Page 59 of Roadrunner

Martina had dinner on the table when I got home.

Arthur was already seated. He looked up when I came in. “How is he?”

“Better,” I said. “He’s waking up.”

Arthur absorbed this the way he absorbed most things. Quietly. With a stillness behind his eyes that I’d been looking at his whole life and still couldn’t fully read.

“Can I see him?” he asked.

“Soon,” I said. “When he’s a little more awake.”

He nodded. He picked up his fork.

I sat down across from him and watched him eat for a moment.

“Arthur,” I said.

He looked up.

I said nothing more.

We ate.

He told me about a kid at school who could solve a Rubik’s cube without looking.

I told him that was impressive.

He shrugged. “It’s just patterns.”

He went back to his plate.

In a moment, he rinsed his plate and went down the hall.

After he was in bed I sat in the kitchen and thought about the machines. About why the house felt the same as it had on any other night Joshua was gone for work. I did not give the feeling a name.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Alex

Now

Joshua stayed in that bed.

The numbers did not climb. They did not crash. Days stacked up without becoming a direction.

I packed Arthur’s lunch. I signed the school forms. I sat in the chair by the window and felt the particular blank of a woman waiting for a man she did not miss enough.

I wondered why.

I did not give the wondering a name.

One day, they scheduled a discharge. On a Friday. Arthur drew a sign. Martina washed the sheets on his bed twice.

He died on a Tuesday.

Two days before he was supposed to come home.

I had asked God to decide. God had decided.