I Took My Husband’s Phone In For Repair. The Technician, A Family Friend, Pulled Me Aside And Said,

His wife brought me soup when I had pneumonia three winters ago. He was, in the way small communities create them, family. The bell chimed as I entered.

Kevin looked up from a disassembled laptop, reading glasses perched on his bald head. “Mrs. Hammond.

What brings you in?”

“Robert’s phone,” I said, holding up the device. “The screen’s been cracked for a month. He keeps saying he’ll bring it in, but you know—men.”

Kevin laughed.

The comfortable laugh of shared exasperation. “Leave it with me. Should have it done by four.

What’s the passcode?”

I recited the six digits. Robert’s mother’s birthday. A code he’d used for everything since I’d known him.

Simple. Predictable. Robert wasn’t a man who embraced complexity.

“Perfect,” Kevin said. “I’ll call when it’s ready.”

Continue reading…