Meandering into the room her hip thumped against the bureau and something shuddered to the floor. Getting it she saw that it was the valentine's card David had given her a couple of months prior, a line drawing of one of Picasso's pigeons on the front. Inside was composed, essentially, Love you, Marie, consistently will.
She went to the closet and pulled out his number one T-shirt, a worn-out Stone Annikas one he used to wear in bed. Holding it to her face she took in his aroma. A surge of recollections hit her; his face, his kiss, the manner in which he said her name, the smell of his body first thing. A picture of the van's bloodstained seat streaked before her and she sank on to the bed, tears gagging her. As of now, like never before previously, she felt sure that he was dead, that sh
