Mark didn't have a meeting. He didn't want to be in the loft. He didn't want to be anywhere. Wandering the darkening streets, Mark filmed a few shots. He passed the cemetery. A figure knelt at Mimi's grave. After spending at least a few hours every week at the cemetery, Mark was confident he could point out the exact locations of his friends' resting places on a satellite photo. He approached slowly, curious to learn the visitor's identity.

The trees at the edge of the cemetery hid him from view. Peering around the corner, Mark realized the figure was a man. At first, he'd thought the visitor was Mimi's mother, maybe one of her sisters. This person was too big to be them. Definitely a man. The man raised his head and Mark held his breath.

Benny knelt with one hand on Mimi's headstone. His other hand clutched a small bouquet of yellow tulips. Mimi's favorite. Mark debated about approaching him, but decided not to when he heard Benny's tears.

In all the years Mark had known him, Benny had never been a crier. The rare occasions when he did cry, the tears were stoic and silent. This was different. Mark heard the tears before he saw Benny shaking from them. The anger and resentment Mark felt at the secrets and the way Benny treated them disappeared. He went towards Benny and reached him just as the businessman was standing to leave.

"Benny?"

Benny snapped to attention, wiping his tears with the back of his hands. "Mark, hey."

"You okay, man?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

"You sure? I mean, I know I'm probably not your favorite person to talk to but, um…"

"Mark, I'm okay. But thanks."

Benny managed a small smile and turned on his heel, leaving Mark alone with his camera. Mark hesitated and turned the opposite direction, stopping at Angel's grave. He sat with Angel in silence, thinking.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Angel? I know….I know they're falling for each other….but she….if she gets sick…."

"Marky, you worry too much…"

Angel's voice came back to him with such clarity that Mark sprang to his feet, whirling around. He'd half-expected Angel to come out from the shadows. Mark shook his head sadly, knowing he was still alone.

Roger finished his coffee in the living room and left the mug in the sink. He shivered and realized he'd left his sweatshirt in the bedroom. He'd taken it off before bed last night. Taking a deep breath, Roger eased open the door.

Maureen lay sound asleep in the bed. Her hair fell over her face like a veil. She shivered lightly under the blankets. Roger instinctively moved them up tighter around her. He reached one hand out and brushed her hair from her face. A gentle smile

played on her lips. Roger pulled his hand away slowly. Roger stared down at her and reached a conclusion that broke his heart: she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He tiptoed out of the room and was nearly at the fire escape before he realized he'd forgotten the sweatshirt again. He shivered and went out without it. Roger didn't trust himself to go back in there.