“Long before the auto came, I was here: / Since westering man first followed the sun, / I have come East with the stars.” – Julian Lee Rayford, “Thumb Tourist”
So many windows. Bridget imagined the people who worked behind the windows, the diplomats and their staff who ranged along hallways and in and out of offices. She thought about the desks, the copy machines and computers, the phones and cell phones that could make you smarter, or just feel that way. The frenzied meetings, the brokered deals from one sovereign nation to another Trade agreements. Mutual protection pacts.
If only there were such arrangements for her marriage. She could use a good solid trade agreement. She could use a mutual protection pact.
Such things would come in handy. But now Rob didn’t want the divorce, and that made it even harder on her. She was just trying to live her life. A trade agreement might have assured his affection after he stopped saying I love you. A mutual protection pact might have prevented his hurling those terrible words at her in argument after argument.
But they were no diplomats. Behind those windows lay a world of brokered agreements. She and Rob had only the bond of marriage, which was not enough, as it turned out.
All those windows didn’t lie.