The key remained on the foyer desk for two days. Hunter followed Michael’s advice and didn’t even allow himself a glance at it until one afternoon, he hit upon an idea. He thought the key afforded him an opportunity to clear up any doubts he had about Michael. Clicking off the TV in the living room, he wandered into the foyer. The key lay, right where Michael had left it, on a green blotter. Beneath it was a folded piece of stationery Hunter had not bothered to look at until now. He opened it and saw Michael’s neat lettering. He had written, “Mi casa es su casa tambien.” Hunter snorted and surmised Michael didn’t get much call for his Spanish here in rural Wisconsin. Still, the sentiment was a kind one. Below the offer of making his house available, he’d written the name of the hotel where
