The next morning, he stared over a cup of coffee and tried to get
organized. It was Monday. Jennifer and Emma were home. The damage was
done. Suzanne. What a peach she was. He wrote to her, thanking her for
being wonderful. It wasn't just you, he told her. He had to leave
Jennifer, too. Suzanne would understand that intuitively. He wrote that
he didn't know where he was going, but that he wouldn't be back anytime
soon. He asked her to send his last check to Jacksonville, Florida,
care of General Delivery. He signed it "Love, Oliver." Spring was a
good time of year to go down the coast. He wanted to get far from Maine.
He called Myron and asked him to send a check for ten thousand dollars
to the same address. "No problem," Myron said with admirable restraint.
"Do it this afternoon."
"Thanks." Oliver paused. "Any word from Francesca, lately?"
"Not since those two withdrawals."
"I guess that's good," Oliver said. "I'll be in touch."
"I'll be here," Myron said. Oliver hung up, relieved. He had no plan;
he was still numb. Might as well change the oil in the Jeep, he
thought. Get something done.
While he waited for the car, he wrote to his mother, telling her that
the marriage was over.
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