False epiphanies

By Stephen Richter | 2:06 a.m.

Martín looked at the screen smiling. She’d left her email open. Yahoo España was written in the upper corner of the browser. Martín didn’t notice. His lips moved, mouthing a word again and again.

“Positíva...” he finally whispered.

He smiled. He frowned. He smiled again. He sat back in the chair and made a steeple with his fingertips. He nodded his head.

“¡Bueno!” he said. He slapped the desktop with the palm of his hand. He stood, took the checkbook and his overcoat and headed for the door. He left his briefcase sitting on the floor.

8:30 p.m.

Martín walked into the apartment. It was dark now. He turned on the light with his elbow.  Martín’s arms were full of shopping bags with bows and ribbons and colored tissue.

Angelica stood in the kitchen. She smoked a cigarette. A suitcase sat beside the kitchen door. It was ajar.

“¿Que te pasa?” said Martín. He put the bags on the table. “What’s wrong?”

She told him the truth.

The sun shone through the living room window. Martín slept in his suit on the couch. Bags, baby clothes and toys cluttered the floor. He looked at the kitchen door. It was closed now. She was gone. The alarm went off.

7:30 a.m.

Time to go to work.