Brendan drove his BMW up Marc’s driveway, parking behind the Jeep. As he got out of the car, butterflies danced in his stomach. Marc’s property was quiet except for a soft chorus of birds settling in for the night. The windows were dark. He closed the car door quietly, and slid his keys into his jeans pocket. Taking a deep breath, he headed up onto the porch. Pulling the screen door back, he knocked. And waited. And knocked again. After another five minutes of this, it became evident that no one was coming to the door. Marc either wasn’t home, or wasn’t answering. Brendan climbed off the porch and made his way around to the back of the house. He spotted a rear door. He approached warily, feeling like a stalker. But he knocked. Again he got no answer. He was sorely tempted to peek in the windows, but simply couldn’t allow himself to take it that far. Marc wasn’t coming to the door. Brendan had tried. He’d done his best.He turned and admired the back yard and the lake, an amber glimmer of falling sun speckling the water.
