On the third of December, she swallowed her pride, put on the dress and went over to the yellow ranch-style on the quarter acre. His car was in the driveway, so she walked to the front door and rang the bell. No answer.
It was hard enough to do this, but he had to make it harder. Dick. She waited a few seconds longer than she wanted to - too easy to walk away, self-respect and all that. Finally, she gave up and walked back to the car. Another sip of the Starbucks, tame an errant hair, check the lipstick. Fuck - why not drive away?
She got back out of the car, hesitated on the driveway, did a little shuffle step she shouldn't have attempted in heels, but no harm donw, and went to the side gate. She could faintly hear the sound of the oldies on a radio. The gate swung open, so might as well go around.
Afterward, she remembered the clip-clop of her heels on the pool deck, and the cold, sick feeling when she saw his body floating in the pool.