The way he told me was ice cold. He announced he was remarrying.
Six months previous, the stock markets had failed miserably. His blood pressure was up, way up, and he fretted that no one would discover for days that he’d died.
Email me, even with a mundane ‘I woke up,’ I suggested gently. And in came the poetry, the philosophy, the introspect. Everyday.
But nothing of a girlfriend. Not a whisper, until that email. It ambushed me late on a Thursday night, too late to call. I’ll be at a silent retreat till Tuesday, he wrote without a care.