Reggie took the stairs fast and, when he found himself in the darkened guest bedroom, he stood there sadly, staring at his bag for a few moments. He sighed and then he went to pack it up. He lingered more than necessary on the zipper, while his mind drifted back over what had been said—and not said—at the cemetery. Hefting the bag onto his shoulder, he took one last good look around before closing the door behind him, not quite able to say goodbye.
“It was nice while I had it,” he murmured.
Slowly he went downstairs, the steps seeming infinite.
Russell stood at the kitchen counter. He’d opened a bottle of Sauvignon and was drinking. There was only one glass. He frowned when he saw Reggie, bag in hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed.
Reggie put his bag down at his feet. “I’m…go
