Up here on the 35^th floor? It opens exactly three inches. I should know. I measure it. Every morning at 9:47, the very second Nancy leaves for her morning walk. She’s gone for roughly thirty minutes, not including the four minutes it takes to use the elevator. Today the glass feels wrong. It’s colder than the October wind whipping between the towers. I press my palm flat against it, after I measure the opening. I count: one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three . . .  

“Miles? Who are you talking to?”  

My hand jerks back from the glass reflexively. Nancy is standing in the doorway. Earlier than usual. “Pilates canceled today?” I ask, pretending she didn’t see me touching the window.  

“No, sweetie. Why?” She lays her coat on the table. It’s a long mink, or whatever they are making coats out of these days. Whatever that material is that isn’t made from animals. Spandex or Spanx or some-such-thing. She’s not dressed for her walk. This is a nicer outfit. Like going to coffee or breakfast outfit. Why didn’t I notice what she was wearing when she left?   

“Miles. You’re doing it again.” Nancy looks in the mirror hanging on the wall by the entryway table, fussing with her hair. “This cold weather. I hate it. Makes my hair flat. And frizzy.” She studies me, like the evidence she combs through at every crime scene. “You aren’t dressed yet? Miles. We’ve been over this. We have to go.”  

My crimson robe hangs loose around my shoulders. Clouds. Nancy thinks it’s soft like clouds. I think we fought about it for twenty-two minutes. I was counting the numbers on the clock when she mentioned it. My argument was clouds dissipate. They vanish. Kinda like the man who occupied our apartment before us. He vanished. Without a trace. Not sure they every saw him again.  

“Miles? We have reservations at 3 o’clock. If we’re late again, Sergio won’t seat us for six months.”  

“It couldn’t be helped.” I tightened the robe’s belt. Then loosened it. I had a problem making things too tight. I did the same thing with my running shoes.  

Nancy reapplied her lipstain. She hated lipstick for some reason. I tried to discuss it with her. I figured it was safer, especially after the whole robe debacle. “What do you mean, ‘it couldn’t be helped’?” 

The words come out, long before I can stop them. “He said I don’t have to.” I walked back to the window. Without touching it, I could feel cold.  

Nancy’s face hardens. “Harold, again? He isn’t real, Miles.” She dabbed at her lips with her finger, checking to see if it was dry.  

Tell her about the window, Miles. Tell her how the previous tenant went through it. Tell her. Remember the police report? I showed you the police report. Tell her about it. 

Touching the latch on the window, I counted. Five seconds. That’s all it would take. The investigators? They all said he was dead before hitting the sidewalk and part of a parked moving truck. Speculation was that he was pushed. I was pushed, damn it. I told you all that. But there was no evidence. No mysterious figure lurking in the shadows. No intruder. So they never found out what happened. Or who pushed me? I was pushed. I keep telling you that. You stopped listening. 

“Miles, sweetie. If you don’t listen to me? You won’t eat tonight.” Nancy’s using that doctor voice on me now. “Wouldn’t you like. . .” She paused for a minute, fussing with her hair again, “What’s the name of that dish you love? What’s it called?” 

She doesn’t know? Your own wife doesn’t know what you like. And you think I’m crazy, Miles? After three years of marriage, she doesn’t know. I’m ordering the lobster thermidor. Every time. Like clockwork. Tick-tick, Miles. Harold notices. Harold remembers everything. 

She was here that night, Miles. Check the visitor logs. Two years ago. Okay, almost two years ago. November 15th. She signed in at 8:47 P.M. My body? Discovered at 9:15. Check the damn logs. No one bothers to do their homework. Not even you, Miles. 

“I do not need our doctor, Nancy.” I stop fiddling with the latch. I can see my reflection. It stays in the glass, watching. “Let’s just go to dinner.”  

I dress precisely. Mechanically. I feel like a robot. Jeans. T-shirt. Button-down. The tan boots she selected were bought for style, not comfort. Everything matches perfectly. Nancy always makes sure everything matches. Hair. Makeup. Purse. Even her phone was designed to match all her outfits. Must be why she opted for the camouflage cover. That’s what the techies call it. There is a cooler designer name. She knows it. I couldn’t care less. But it morphs into the right color, based on your outfit. Tonight it was a ruby red color, matching her lips.   

“Do we really have to go?” I fall face-first onto the bed, inhaling the robe’s fabric softener scent. It’s the same smell that clung to the previous tenant’s clothes, according to the coroner’s report. I already told you that. 

“Three minutes to get downstairs.” She checks her watch. The Cartier I bought her last anniversary. “Miles, please. They won’t hold our table.” 

“Fine.” I slide into the boots. “They are quite comfortable,” I lied. “You’re right. Let Ellory worry about being jealous tonight. Tonight it’s just us. Right, Harold?” Nancy gave me a funny look.  

Ask her about the life insurance policy, Miles! Ask her why. She took one out on you. Last month. Damn it, Miles. You stopped listening to me. 

She loops her arm through mine, guiding me toward the door. Afraid you might bolt? Like I might bolt. Ha! I said that, thank you very much. “Thank you for going.” Her lips brush my cheek, leaving a trace of something chemicalisque. Maybe her lipstain. Or was it something else? Poison maybe? Miles. You’ve got to get away from her. She’s bad news.  

“Ooh! I almost forgot.” Bounding out of the entryway, she disappears back into our bathroom, returning with a small yellowish pill. Not the usual white ones she gives me. Doctor’s orders? “Open up, sweetie.” I do. “Swallow, please.” The pill is chalky, like most of the pharmacopeia she administers to me daily. Only this doesn’t just taste chalky. It’s bitter.  

I open wide, wiggle my tongue. Nancy nods, satisfied. 

Miles! Damn it. You need to listen to me. That’s not your medication! Miles! Check the bottle when she’s asleep. Compare it to what Dr. Morrison prescribed. Oh for the love of all that’s holy, I’m right about this. 

“Yes, Harold. You absolutely are.” I answer him, not thinking about Nancy. 

“What?” She looks puzzled. “What did you say?”  

“Oh, nothing, my darling, dearest. Let’s go.” 

The elevator’s descent is faster than usual. Thirty-four floors. Thirty-three. Nancy’s grip tightens against my arm. Her face is redder than normal. I can feel her pulse quickening, under her skin. 

Twenty-eight floors. Twenty-seven. 

She’s meeting someone at the restaurant, Miles. That’s why we can’t be late. That’s why she needs you medicated. 

Fifteen floors. Fourteen. 

I catch our reflection in the elevator’s brass doors. Nancy’s watching me. But behind her reflection, in the corner where the shadows gather, Harold is watching us both. 

We stop on the third floor. A man in a dark suit steps in. He nods. At Nancy? If it was, she doesn’t nod back, but her fingers start drumming against my arm in a pattern. Morse code? 

Ground floor. I’m feeling a little woozy. Thankfully, the cold afternoon air hits like Karen’s slap did years ago. I told her it was an accident. I didn’t mean to grab her rear end. I stumbled. It was big enough to catch my fall. She didn’t believe me. Nancy did. But I never forgot the slap. It left fingermarks on my face. The attorney secured me close to seven thousand dollars in damages for a minor injury. Karen settled out of court.  

Arriving at the restaurant, and look at that. You are on time? You took a cab and arrived right on time. That never happens. And you still think she’s doing all this for your benefit? You are a chump, Miles. Before us is a sprawl of white tablecloths and crystal. Nancy steers me through the tables into a corner booth. Private. Secluded. It’s the same damn table, Miles! Wake up, damn it. It’s the same table where the previous tenant ate his last meal. It’s where she took me! 

“Here we are,” Nancy says. Her voice is bright. Too bright. 

I see the man who was on the elevator with us, sitting two tables away. Opening a newspaper, he’s not reading it. Just looking over it.  

Order the lobster, Miles! See if she remembers. This time. See if she stops you from ordering what you always order. 

The waiter approaches. I open my mouth to speak, but Nancy cuts in. 

“He’ll have the salmon.” She winks at him. “I’ll have the same, please.” 

I never order salmon. Aren’t you allergic to salmon? She knows this. Or, at least she used to know this. 

The window, Miles. Damn it. Remember! The window. Three inches. That’s all we need. 

The yellow pill is dissolving in my stomach. Are we on a boat, Miles? The room tilts. But only slightly. Nancy’s face? It’s blurry. Along the edges. 

“Excuse me,” I say, doing my best to stand up. “Restroom.”  

“I’ll come with you, Miles.” She’s already rising. 

“No.” I push her shoulder down, steadying myself between her and our table. “I’m fine.” 

But I’m not fine. Miles! You have to get out of here. RUN! DAMN IT! Because in the mirror behind the bar? I can see Harold. He’s standing next to the newspaper man. Now they’re both watching me. And Nancy.