“Perhaps women think I am looking for another wife immediately.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
He looked down at his telephone.
“I just want someone to have coffee with.”
Each rejection pulled him backward.
He stopped singing again.
He checked his telephone every few minutes.
He reread messages, searching for the sentence where everything had changed.
The fourth woman disappeared after asking whether Dad would like to meet her sister.
The fifth vanished after making plans for the following weekend.
When the sixth woman stopped responding, I could no longer call it coincidence.
Six women could lose interest.
But six women would not all disappear before sunrise after promising another date.
Something was wrong.
Asking the Wrong Question
I visited Dad on Sunday evening.
He stood at the kitchen sink washing a mug that was already clean.
“Did anything unusual happen during those dates?”
He looked confused.
“No.”
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