Michael Malone - Weebly

wore while alone to rest his eyes from his contact
lenses. He ran his hands through his hair, down his
jacket, and over his shoes, and then called "Hello" from
the open door. Holding a ledger and financial papers
made him look, he hoped, adult.
"Ah, hello!" Saar came toward him, cool in
fashionably crumpled summer clothes and dark, rich
loafers boasting the designer's signature in gold initials.
But Saar's face was splotchy red. "I wasn't sure
where…Didn't see anyone inside the church." A fit of
coughing finished the sentence.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I—"
"I thought I'd—"
And so for longer than strangers would want to, or
lovers need, they paused and echoed, ahed and ohed,
stumbled their way through broken syntax into a clear
resting place, grabbing as they went such flotsam as
Father Highwick's being on the train, Evelyn Troyes's
having been there as well, the rain's having ended, the
flowers' having bloomed.
Finally Jonathan noticed that he was blocking Saar's
entrance into the office. "Oh, I'm sorry, please. Come