Saturday, January 18, 2014
It was a matter of unspoken agreement. Every Thursday evening, that was their time. It went on for months - neither of them ever called to confirm, and neither of them ever failed to show. Rarely did they ever show up at the same time, but whoever arrived first would get a table and order drinks and at least an appetizer.
Then one Thursday, she didn't show. He sat at a table, the one towards the back that had become somewhat their regular table, and waited, polishing off two beers and an order of chicken tenders before deciding to call it a night.
As he drove home a few different explanations crawled through his mind. She could be ill, or she may have been in an accident. It was possible she had to work very, very late. Maybe someone in her family needed her to help them out that evening.
Pulling into his driveway it occurred to him that whatever the reason, it really didn't matter. The unspoken agreement was over.
Such is the way arrangements of this nature always seem to end.