by Julie Ramson
She was panting by the time she finished. Hands on her hips, she glared at the room with its sunny exposure, its large windows and bright white and green colors. She was packing up her life into those suitcases - she knew that but she hurt too much to stop. She had to sit on them to force the lids to catch then dragged them, one at a time, behind her down the stairs.
Piling them on the gray marble floor, she walked back into the kitchen and pulled out the phone book. Flipping through the pages, she found what she needed and pressed the numbers rapidly before she could change her mind.
“Steve Perkins.” The man's voice was pleasant, unhurried.
“I need to have all my locks changed,” she said quickly. “And I need it done today. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” he said easily, surprised by the urgency in her voice. “I can come early this afternoon.
*******
The locksmith gone, Kate walked through the house, locked all the doors and turned off all the lights. It was now after 4 o’clock. Dusk. She sank down onto the sofa in the living room and turning to face the front porch, waited for her husband to come home.
