Tilted her head.
“Better.”
In April, my first trip as Regional Director took me to Boston.
I’ll admit I dreaded it.
Boston was where Daniel’s lie had lived.
The city where I had been the night he told me he was “going to bed early.”
I stood outside my hotel, a nice one with a brass revolving door, and felt the old ache flutter in my stomach.
Then I walked inside.
Checked in.
And did something silly, small, and deeply necessary.
I ordered a pot of tea in the lobby.
Sat in an armchair by the window.
Took my time drinking it.
I watched people come and go.
A couple laughing over a map.
A man in a rumpled suit.
A mother with a stroller.
The city rearranged itself around me.
No longer the scene of a lie.
Simply a place.
I called Margaret from the lobby.
