So I pop into the store and buy a copy without looking at it, stuff it into my bag and continue my trek to work. 

          I practically throw the story at Gus and tell him to chew on that for a while. I tell him that I will have all the juicy details to him as soon as possible.  I spin around on my left heel and leave his office.  I go back to my office and begin going through all the reports for the 470 thousandth time, but this time in a new state of mind.  I am looking for a female name that keeps appearing, not a man’s.  Then I find what I looking for: Angela Devon.  She is mentioned in three separate interviews of the so-called grieving widow, specified simply as a friend of the family.  I find out her information and begin the hike to of all places, Queens.  I catch the Q train and sit on the hard plastic seat as I scan the subway train for a friendly face.  There are none, we are going to Queens and no one can be happy about that. 

            My attention focuses on two people sitting next to each other with about three inches of space between them, both diverting their eyes away from the other.  It is obvious from their body language that they are a couple, but at the present moment, times had been better.  Their eyes look full of hurt.  The kind of hurt only a lover who knows the most intimate details about you can inflict.  And as they sit there I know they each want to take back the hurtful things they have said. Hold each other and whisper that everything will be all right.  Say that they love each other no matter what. But, somehow love sometimes can take a backseat to pride. I experience this from an outsider’s perspective, after living it myself so many times. 

~

            “How long has this been going on Spencer?”

            “Two weeks.”

            “I can’t believe you would do this to me.”  Her anger was consuming her more and more by the second.