At eight o’clock in the morning, Alyssa shows up at Danny’s apartment door with a stack of bright yellow flyers. He has not seen her in three months, since the day she moved out. Two new wrinkles appear between her eyebrows; new creases fold around her mouth as she looks past him into the living room. Her cheeks have grown sharper, her shoulder bones more prominent, her hair longer and darker and not as well kept. She is more beautiful now, although in a dangerous, unpredictable way that Danny is not sure he likes.
She wears a batik sundress, one he remembers, a favorite, and large copper disk earrings that look painfully heavy. Sweat collects along her forehead, and he can smell the amber coming off her skin. She uses a real stone, kept in a little wooden box, which she rubs across her wrists and neck every morning. He has searched for her scent in the grocery store, on the subway, on dates with women he never calls back. No one else smells like her.