Degrees of separation.  Paloma knew the concept well.  How people, unrelated both in time and space, were closely connected, rooted indelibly together by strange and unlikely circumstances.  What providence had caused her to be in that particular spot at that time, when, just a few feet away, Max Laurent had passed through the double door entry into the emergency room?  At first, he was just another man in a rush, self-absorbed, unaware of those around him.  It was his gait that caught her attention, a brisk walk with his jacket wide open, the tails of his sports coat flying behind him.  She wondered what terrifying news he might have heard, when his features became familiar, rising to the surface like answers in a plastic eightball.  His hair was grayer, still unparted and combed back.  Unfamiliar deep lines cut across his forehead, but the square face and straight nose were his.  Her breath caught in her throat, fearing he’d sense her presence.  But he hadn’t, and as soon as the automatic doors closed behind him, she scurried down the ramp. 

Now at the foot of the driveway, she took a sharp right onto the street.  In the background, horns beeped, but she kept a scattered pace.  She felt disoriented due to an unsettling thought – when someone reentered your life, someone you had loved but learned to hate, how was that reconfigured?  Quite simply, it wasn’t.  Max was dead to her as she was to him, ghosts to one another, end of story.  Apparently, however,  this wasn’t the end of the story, but another traumatizing sequel. 

Feeling nauseated and shaky, Paloma stopped and leaned against a lamppost.  To think she’d fallen for him, then gotten so screwed.  They’d been connected by the trial, but when the battle ended and the war was won, he moved onto other fronts, fronts where she could no longer compete with or be a part of. 

Had they kissed?  They had.  Had they made love?  She did, but not he, because the next day he hardly knew her, stammering on the phone he couldn’t see her again because of work.  Then to feel less guilty, he sent her away.  Bye, bye, take care of yourself.  See ya ’ound.  And she wasn’t going to beg or throw herself at him.  If he wanted her out of his life, then she was gone.  No, I’ll see YOU around.  And so it went, two camps, she in Chicago, he in Buffalo.  But he still hovered with the occasional visit.  That was up until the last time.