58I peered at the digital clock on my bedside table.
It read, Monday, July 10. 5:57 AM.
Pat’s hand cradled my bare belly. His warm body spooned around me.
The first day of the work week and I was happy to be awake at sunrise.
A new and delightful sensation.
I should join AARP. I might be missing other unknown pleasures of forced retirement.
I stretched my arm and switched on the bedside lamp.
Its soft, golden light brought out the muted rose-and-gray plaid in the sheet covering me and Pat.
The glow brightened the pale blue walls and midnight-blue carpet. Turned my bedroom into a cozy love nest.
At some point during the night, I’d tried to apologize for how badly I ended things before.
He hushed me. He was an investigator. He’d figured it out. No need to waste time revisiting the
