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She wasn’t in the bedroom; she wasn’t in her office, and the place felt like a sauna; she wasn’t in the kitchen, and nothing was cooking there, either. There was no note, and the only message on the answering machine was a phone solicitor.Well, with the way her office felt, she was smart to be out gathering information. They had his old air conditioner in their bedroom -- the new, larger one was in the living room window. Maybe they should buy another for Carolyn’s office. They weren’t made of money, but she wasn’t made of asbestos, either.He worried about Carolyn. If something had happened, he might not know for hours. But, really, that was borrowing trouble. She probably was just late. He settled down to watch television.The White House tapes were recorded on Nixon’s orders. Well, that was no huge problem. It was his house -- his office, really. You couldn’t tell how minor it was by all the talking, though. Partly, that was the newsmen making their best story of the day as exciting. “No. I stopped it. Being one of his harem of sex slaves was not what I wanted.” “And the issues at work?” “After the blow-up with Alexi, I lost it. I was scared of him so I hid out in a motel. I was scared to call you because I was afraid of rejection. I just hunkered down and hid out there for two days. Didn’t even go to work or tell them where I was.” “How did you get back?” “I finally started getting my shit together yesterday and started driving back after dinner. It was storming all the way. I was upset and …,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “Then the car broke down so I left it at a garage and walked the rest of the way just thinking about how to explain it all to you. Dave, I was so afraid that you would reject me.” Angie was crying, her tears running down my skin where her face was resting against me. Giving my wife a light squeeze, I said, “Don’t be afraid, Ang. You’re here and I’m not sending you away. I just got you back.” She seemed to cheer up at that and chuckled a.
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