Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Goodbye Again By Dryad

   Miriam turned the key as she jostled shopping bags in her arms.  She
dropped everything on the table and checked her blinking answering machine.
She heard the traffic drone behind his cultured voice:

   "Hi Meri--sorry I missed you.  I'll try to make time to see you after
this trip-- you know how it is.  Don't call my cell--the wife has it for
the weekend.  I'll try and call when I get back.  Love you."

   Her cat meowed and wound between Meri's ankles.  Miriam picked her up
and brushed her face into the cat's fur.

   "It's just you and me again this weekend, Moxie." She put the cat down
and reached for the groceries, quietly putting them away.

   The weekend dragged.  She watched TV, did some needlepoint.  In the wee
hours of the morning, sleep still eluding her, she pulled out a worn and
tattered deck of playing cards.  She sat Indian style in bed, laying the
cards out in the familiar pattern.  She knew it was cliché--woman alone,
playing solitaire, but it was better than thinking about why her bedside
companion was a cat, instead of a man.

   He swore it would be different.  His children were grown; he could leave
anytime.

   By Monday she was in a rage.  She was a fool, having wasted all this
time on a man who wouldn't choose.  In a fit of anger, she threw the rose
vase he had sent once.  The sound of the shattering glass released
something inside her.  Her eyes darted, searching for more breakables.  She
spied the lamp and slammed her fist into it.  She crumpled to the floor as
tears of pain and despair streamed down her lined cheek.  The cat rubbed
against her bloody hand.
   Then the phone rang.  She reached for it.