“We have our thirty-first anniversary coming up next Tuesday,” Sarah said, her voice quiet.
“Are we still planning on that dinner in Anchorage?”
Todd did not look up from the screen, his thumb freezing on the glass.
“Todd?” she asked again.
He stood up, shoved the phone into his pocket, and walked toward the hallway.
The door to the garage clicked shut behind him.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator filled the empty space where his voice should have been.
By seven-thirty the next morning, the coffee pot was cold, and the kitchen smelled of woodsmoke from the woodstove in the corner. Gloria entered through the back door without knocking, carrying a small willow basket covered with a red checkered cloth. The scent of warm yeast rolls immediately cut through the chill in the room.
Gloria adjusted her glasses, her eyes scanning the counter before landing on Sarah. “He is already gone, then?”
Sarah did not look up from the blue enamel coffee mug sitting in the center of the clean table. It was Todd’s favorite cup, chipped near the rim from a boat trip to Prince William Sound.
“Left before five,” Sarah said. “His lunch tin is still sitting in the fridge next to the mustard.”
Gloria set the basket down on the table, her fingers tapping against her collarbone. “He probably just grabbed something at the station on his way to the oil field office.”
