She walked to the small table beside the door where I usually dropped my things as I walked into the apartment. I had not been thinking so the gloves had been placed on top. She picked them up and studied them closely. She brought them to her face and inhaled their smell. I walked over to her and pulled them gently from her hands. She looked at me surprised. I gave her what I hoped was a gentle smile. She had seen the blood that stained the gloves. I walked by her to open the closet door and placed the gloves in their real home. She watched me over her shoulder. She nodded what seemed like acceptance when I turned back to her.She walked around the living room touching the few things I owned. It would have been an exaggeration to call my apartment Spartan. She picked up the few things small enough to and studied them. She looked at me after each item as if her study brought her closer to some truth about me.I satisfied myself with watching her.She moved back to the window and sat on. I was worn-out and a bit sore, but it felt good and my time was even better than I had hoped. I was confident that, if I ate well and hit the gym every day, I’d be back in shape for the race.I parked my racing bike in the garage, took off my shoes and walked back to the house. As I entered the house, it appeared to be deserted. I called out to say I was home, but there was no response. It wasn’t that unusual, and it didn’t necessarily mean there was nobody home. My sister was probably in her room, talking on the phone or listening to her music, and who knows what my parents were up to. I was racking my brain trying to remember if mom had said anything about being away today or if she’d left any instructions for dinner. Maybe there was a memo from her on the fridge. As I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by the smell of my mother's famous lasagna cooking in the oven. There was no note, but at least I knew I wasn’t expected to do any cooking today.I poured myself a large glass of.
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