The dog shoves his way in as she’s partway through the door. She locks up behind her. She’s not up to dealing with early morning customers. With the help of the pill, with the arrival of Jonathan, she slept deeper than she has in weeks. When she finally woke, he was gone. She sat up, blinking. It could have been a dream, if not for Pillow Jonathan tossed on the floor. Then again, it’s Saturday. He works the day shift Saturdays. Almost certainly, he went to work. She searched every surface in the apartment for a note. There was nothing. She curses herself for not allowing her husband to talk. But his presence, his body, it felt too good. She couldn’t risk it. Still, it means something, his coming. It might even mean everything. In the shop, Angus steps onto the window display to squeeze himself between baby dresser and glass and lie down. It’s the perfect spot for observation. Offers him countless reasons to woof and growl the entire morning long. Eleanor removes her outer layer and boots up the computer: Search Angels, she types into Google.
