Page 42 of Chemistry: The Chemist

I was in no rush to spill, but with Art, I didn’t have a choice.

“No way to tell him I miss him.”

“Awwwww. My girl has the blues.”

“Something awful, Art. As much as I want to, I can’t deny it.”

“I’ve been there. If no one else understands, I do.”

She’d met her husband and spent a lovely night with him. Two days later, a business emergency pulled him away from her for three weeks. She was lovesick and positive she’d fallen for a man she’d only known forty-eight hours. Nothing in her world was right until he returned. When he did, he wasn’t empty-handed.

“I know.”

“So, listen to me when I tell you there is no need to worry. He will return. And when he does, you’ll forget his absence existed because his presence will be so consuming. You’ll forget everything except how good it feels to have him near.”

“I need to forget today, then. Right now,” I joked.

“Now is not the time,” she replied.

“I guess it’s not. Anyway, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. My usual. I just called to hear your voice. I might just miss you a little.”

“A little? Should I hang up now or keep listening to you lie?”

“Okay, maybe it’s more than a little. I was thinking we could do dinner sometime next week.”

“The case, Art.”

“God, how’d I neglect that thought? Right. The case. Maybe next month or next quarter or next year or ne–”

“Hush, lady. I will sneak away for you and you know it. Just give me some time to carve a hole in my schedule big enough for us to catch up. This one is different from the others. I have to be careful. As simple as dinner might sound, it’s not so simple this time around.”

“Then, I’ll wait.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I won’t let you, babe. I will wait.”

“Okay.” I hated to disappoint her. “FaceTime date?”

“I’ll take it,” she sang.

“Good. Let’s aim for a weekday. My weekends are spent on the case. A Tuesday, maybe?” I couldn’t go into detail but I knew Art would understand regardless.

“Tuesday is fine,” she agreed cheerfully.

“Okay. I’ll send over the details later.”

“I love you, Egypt. And I will be waiting for your message.”

“Love you back, Art. Talk to you later.”

The call ended and my emotionally charged stupor continued. Before I could pull myself from the window, light rain began to tap against it. It hadn’t been in the forecast, but the clouds that hung low and sagged with water molecules were indications it might not hold off until tomorrow.

Gloom lingered, but there was something special about the way rain announced itself so subtly yet profound. It reminded me of him. So did the sign of the steakhouse on the corner next to the florist shop I visited often. The perfection of the lightly seasoned filet mignon from the night Mister and I dined made my mouth water.

“He wants to make it home, Eden. Don’t end his life tonight because you’re fascinated with the thrill.”

---