After 40 years, there it was.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long has this been happening?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe two years.”
Two years.
We had spent the previous year planning this anniversary while Robert apparently already knew every hallway in the hotel.
“How young is she?”
“Early 20s, maybe.”
I grabbed the railing.
Robert was 65.
I felt sick.
“Did they stay together?”
Evan’s expression changed.
“You think they were having an affair?”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Mr. Harris booked the room under his name, but he never stayed overnight.”
“How do you know?”
“I work late. I’ve seen him leave.”
“Then why was he paying for her room?”
Evan hesitated.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice came from behind me.
“You really want to know?”
I turned.
Robert stood in the doorway.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I asked, “Who is she?”
