The Saturday afternoon traffic was sparse, "I’ve never eaten turtle before," and they arrived in front of the apartment building before she smoked half of the cigarette. Paying the driver, "I hear they taste just like chicken," and thanking him for his concern while getting out of the cab. Standing on the sidewalk and finishing her cigarette. "Why were you reluctant?" The marble lobby, "I had a premonition," was as cold as a walk-in refrigerator. "I really can’t imagine what New York was like then. "Chewing on her lower lip while waiting for the elevator, "It was a good time to be young," as the gooseflesh rose on her forearms. The doorman behind the desk, "Do you ever feel guilty about that," glanced up from his comic book and nodded a hello, "about being reluctant?" When the elevator finally arrived, "At times," she stepped into it, "although we were never really close," and pressed ten before taking the black elastic band out of the front pocket of her blue jeans. The ceiling fan circulated stale air in the narrow mirrored mahogany space. "Why is that?" She ran her fingers through her long brown hair, "He’d always been very remote," pulled it back into a pony tail, "even when I was very young," then tied it back with the elastic band, "do you want to fuck again," and when the elevator stopped on ten she considered taking it back to the lobby as the doors slowly opened, "or do you want to talk?" Her silent footfalls, "Do you not want to do this anymore," moving down the carpeted hallway, "are you okay?" Removing the keys from her purse, "I never talk," and unlocking the door, "about this anymore." Turning the knob, "So he was alone after the surgery?" She entered the apartment, "He had fired his nurse," and soon discovered the wide blood stain, "the day before he did it," on the damp beige carpet, "and that was the day before I found him," in front of the bathroom door, "when the neighbors downstairs called me at my aunt’s in Brooklyn Heights." She pushed open the bathroom door, "You know we don’t have to talk about this," and stood there, "if you don’t want too." Renewing the memories that followed, "He’d been in a lot of pain," and arranging them in sequence, "and had been very depressed over their separation," like a familiar hand of worn cards. Walking to the phone in the living room and calling the police. "Where was your mother?" The conversation she had with the female dispatcher, "In Rome with her boyfriend," who kept her on the line until the two officers arrived, "the way people couldn’t look at me then ..." and they just stood there with their backs to the bookshelves asking a lot of aggressive questions, "like when his partners talked about how honest he was at the wake," while waiting for an ambulance to arrive. "Had they heard anything?" The coroner arrived an hour later. "Who is they?" They removed her father from the tub and placed him in a black body bag. "The neighbors." And when they finally wheeled it out of the bathroom on a stretcher, "He slit his wrists in the bathtub," she fainted, "there wasn’t anything to hear." "What did you do?" Waking up on the couch, "I called the police," to discover her aunt standing above her sobbing uncontrollably, "and then I really don’t remember what happened next." Wind pressing on the bedroom windows as it pushed through the trees. She opened her eyes, "I think I’ve blocked it out," removed her head from his shoulder, "well," and quietly sighed, "now you know." Looking closely at her face, "You said that the neighbors called you," in the faint amber light, "that’s why I asked if they had heard something." She blinked twice, "They we’re very close to my parents." "Oh," With a nod, "that’s why." Turning over on her back, "They used to play bridge together every Wednesday night," before resting her head on a pillow, "and when he didn’t answer the door they got concerned." "Did your mother remarry?" With a nod, "Twice," and a smile in her voice.