He came at noon. I had cleaned the apartment not for him but because cleaning was how I managed anxiety, and there was a great deal of anxiety to manage.
He looked like a man who had not slept well in two weeks, which was accurate. He stood in the doorway for a moment before I stepped aside and let him in.
"Thank you," he said.
"Sit down," I said.
He sat. I made coffee because making coffee gave me something to do with my hands. I set his mug in front of him and sat across the table, not beside him.
"I need to ask you something," I said, "and I need you to answer it exactly and completely."
"Okay," he said.
"Tell me about Chicago. Everything."
He put both hands around his mug and stared at the table for a moment. Then he told me.
Vivienne had reached out before the conference. She
