12:15 p.m.
Mac closed his eyes and made another deal: if he stopped watching the news, the phone would ring.
He’d been sitting there all morning, glued to the TV. Now he turned away from the disturbing news reports and forced himself to stare at the phone, trying to make it ring.
The phone didn’t ring.
He was on the sofa in the den, in his usual spot on the right-hand end. Bobby always sat on the left. Most nights, after Dottie was in bed, Bobby would join Mac there on the sofa to watch the nightly news. It felt wrong to Mac to be sitting here without Bobby by his side.
He continued to stare at the phone.
The phone didn’t ring.
Maybe I need to shake things up, he thought. He got up and walked around the house. He turned off the coffee pot. He looked in on Dottie. He walked out to the porch, glanced up and down the empty street, came inside, and wound up right back where he started, on the couch.
As he settled into his usual spot, he glanced over at Bobby’s side of the sofa. They’d sat there so many nights that the empty sofa cushions still held the shape of their bodies like a memory. Mac slid over, into Bobby’s spot. He enjoyed the strangeness of sitting in the wrong seat, and then feeling his son’s presence as the cushion molded around him and held him close.
He could see the phone out of the corner of his eye but forced himself not to look. This was his new deal: if he didn’t look, the phone would ring.
He imagined the call he felt sure would come soon. The phone would ring, he’d answer, and then he’d hear two words: “Hi, Pop.”
The thought made him smile. It wouldn’t be long now.