Summer hung up the phone and sat there on her couch in the falling dark, hands shaking, too stunned to cry yet. ‘Dead … ’ echoed in her mind, the only thing she could think. Slowly, the awful ache of it penetrated enough to allow other thoughts in. “Victor,” she whispered half-consciously, “where are you? I want you.”
On a whim Victor had decided to drop by on his friend Summer. It had been an interesting week for him to say the least. Some of it good, some of it not so much. He pulled into her driveway, parked his car then got out, a bottle of wine in his hand. Victor jumped the steps then knocked on the door, hoping she was home.
The knock on the door startled her so badly she actually shrieked a little, jumping up from the couch. Taking a deep breath, she called, “It’s open,” and pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow down. She clicked on a lamp, then, and wiped at the tearmarks on her face, trying to think who would be visiting.