The trees fling their autumn leaves to the ground. Their ripe smell drifts up from beneath the soles of my leather boots. The wind scours my face and whips my hair into my eyes, but my legs are cozy, wrapped in gray wool tights beneath the belted plum trench coat that makes my eyes pop and that Nick thinks makes me look like a sexy spy.
            I pass dog walkers and joggers and couples strolling hand in hand and angsty teenagers with earbuds. An old man sits on a wooden bench, flipping the pages of a magazine. The sun is tiny in the sky.
            I hang back, pretending to read the nature signs—Pileated Woodpecker and Common Milkweed. I stop to pet a friendly Airedale on its curly head.
            What does Yu-Jin have that I don’t? What black magic does she possess that draws him away from my mussed hair, my black lace and pale satin, my rumpled sheets and rumpled heart?
            A trimmer waist? A better job? A prettier smile?
            Yes to all of the above, except for the job. Yu-Jin doesn’t work; Nick supports her and their son. Not that my stint as a bartender at the Harleton City Bar and Grill is anything to brag about. It’s where I met Nick eight months ago, on St. Patty’s Day.
            He lifted a mug to his lips, raising his voice over the music.
            “Do you have any Irish in you?”
            “I’m not sure. A little I think.” I ran the tap and shoveled ice into tall glasses and swerved out of Christy’s way as she swung behind me for a plastic tray of cocktails.
            “Do you want a little more in you?” The crowd jostled him against the bar, and he sloshed Guinness down the cloverleaf printed on his black t-shirt. I rolled my eyes. Guy didn’t even have the sense to remove his wedding band.
            “Just a little?”
            “I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
            “Oh, they’re not.”
            Some tool in a Kelly-green kilt yelled over the din, “Hey, can we get our drinks before bar close?”

He left behind one white athletic sock—which I still have—and the faint scent of citrus hair gel on my pillow. All week, I waited for the sharp ring of the phone, the shrill burr of a text message, a sudden rap against the door—none of which came to pass. And still haven’t. Like how dumb can she be? Hey lady, your husband is madly in love with someone else and he’s been fucking her brains out every half-chance he gets.
            Of course, I had to see her for myself. I’ve stayed off her social media pages—cliché and a slippery slope. Too easy to click on the message button after that third glass of wine on a boring Friday evening while Nick is with his family at a little league game or a pizza parlor.
            Yu-Jin is cute, in her bubblegum-pink yoga gear and her floral sundresses. She’s older than me but looks younger. She never wears makeup or high heels, even though she’s barely five feet tall.
            There. Nick’s blood-red jacket flashes between pine trees. The sunlight glints off his copper hair. I lengthen my stride and veer to the left, onto a narrow trail squeezed between birch trees shedding their paperbark in long curls. My toe catches a root and I throw out one hand, grasping a branch to steady myself.
            Childish laughter, feminine murmurs. Nick’s voice, low and confident.
            “Only if Mommy says ‘yes.’”
            “Oh sure, make me the bad guy.” She’s laughing, too. “Why not?”
            “Yay!”
            I spread the boughs of a spruce. He looks like Nick. He’s six and a half. Nick and his wife each grip an arm and swing him up and forward with every step, flinging him toward the sun, his face scrunched with laughter. He’s wearing a Star Wars shirt beneath an open parka. He’s missing two baby teeth, twin dark gaps.
            They swing him around the corner, his laugh rolling behind them, down the empty path. I stand very still on the edge of the trail, smelling crushed pine needles and dying flowers. Overhead, a crow caws. After a while, I take a step, and then another. Twigs snap, pebbles roll. My boots crunch brittle leaves into dust.

*