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Wisconsin?” she asks.
    “I’m not ruling it out, as long as they have sunny beaches, piña coladas, little umbrellas, and limbo.”
    “I don’t think Wisconsin is going to work. They don’t have any of that, especially in March,” she said.
    “I’m willing to be flexible,” I say. “The little umbrellas are not a deal breaker.”
    “I’m going to Wisconsin, Andy. But I’m not going to stay there this time. I’m coming home to you.”
    “That’s what you said last time.”
    She grabs my hand and says, “Come on. Let’s go home and you can give me a going-away present.”

 
     
    Barry Price did very well for himself. Sam had already known that, but sitting in his home, he realized it then more than ever. The previous night at the party, the large crowd of people seemed to prevent him from getting the full scope of the place. It was spectacular.
    So was Denise, who seemed to get better looking every time he saw her. Combined with smart and funny, as it was in her case, it formed a deadly combination. Being with her didn’t seem weird at all; it was like they picked up right where they left off, but without the making-out part.
    She seemed like she wanted to talk, and every time Sam mentioned something about leaving, she poured him another cup of coffee.
    At one point, she said, “It’s amazing how much time has passed, Sam. It’s like we knew each other in another lifetime.”
    “You were the first girl I kissed,” Sam said. “And I haven’t gotten any better at it since.”
    She laughed. “I doubt that’s true. And you taught me a lot.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, you taught me how to drink beer.”
    He smiled at the memory. “You were a quick learner.”
    She got up and went to the kitchen, but this time instead of coming back with more coffee, she brought two open bottles of beer. She handed him one, and they clicked bottles and toasted “old times.”
    There seemed to be a loneliness about her, but Sam could have been wrong about that. Judging women’s feelings was not really his specialty.
    A couple of times she made vague comments that led Sam to believe that all might not be perfect between her and Barry, which was far from a surprise.
    The previous night at the party, they had a rather public argument. It was over something insignificant—Sam thought it was about which wineglasses Denise was using—but even though it was a brief flare-up, it was uncomfortable for the guests.
    Altogether, Sam and Denise spent a couple of hours laughing about old times, which always seem a hell of a lot more fun than when they were new times.
    It was close to eleven o’clock when Sam finally stood up to leave. A moment later the doorbell rang, and Denise looked worried. “Who could that be?” she asked to no one in particular. Then, “Must be a neighbor. I didn’t buzz anyone through the gate.”
    Denise went to the door, and Sam was maybe twenty feet behind her. She opened it, and Sam thought he could see two men standing there, one in a suit and the other in a police uniform.
    They were talking softly; Sam couldn’t hear what they were saying. But suddenly Denise shrieked, a piercing sound that Sam instantly knew he would never forget. She then slumped to the floor, sobbing.
    Sam ran to her and, along with the two men, helped her to her feet and onto the couch. “What happened?” Sam asked, more of the men than of Denise, who was crying uncontrollably.
    The man in the suit answered, “Her husband’s plane crashed.”
    “Oh, damn,” Sam said. He wanted to ask if there was any chance that Barry had survived but didn’t want to do so in front of Denise. In any event, based on her reaction to what they had told her, it seemed highly unlikely.
    “Who are you?” the suit guy asked.
    “I’m a friend of hers and her husband … of Barry. We grew up together.”
    “Do they have family nearby?”
    Before Sam could answer, people started coming through the door. They must have been neighbors,