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Maybe he was just wary. She and I had discussed it weeks before. He seemed to suspect her, she said. Perhaps he had discovered her internet activities, or thought she had a boyfriend, or had bugged her computer. Perhaps he just knew his daughter's situation and understood it a bit.

"May I speak with you, Mr. Potter?" he asked. "In the next room, please." I followed him. It was a small bedroom, the bed made, the drawers shut, everything in its place. It seemed feminine.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his eyes not friendly, his tone accusing. So he did not know everything, but he suspected something: an affair, perhaps.

"I came to show support for a friend of mine who was greatly hurt by the passing of your wife," I said, sticking to the story because it was true. He did not seem persuaded by my answer. Nor would I have been.

"Who is this person wounded by my good wife's demise?" he asked. I considered telling him the truth, but I could not, would not, and did not. I looked at him, so he saw my hesitation. "I apologize. I should not have come. I will leave. You have my sincerest condolence, Mr. Eisenman, for your loss." I nodded slightly and went through the other room, saying I must leave and speaking condolence to each as I passed by. Mr. Eisenman followed me and signalled ahead, and Miriam was waiting with my coat, her husband beside her.

"I am sorry you must leave so soon, Mr. Potter. Is something wrong?"

I smiled at her. "'It is a wise father that knows his own child.'" Miriam started and dropped the coat at that quotation which she recognized, recognized because we had discussed it when we discussed his suspicions a few weeks ago. She looked at me, and at her dad. Many thoughts passed quickly through her mind, I'm sure. I picked up the garment and put it on. Mr. Eisenman was with me then.

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter," he said, firmly. He did not offer to shake my hand. I turned and opened the door, felt the chilling wind of Canada in October, and headed to my car.

Chapter 4 This Time of a Life

As all things must end, I was shocked to find that my internet relationship with Miriam continued a month later. She mentioned my visit only once, thanking me for the gesture. I said, our talk has meant something for me, and she said for her also. Perhaps her new knowledge that I was not tall, not particularly handsome, not thin, or not a movie star inhibited the activities we enjoyed, but I did not notice it.

She was, if anything, more energetic, more vocal, quicker to climax, naughtier. The one change was that she called me Charlie, never again Mark. It excited me more, and I considered it a gift. We engaged in activity every week, sometimes twice, when one or the other of us wanted sex but could not have it with spouse, or in my case never had it. We had sex only by text, actually. We had considered phone or Skype, but we preferred the effect of written words. Sometimes it was very hot. I think she had orgasms; she claimed some. I did, sometimes, but it was not as important WITH her as when I was solo. I enjoyed the idea of this woman typing about a sex act for my pleasure, so far away. Sex of a sort, experienced with someone, even this way, was sadly better.

It went on for five or so more years. She gave birth twice in that period-both boys-and we continued. It took a turn to bondage and sadism which we finally decided was diminishing rather than enhancing, so we turned back. We played roles, laughing at the stereotypes. She and her husband considered divorce at one point, and their sex life dwindled to almost nothing for some time. But eventually they came back together, and their sex life resumed if less actively. For some reason he had never had the sex drive I'd have expected-she wanted it and badly, but he was a once- or twice-a-month guy, if that. Far away, I'd shake my head at such a thing.

As all things must end, so soon shall my life.

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