By the time he hung up the phone he was numb all over. In just
over an hour, his whole life, which he had managed to somehow get
back on track, however shakily, had once again come undone. He
felt like he was at the end of his rope, like he was cracking up.
And the only person who could ever help him through the really
tough times was Kate. That was who he needed to talk to right
now.
But how? How could he call her, when the reason he needed her was
the very reason she had left him?
So instead of calling her he sat there alone, wondering if this
was it, if this was the last of his punishment for his mistakes,
or was there still more to undo?
* * *
"What are you doing?" Matthew said, finding Greta in the den,
crouched among a scattering of cardboard boxes.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Packing."
"Bingo."
"Why?"
"Why?" she repeated, taking in his goofy expression. "Why do
people usually pack, Matthew? Because I'm moving." She returned
to her task of carefully settling a vase into a box.
He placed his hands on the box flaps, holding them down as she
stretched a length of tape from a spool. "When?"
"Soon. And I can do this, thank you," she said curtly, holding
the strip of tape over the box. He let go and dropped his hands
to his sides.
"Greta, I'm sorry about today," he said, watching her work.
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