"Hi, Rick. Can I come in?" Rita was at Rick's door. She kicked aside a piece of gutter that had fallen across the walk, and stepped into Rick's hallway.

"I brought these for you," Rita said, holding out a packet of papers. "They're listings for condos and town houses in the area."

"What are you talking . . . "

"Let's be honest. You're not comfortable here." Rita pointed through the open front door. Rick saw the hanging gutter and mess of the lawn. He forgot he'd left an old dishwasher out there the other day.

"I'm going to move the dishwasher, Rita. It's only the shell. The motor isn't in it; neither is the rack."

"Rick, look at me? Do you find me attractive?"

Rita was in a powder blue velour running suit, three to four sizes too small. Her black hair was curled on one side, and straight on the other. Her red lipstick shined like neon, against the blue.

Like a nuclear waste dump, Rick thought. "Yes. Of course. But . . ."

"I'm not comfortable with that Rick, how you look at me. I've known it all along. And your being Ted's best friend . . ."

"Best friend?" Rick said.

"I want you to at least look at the listings. I'm a realtor, you know. Ted and I can use the commission, if you want to know."

"I'll talk to Jenna about it," Rick said.

"Jenna's on a business trip, you said."

"She is."

Rita walked out, carefully stepping over the gutter. She tripped on the tall vines that had overrun the fallen tree trunk lying across the grass, and turned back to Rick in anger. But Rick had already shut the door....read more Rick and Fled