SURPRISINGLY, SHEVAUNNE WASN’T ON THE sofa, though the TV babbled on, alone, a mental patient on a park bench. You bitch never you always you don’t you always you always you bitch I hate—
“Shevaunne? Jake?”
He heard only the brrrrrr of the fridge.
He listened hard. He could almost feel his ear canals opening, the delicate aural hairs stiffen.
At last he heard the low breathing of a child.
“Jake?”
He turned into his bedroom. Jake was sprawled asleep on his bed and Shevaunne sat in the chair by the window. She had an unlit cigarette in her mouth. Ben studied the scene, there was something wrong—not just her presence in his room—but wrong in the subtext, as if a picture was suddenly hanging askew.
Shevaunne smiled. “Hello, Ben.” She held up a manila envelope.
He felt a sense of violation knowing she’d been through his things, carefully turning over his socks, his underwear, the cutlery, the dishes and coffee filters. Diligently, she’d investigated the underside of his bed, of every table and chair until she’d arrived, at last, at the fridge. And she had done this instead of making lunch for her child.
“Trucking manifests,” she said, opening the envelope. “Forestry approvals.”
He took off his cap, put it on top of the bureau. “I’m shipping logs to Canada.”
Wetting her finger, she flipped through the paperwork. “Why’d you hide this, then?”
“I don’t know what it is you think you have there.”
“Ben,” she sighed. “I’m a junkie whore.”
All he could do was wait, regard her impassively.
“I’m looking at these forestry things, and they’re completely blank except for the signature. You can fill in anything you want.” She smiled. It was almost genuine, how happy she was. “You’re shifting smack to Canada, aren’t you, Benny.”
Now Ben surveyed Jake. The child was fast asleep, yet it was early evening. He looked at Shevaunne. “What did you give him?”
“He was driving me nuts.”
Ben stood quietly. He did not raise his voice. “What did you give him?”
“Some over-the-counter sleep shit.”
“You drugged your child?”
“Oh, mister, it’s just sleep.” She pulled out her lighter, lit up, boldly. “So, you’re gonna cut me into the next haul, right? I’d like to move back to town. I’d like a car. Me and Jake. We don’t want to stay out here in the boonies.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said as if he might think about it, might give it a moment’s consideration, then walked back into the kitchen to clean the dishes in the sink. He did this calmly, plunging his hands into the warm, soapy water, carefully scrubbing the pan, the plates, between the tines of the forks. Shevaunne followed him out, puffing her smoke. She sat on her sofa like a duchess, for she possessed it now—it was her residence. He could feel her watching him, and she was imagining him thoughtfully thinking. But Ben did not need to think, he had arrived at the end of his thinking. He was 100 percent concluded.