“Dad’s truck isn’t in the driveway,” Gary said, putting the mail on the hallway table.
“He went to the hardware store,” I said, smoothing down my apron.
Gary tapped his silver pen against his knuckles, a fast, rhythmic clicking that always made me tense.
“He was supposed to call me at two about the tax filings,” Gary said. “He never misses that call.”
“He has been a little distracted lately,” I said, looking out the hallway window.
“Distracted how, Mom?”
“Just quiet,” I said, turning my wedding ring around my finger.
Gary watched me, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his glasses.
“I tried calling his cell phone three times,” Gary said. “It went straight to voicemail.”
“He probably left it in the glove box,” I said, though I knew he always kept it in his pocket.
“I will try him again on my way back to the office,” Gary said, picking up his keys.
He let the screen door click shut behind him, leaving the hallway quiet again.
The clock in the living room chimed eleven-thirty, and the house had grown cold.
Then, a low, wet rumble started beneath my feet, shaking the floorboards.
I got out of bed, wrapped my wool shawl around my shoulders, and walked down the dark hallway.
The stairs were chilly, but a thin sliver of yellow light showed under the laundry room door.
Arthur stood in front of the washing machine, his shadow stretched long across the concrete floor.
He had not turned on the overhead light, relying only on the small bulb over the utility sink.
The machine was already humming on the spin cycle, shaking the small dryer beside it.
“Arthur?” I asked, staying by the doorframe.
He did not turn around to look at me, keeping his back straight.
“Go back to bed, Nora,” he said.
“It is nearly midnight,” I said. “What are you washing?”
“I can handle my own laundry from now on, Nora,” he said.
His hands were flat against the vibrating metal lid of the machine.
The rhythmic, heavy thumping of the washing machine spin cycle vibrating through the kitchen floorboards.
By seven the next morning, Arthur was already gone from the kitchen.
He had left only a cold mug of black coffee on the counter.
The house felt too quiet without the sound of his morning radio.
I went back to our master bedroom to make the bed and pull the thick curtains against the grey morning light.
