On Monday Lester witnessed a man carrying a woman across the threshold of the apartment next to his. Two days later he pressed his ear to the wall separating his apartment from the couple he assumed were newlyweds.
“You accidentally called your ex-wife?”
“I didn’t know the cell phone was on.”
“Why was her number on your phone?”
“She called me the other day.”
“You’re married to me now, not her!”
He waited for the next line, but the wall went silent. He imagined the couple locked in an embrace—he thought he heard a moan, but only one, then nothing but his own breathing. He gave up and made a sandwich.
The next day he lingered at his front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the couple—but nothing. In the evening when he pressed his ear to the wall, there were no sounds, not even the TV.
The next day he knocked on their door—no answer. He knocked again in the afternoon with the same result. That night there was a knock at his door. A policeman asked if he’d heard or seen anything unusual over the last 24 hours. He said “no,” but regretted the hasty response when he read in the newspaper the next morning that a body had been found in the river by his apartment.
He wrestled the entire day with calling the police—the longer he delayed, the more he became unnerved. Then he heard a shout: “You’re married to me now, not her!” He smiled and hoped they would argue all night.