He followed her. Cross country from one state to the next. Started in the Midwest and went to New York. Then down south. Wound up in Atlanta. Watching her from a far. Not disrupting her life. Just watching her.
Never tried to contact her. He knew better. Her last words were, I can’t help you anymore, she said over the phone when he was jammed up in New England; broken down Dodge, no money, a return to the streets he belonged to. A return to nothing.
He watched her go to the office. Knew what time she got there. Knew when she’d call it a day. He saw her go to her car Monday through Friday at seven o’clock at night. She was always a late worker. Stayed when everybody left. Making final sales calls, getting caught up on paper work, ordering out Chinese.
Weeks would go by when he didn’t see her at all. Figured she was out of town on work. Or, maybe a vacation. Like they used to do. He didn’t know.
And one day he saw it. Truth stared him in the eyes. She was holding hands with a man. A tall, good looking man. He kissed her as he walked her to the office door. That’s when he knew. People move on.