A week passed. Then another. The ache of Mark’s leaving no longer kept Dan up at night, and when he came home from work, the apartment didn’t feel like a place he had shared with someone, but his own place. He rearranged the living room furniture, bought a bookcase at a second-hand furniture store on Howard Street, and hung up a couple of framed posters he had had in storage.
It was becoming his home.
Less and less he wondered about Mark, but still, there was a lingering desire to know where he had gone and what had become of him. For all Dan knew, he could have gone out after Dan dumped him, bought an eight-ball, and snorted himself right into an overdose. All this time not hearing from him could mean he was dead.
No one would have told Dan. Like Adam’s family, Mark’s mother didn’t hav
