believe that waitress?� she asked mirthfully.

Adam chuckled. �I certainly do. She looked like it was her first day and she couldn�t have been more than fifteen!�

Maggie sighed, a breeze of laughter escaping from her lips. �Oh, poor thing. It was like she needed help but didn�t know who to ask � or which end was up -�

Adam turned into the driveway, carefully maneuvering the tiny grey speck among the mammoth trees. Maggie sighed again and let her nervous fingers drop onto her lap. Wedding nights shouldn�t be so nervewracking.

He coughed and she turned her attention toward him, eyes open like a frightened fawn. He smiled to reassure her, and said, �Do you remember the first time we met?�

She closed her eyes, and said, �You were assigned to shoot that building they tore down on Seventh and Washington. I met you that afternoon. I�d been sick and my stockings had a run.� Her breath gusted out into the quiet of the car. She continued, �You shook my hand and called me Maggie Jane, and you had your� Nikon� that day, I believe.�

She looked up at him, quietly but with a small confidence. He was impressed, but tried to hide it. �You had the tiniest hands,� he said. �I remember looking at them and thinking I would break you if I ever touched you.�

Maggie swallowed a lump in her throat against the memory of another man who loved her tiny hands. �I don�t break so easily, even though I�m little,� she said, absently. Her good mood disappeared.

Adam led her through the door, remembering belatedly to pick her up and walk her backwards over the threshold and then forward again. She felt oddly like a child, in her rumpled summer dress and her long tan jacket, both which hung to the floor from her frame.
He kissed her nose, affectionately, carefully, as he did everything, and set her down. �Would you like something to drink?� he asked eagerly. Hearing himself, he schooled his voice to something more casual, remembering feeling smooth and winning the night before � and here he was, married, and still nervous.

�I�m good, thanks,� she said. Her voice caught in her throat a bit, and she began to realize everything � the implications � of what she�d done. �I have nothing here,� she said, quietly. �I�m in yesterday�s clothes. Would you mind terribly if I go out to my place to get some things?�

Just the phrase �my place� brought forth a sea of loss and nostalgia. Marriage. Maggie held her hands close to her face and her purse dangled idly from her fist.

Adam watched her for a moment, then dropped his arms to his sides. �I�m sorry,� he said. �I didn�t even think to swing by your place for stuff. Or talk about any of this.�

Maggie�s head began to pound.

He continued, �I simply didn�t think. Would you like me to come with, or is this something you need time alone for?�
Maggie closed her eyes gratefully. �I think I�ll go by myself, Adam, but thank you.� She opened her eyes and said, �I really appreciate your understanding.� She walked forward carefully, opened her arms, and offered forth the first affectionate gesture since her last, years ago, the afternoon of the funeral.

He sat in the living room, waiting for her to return, contemplating her as he knew her. There was a coffee cup with a greasy lipgloss stain resting casually on the sink. Everything else in the kitchen was orderly. He looked in her fridge, but there was nothing in there but some Golden Soft margarine and expired milk. He hunted around for some food but only found a handful of power bars and a few boxes of rice dishes.

Mags lived a solitary life.

He stayed the hell away from the recliner, choosing instead to sit on the luggage he�d packed in a hurry. His phone calls that morning had jarred him, and he thought viciously over details to avoid the thought that Maggie might never come home. Sam, cabinets, calling Robert first thing in the morning, eating pancakes for lunch on the plane, biting his lip out of habit until it bled and a passenger in the plane noticed the trickle down his chin. Details, details. His hands curled and relaxed. Earlier, out of boredom, he�d sat and played a simple melody at the piano, a song he�d written for her, about her, like every other song he�d ever written. His eyes shut against the memories.

Her key turned in the door, and for a golden, silver moment, he could see her outline, perfect and shapely against the moonlight. Oh thank God. She was alone.

�Heya, Mags,� he said.