TWENTY

TWENTY

"I KNOW, CAM, I know; I get it," David says inside Camille's apartment, hands in the air, as if surrendering. He drops into the love seat, hands covering his face.

"If you know, then do it." Camille keeps her distance.

David's phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and reads it, groaning. His thumbs type a response.

"Who's that?" she asks. "Marcie?"

David nods. "She wants to stop by the pub for a quick lunch."

"And what are you telling her?"

"That we're slammed right now. It's a bad time." He hits a button, sending the text, then tosses the phone on the love seat.

"More lies," says Camille.

He looks up at her. "What do you expect me to tell her?"

She walks over to the window overlooking 1st Street. The snowfall is picking up. They're predicting three to four inches.

"You have to tell Marcie," she says. "It's long past time."

David bounces off the love seat, scooping up his phone with a sweep. "It's not that simple, Cam." He shakes his head with a fury, blows out air, looks up at the ceiling.

It's not that simple . The same answer he gave to her last night on the phone.

"Do it now, David," she says. "Or I promise you, it will get worse."