Arthur saw Milly return to her office. She looked better than when she’d gone to the washroom, but the difference came out of her purse. She’d thrown up. Like yesterday and the day before. The flu, she told him. Uh-huh, he replied.
Arthur was standing in Milly’s office. He carried a fistful of paper. The flu, she repeated. I’m Donald Duck, he answered.
“There’s something going around. I’ll go to the doctor, all right? My job’s getting done.”
“I’m not complaining and I’m not an enemy.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
Arthur wanted gentle treatment from Milly. He knew he should be angry that she’d jilted him. He should feel aggrieved and affronted. But there it was. Instead of the tough-guy emotions, he found bereavement, tenderness and compassion. He needed consoling and reassurance. Maybe he wanted her to say she really loved him after all, that she’d made a mistake.
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