Gemotions

He was mid-sentence when the doorbell rang. He’d been in the middle of a phone call. He frowned and excused himself, answering the door. A florist’s van. A bouquet of carnations. No card.

He muttered a thanks. He hung up the phone. He stood in the entryway, the flowers in his hand, his body taut. He ran a hand through his hair.

He moved to the kitchen. He placed the bouquet on the counter, then immediately began searching the packaging, as if it contained some kind of secret message.

He felt his stomach tighten. The silence in the apartment pressed down on him. He had to know. He grabbed the phone. He started calling his friends. They would know. They had to.