It was apparentthat he had come to terms with what had happened, and I was curious if hehad started to move on yet. I hoped he had. He deserved to be ...appy."No," he replied. "Not yet."I nodded. "What about Megan?" I asked him. He had shown an interest in myreal identity earlier this summer. I had half-expected a call from himhoping to take me on a date. But nothing had materialized.A weird expression crossed his face. It was part longing, part I don'tknow what. I couldn't understand exactly. It was a stiff one, but would last him the whole night. Before he would get to the end, the melting ice would dilute it to highball status. He turned his attention to the pile of mail on the table. One item was the phone bill, there was some junk-mail, as usual, not much else. The final item was an envelope that had been placed in the box by Mrs. Wilkinson. He recognized her handwriting scribbled across the front. It was probably his receipt for December’s rent, he thought, but it was odd. More

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