I turned off the ignition, collected my things and headed toward my building. I noticed a guy pacing near the dumpster. Agitated. On his cell phone.

He speed-walked toward me.

"Hey! Do you live here?"

"Well yeah. Are you locked out?"

"Yeah. I mean. My girlfriend lives here. She just stepped out for a few minutes but I got locked out."

It happens. My husband and I have been locked out of our apartment. It's the common case of the "but I thought you grabbed the key." I told the guy as much.

"I really appreciate it. We've only been dating for two months so I don't have a key and I was here to surprise her and I drove half an hour to get here and I don't know where she is and I don't want to just go home...." His voice faded into a shrug.

Too much caffeine, probably.

I unlocked the front door and we headed upstairs. His girlfriend lives across the hall from me. In the 9 months I've lived there, I've only seen a couple of the 15 or so people who live in my building. And I've never seen anyone even enter her room.

I told him this, too. He didn't seem surprised.

"I really appreciate this," he said. "I mean, her car's in the parking lot and she's not answering her phone. I hope she's ok."

The recent radio reports of people found dead in their homes from the heat flooded to my mind. My city is among the many with record breaking heat and humidity this week.

"We have A/C so she should be ok in there," I fumbled.

His ear to the door, he said, "I don't hear anything."

"The doors are thick."

He knocked on her door--hard enough to bruise his knuckles. The sound of his pounding ricocheted off the walls in the narrow hallway.

"Maybe she's out with her friends and they picked her up."

He was silent for a minute. "Oh yeah. I hadn't thought of that. I'll just wait out here for a while." He stood on the welcome mat outside her door, punching in numbers on his cell phone.

The hall was stuffy, humid, hot. No place for someone to sit comfortably. I felt like offering him a folding chair or something.

"Ice water?" I asked.

He gave a good midwestern hesitation before gladly taking the glass of water. Ice clinked as he gulped. "I work outside all day. This is nice. Thanks."

I eyed him suspiciously. He didn't have the physique or complexion of someone who spent much time outside.

"I drive for UPS," he explained.

He slid against the wall to sit down, nursing his ice water. I went back to my apartment. When I offered him a refill a few minutes later, he stood up to leave.

"I think I know what's really going on here," he said angrily, half to me and half to himself. He almost tripped over his feet on his way down the hall. He handed me the half-empty glass. "Thanks," he mumbled, and hurried down the steps.

I thought belatedly that I could've given him some paper and a pen. Maybe he could fix whatever it was with a note. He reminded me of so many college friends for whom the most minor disturbances in routine were blown into worst-case scenarios. Rejection issues, I thought.

I wanted to call after him. At least give her the benefit of the doubt. Don't jump to conclusions. Relax. Chill out. You'll scare her away like this.

The bottom door thumped closed behind him. He evaporated into the night's heat.

I wondered about him for the next half hour. Wondered if this incidence would be the fateful straw in their uncomfortable relationship. "Where were you?" and "You checked up on me? How'd you get into the building?"

I didn't hear anyone else walk up the steps to the second floor even though I was up for several more hours.

I wonder if I'll have an angry girlfriend knocking on my door tonight. Maybe I blew her cover. Maybe she was hiding from him like he thought. And maybe she was just out with friends, escaping the heat and the ineffective A/C units.