In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain
I walked past the dark mahogany host stand to our usual window table, but the two high-backed chairs across from my place were empty.
Arnel Ramos stepped forward from the service cabinet, holding a folded square of white note paper on his silver tray.
“Mrs.
Kessler asked me to give you this when you arrived, Mrs.
Whitman.”
“Is everything all right?” I asked, taking the paper from the tray.
“Mr.
Kessler was feeling quite tired after their long excursion in port today,” Arnel said, holding his tray with both hands against his vest.
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