told me to go to a storage unit in Port Chester.
Unit 18C. Code 0917.
“Our wedding date,” I said.
“I know.”
“You people are disgusting.”
“Yes,” he said.
That shut me up.
I drove there in my own car, even though every reasonable part of me said not to. I took side streets. Changed lanes too much. Watched the same blue Subaru sit behind me for nine blocks before continue reading …
