THE WIND ROSE IN THE NIGHT.
Carl Seitz woke to the moaning of the eaves and sleepily reached for the other side of the bed—only to come suddenly awake when all his reaching fingers touched was the smooth, cool flatness of an empty sheet. He’d slept alone for a month, but still, every night, the realization twisted his gut into a painful knot.
The window rattled, shuddering in its frame under the onslaught of the wind, as though something outside very much wanted to get in. Jennifer loved to listen to the wind, Carl thought. He could picture her lying beside him, could hear her rich alto. “Listen to it, Carl,” she said. “It sounds so free, so alive...doesn’t it make you want to just pack your bags and follow it, follow it wherever it goes?”
He rolled over and closed his eyes, but the dul
