buttered a slice of toast, ate a crisp of bacon.
Somewhere a rainstorm was lashing. Someplace hail came down. Snow fell.
The sun shone.
Somewhere, a man with gnarled fingers and withered limbs died.
Somewhere else, a baby boy was born.
Across town, Manny Phillips proposed to Adelaide Thompson.
War raged between countries, a murder was solved and legislation against hate crimes was initiated.
Jack ate his eggs in silence. He looked at her. He was looking at her and didn’t look away.
Sandra finished up and rose to make Lem’s sandwich. Breakfast delivery. There was a thermos in the cupboard. She’d make coffee for him.
What she was feeling would fade, she knew. Like drowning, everything was too vivid. Being so full would make her raw. It wasn’t good or bad, she realized. It was just knowledge. This woman died, but her daughter became pregnant. There was a balance to it. This man did bad, but this girl did good.
This boy went blind.
But she saw , all this and more.
Sandra packed up the coffee and the sandwich, packed an apple and a granola bar. She’d seen Lem sneak those on the sly. He liked the chocolate, despite arguing about health and too much sugar and empty carbohydrates.
Jack piled his empty plate and cutlery in the sink, still staring.
They didn’t do the dishes.
Sandra felt the earth turn and turn.
They left the house and got into the truck.
The clouds moved across the sky.
~
“Thanks,” Lem said, taking the bag. He looked scruffy and jaded, dark fur growth on his face. His facial hair always came in fast. He looked like he’d been holed up for three days instead of only one. Sandra wasn’t sure he saw what the sandwich was before digging in. The coffee disappeared nearly as quickly; he looked more human after it, shoulders drawing back and that quiet strength rising through.
Jack stood, tension across his chest and back, making small circuits of the room. He kept looking toward the hallway as though he expected Danny to come walking down it, saying it was all okay – he was fine.
Lem gave her a long look over the granola bar. He forewent the grinning barb she could see on the tip of his tongue and ate it anyway. The apple stayed in the bag, but Sandra knew he’d eat it later. Unless he went home, but Sandra doubted he’d leave until Daniel was on his way out that door. His boys were his responsibility. They were his responsibility.
Sandra sunk back into her poorly cushioned chair, able to feel the sway of the world distant and far away, a slow turn of history and people. Pain and love. Life and death. Her fingers twisted through the hem of her shirt. A hole was starting there and she slowly worked it bigger as Jack paced round the room.
“Calm down,” Lem told him.
Jack grimaced and slumped down in the chair beside the little overflowing table – filled with magazines and Readers Digests nearly toppling to the carpeted ground.
“He’s doing fine. Woke up once during the night – the nurses have been good enough to keep tabs for me.”
Yeah, Sandra had seen some of the nurses. Even with the five o’clock shadow gone wild, Lem was nothing to scoff at. She bet they were helpful as all heck. Jack must’ve thought the same, with the smirk growing at the corner of his mouth.
Lem took his apple out and threw the paper bag at him.
Jack caught her looking and his grin winked out, all serious again, and Lem threw them a sideways press of lips.
“How long until he gets out?” she asked instead, going for distraction, and even Jack was interested in that.
“Not yet. The surgery went fine, the doctors say. He’s doing well. But it wasn’t a small scratch. He’ll be hurting for a while.”
“No shit.” A narrow-eyed look and Jack hunched his shoulders, mumbling a “Sorry.”
“I’ll ask the nurses when they come around if it’s okay for visitors. Only one at a time.”
Jack’s jaw locked and Sandra quickly shook her head. “Jack can go. I know Danny’s
Somewhere a rainstorm was lashing. Someplace hail came down. Snow fell.
The sun shone.
Somewhere, a man with gnarled fingers and withered limbs died.
Somewhere else, a baby boy was born.
Across town, Manny Phillips proposed to Adelaide Thompson.
War raged between countries, a murder was solved and legislation against hate crimes was initiated.
Jack ate his eggs in silence. He looked at her. He was looking at her and didn’t look away.
Sandra finished up and rose to make Lem’s sandwich. Breakfast delivery. There was a thermos in the cupboard. She’d make coffee for him.
What she was feeling would fade, she knew. Like drowning, everything was too vivid. Being so full would make her raw. It wasn’t good or bad, she realized. It was just knowledge. This woman died, but her daughter became pregnant. There was a balance to it. This man did bad, but this girl did good.
This boy went blind.
But she saw , all this and more.
Sandra packed up the coffee and the sandwich, packed an apple and a granola bar. She’d seen Lem sneak those on the sly. He liked the chocolate, despite arguing about health and too much sugar and empty carbohydrates.
Jack piled his empty plate and cutlery in the sink, still staring.
They didn’t do the dishes.
Sandra felt the earth turn and turn.
They left the house and got into the truck.
The clouds moved across the sky.
~
“Thanks,” Lem said, taking the bag. He looked scruffy and jaded, dark fur growth on his face. His facial hair always came in fast. He looked like he’d been holed up for three days instead of only one. Sandra wasn’t sure he saw what the sandwich was before digging in. The coffee disappeared nearly as quickly; he looked more human after it, shoulders drawing back and that quiet strength rising through.
Jack stood, tension across his chest and back, making small circuits of the room. He kept looking toward the hallway as though he expected Danny to come walking down it, saying it was all okay – he was fine.
Lem gave her a long look over the granola bar. He forewent the grinning barb she could see on the tip of his tongue and ate it anyway. The apple stayed in the bag, but Sandra knew he’d eat it later. Unless he went home, but Sandra doubted he’d leave until Daniel was on his way out that door. His boys were his responsibility. They were his responsibility.
Sandra sunk back into her poorly cushioned chair, able to feel the sway of the world distant and far away, a slow turn of history and people. Pain and love. Life and death. Her fingers twisted through the hem of her shirt. A hole was starting there and she slowly worked it bigger as Jack paced round the room.
“Calm down,” Lem told him.
Jack grimaced and slumped down in the chair beside the little overflowing table – filled with magazines and Readers Digests nearly toppling to the carpeted ground.
“He’s doing fine. Woke up once during the night – the nurses have been good enough to keep tabs for me.”
Yeah, Sandra had seen some of the nurses. Even with the five o’clock shadow gone wild, Lem was nothing to scoff at. She bet they were helpful as all heck. Jack must’ve thought the same, with the smirk growing at the corner of his mouth.
Lem took his apple out and threw the paper bag at him.
Jack caught her looking and his grin winked out, all serious again, and Lem threw them a sideways press of lips.
“How long until he gets out?” she asked instead, going for distraction, and even Jack was interested in that.
“Not yet. The surgery went fine, the doctors say. He’s doing well. But it wasn’t a small scratch. He’ll be hurting for a while.”
“No shit.” A narrow-eyed look and Jack hunched his shoulders, mumbling a “Sorry.”
“I’ll ask the nurses when they come around if it’s okay for visitors. Only one at a time.”
Jack’s jaw locked and Sandra quickly shook her head. “Jack can go. I know Danny’s
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