OBLIVIOUS DONNA

I called Detective Doyle and left him a message. The woman at the police station said he was out on the road. He called back from his cell phone within fifteen minutes, and I told him about my encounter with Twist.

“His name’s Doug Twistell. He goes by Dougie-boy or Twist. I know him. He’s a hick. His whole clan is on Bain’s Side Road where it dead ends at the pond. He offered you a ride?”

“Yes he did, but I m not concerned about that. It was the way he looked at me, like he knew who I was, and like he knew something.”

“Interesting, I’ll go and see him.”

“Is he a criminal?”

“Well, he’s too dumb to be much of a criminal. He’s been convicted for dealing drugs. He gets in the odd bar fight. Like I said, I’ll pay him a visit.”

“Thank you, Detective Doyle.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, you can call me Larry.”

I hung up the phone and heard Raymond’s voice in my head: “I don’t know why you call him Detective. He couldn’t detect a fly on a pile of shit.”

I leaned back and watched the telephone as if it might do or tell me something. I wondered if Raymond had reached the cabin yet. He never invited me up there. I’d seen photographs of it. Raymond had been in a good mood one day, and shown them to me. I’d seen the real estate papers. It was a lovely day outside and I might have liked to go up to the country. I could have used a break from the routine. I looked at the empty shopping bag on the floor and thought, What if I had bought the things to make a dinner? I would have found that note and he wouldn’t have cared either way. He was on his way to the cabin by then. The radio startled me. John Mayer came on. Jason could play some of his songs and he sang with a similar husky but velvet voice. I couldn’t bear to hear that young man sing to me through my radio. I poked my finger at the switch until I hit it and knocked the radio askew on the shelf, and it stopped and gave me silence. I sat on the floor and had a good cry. I had a bit of a tantrum, I suppose. Not because I was feeling sorry for myself; just because we all need a good cry now and again.

Dusk was only a half hour away, but I had grown tired of sitting in the kitchen. I had made a sandwich for dinner and forced it down. I wasn’t hungry. I thought about taking the bus over to the Indian restaurant, but I would be taking that same bus into work soon enough on Monday morning. I decided to go for a walk. I had wanted to get out and enjoy a walk earlier in the day. It had been ruined by my encounter with Twist. But now it was a crisp, beautiful evening and I decided to walk into the neighbourhood as opposed to away from it.

I made my way along Brook Street and watched the sky and tried to clear my mind. I walked streets I hadn’t seen for a long time. Jason used to have friends that lived on these streets and I would pick him up and drop him off when he was smaller. I walked past the infamous Clemsons’ place, now bought and occupied by Mary Ann’s mystery man. The place was in darkness and I doubted that anyone had moved in just yet. I was proven wrong as I reached the very top of the street. There was a man walking towards me. He was tall and square-shouldered and took large, efficient strides. He wore a dark three-quarter length coat and dark pants. A mid-sized dog cantered at this side with its round face peering straight ahead. They were a sight, poetry in motion, really. As they drew closer I saw the man was wearing a fedora, which I always thought was very sharp. Jason and I would watch old movies together and whenever there were men wearing fedoras, Jason would say, “I know, mum, don’t say it, the hats are very handsome. . . .”

I suppose the man and his dog had no choice but to slow their pace. I was standing like a fool and taking up half of the ­sidewalk. We came nearly face to face and he stopped, yanked on his dog’s leash and said, “Sit, boy.

“Hello,” he said to me.

I said hello. I believe I did anyway. Mary Ann had been absolutely correct. He was a striking man. His face was perfectly symmetrical and his sideburns looked perfectly squared and matched. He wore a small patch, a short tuft of hair under his bottom lip, but he was otherwise cleanshaven and his skin had a lovely sheen in the waning light. He had texture and detail to him, like a handsome sketch or painting.

“It’s a beautiful night for a walk,” he offered.

His face was strong and his nose was slightly broad, a touch too large. It had possibly been broken and not reset properly. He offered his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Calvin, Cal. And you are?”

Dopey, I wanted to say. I felt like a schoolgirl and I had the most outrageous thought as I held out my hand and felt his dry, warm palm: Raymond isn’t home. My husband isn’t home. I’m alone, and so is Calvin, Cal.

“I’m Donna. Donna Phillips.”

His eyes were grey and clear. When I was a young woman, my mother would tell me that we women trust too much. We want to believe the best about the people around us, especially men. And so we’ve been given strong intuition, a special sense to offset our ridiculous trust. And she would tell me, again and again, part of that special sense was our ability to tell most of what you need to know about a man just by looking into his eyes. “So, Donna, please trust it. Look in a man’s eyes when you first meet him,” she would say.

It sounds foolish, I know, but there’s some truth in it. The first time I met Raymond was in a bar, of all places. I had gone there with some friends—a girl’s night out. We were so out of place. We never went to bars. We were naïve country girls, really. Raymond and his friends came to our table. They had playing cards and cigarettes and fancy silver lighters. So we made room for them and they ordered pitchers of beer. Raymond was already three sheets to the wind. And I did look into his eyes. I saw a frustrated man, a man that meant well, but cared too much about having things his way. His were bloodshot and stubborn eyes. But I fell for him anyway.

“It’s getting chilly out,” said Cal.

“Yes it is.”

“Do you live far from here?” he asked.

“No, I’m just three streets down. I should have worn a heavier coat.”

He smiled and his cheeks lifted and buried his eyes for a moment. They became smaller and more focused, and I could see in his eyes a man who knew exactly who he was and where he was going. And he’d take you there as well, if he trusted you and you wanted to go along. If he loved you, well, the sky was the limit. I listened to my thoughts, buzzing around like gnats in my brain. You’re being a fool, Donna, smarten up and talk to him like a normal human being. You’ll be the strange woman otherwise. That’s what he’ll think if he sees you again: Here comes the strange one.

“You’re shivering,” he said.

“Yes, I should get myself home.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Donna.”

I could have walked alongside him to get home. I decided to walk north and loop down around to my house instead. I was cold as a stone and felt like a fool for taking the long way home, all because I had embarrassed myself and clammed up in front of this new man. And Mary Ann had every right to be talking about him. As I walked briskly I found myself thinking he was the most interesting thing to happen in my neighbourhood since Audrey Deane’s husband got drunk and ran nude through the streets after the Blue Jays won the World Series—foolish, I know.

I arrived home and immediately made coffee. I sat holding the cup with both hands and enjoyed its warmth. And I tried to think of something other than Calvin. God, I was being a real schoolgirl. I forced my mind onto the work I needed to do in my garden. There were seeds to buy and I would have to hound Raymond, as per usual, to help with the tilling. We had done it too late last spring and our flowers had been feeble all summer, and then the garden had been neglected, what with Jason leaving us. But my To Do List would not stick and I was soon thinking about the way Cal walked as if he owned the street. I thought of Detective Doyle, poor tired old Larry. I wondered when he would go and visit Twist and what he would find out. I thought of my reconstruction. The one where Jason was running for his life and Twist was there, right in the thick of it. Thinking about that only made me want company. I did not want to be alone with my thoughts. Even when Raymond was down in his quarters I felt better. At least I could hear him moving around down there. I could hear him cough. I could smell smoke from the occasional cigar or cigarette that he’d smoke. He wasn’t any real company, but he was a presence, I suppose. I needed that. Just when I had pushed Calvin to the back on my mind, he rolled forward and was there again. This was something new.

I took a warm bath and then made my face up a little. I hadn’t been wearing much makeup and thought that perhaps I should start looking a little more decent. I put on some newer jeans and my favourite sweater. Raymond said the sweater was too tight. He claimed it was a size too small, which was okay if you were busty. Mind you, he didn’t say it quite that politely. But I liked the sweater. It was formfitting and soft and I’d seldom had luck with sweaters; they always made me itch. I got my heavier coat and I went out. I would walk to Mary Ann’s house. She would welcome the company. Her husband was always busy with his ham radio equipment anyway, so it wasn’t as if I would be interrupting a candlelit dinner. She would gladly sit and drink a coffee with me. Perhaps we could go out. There was a new coffee shop in town and Mary Ann had her own car. She would pry and poke about for information about Raymond, but I had the perfect remedy for that. I would tell her that I had met the mystery man—that I even knew his name.

When I reached Mary Ann’s I stood on the sidewalk and let the wind rush around me. It was a blustery night and it smelled damp outside. I felt so out of place. The wind was strong enough that my eyes began to water. I watched the light behind the curtains in Mary Ann’s living room. She was in there, probably watching TV or ­reading a magazine. She liked magazines about celebrities and their private lives, and of course their scandals. She probably had coffee on and was smoking one of her brown cigarettes.

Her husband Carl would be in the basement, at a desk with a big radio on it and surrounded by maps covered with multicoloured thumbtacks. Carl went to sex shops in the city and brought home all sorts of things—adult toys, flavoured gels and erotic magazines. That’s what Mary Ann had recently told me. I hadn’t asked her about it; she’d just volunteered it. And then she asked, “What about you and Raymond?”

I didn’t know what to say. I could just about hear what Raymond would say. Mary Ann sat there and let smoke escape her mouth in little wisps. She waited for me to answer and all I said was, “Raymond lives in the basement since Jason left us.”

She sipped her coffee and said, “Well, Carl isn’t that good anyway. I mean he tries, but he’s not a very—he’s, well, he’s better at turning on his radio than he is me.”

“Oh,” I said.

“It’s usually all over in five minutes,” she said, and then she giggled.

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“What about you and Raymond?”

“We’re fine that way, I suppose.”

She was in there right now and she was probably bored. It was cold just standing there in the wind. It felt more like November than April. I began to walk. I looked over my shoulder as if Mary Ann’s quiet little house might follow me. I just kept walking. And I took a tissue out of my bag to dry my eyes. I’d had no intention of visiting Mary Ann and I knew it. I turned right and started over towards the Clemsons’ old place. That’s how I thought of it. I didn’t think of it as Cal’s new place. And I would just walk straight past and go home anyway. I had never done anything daring in all my life. Raymond used to call me “the librarian” or “the stick in search of mud.” He used to tease me and often chuckle with me, or at me, before our boy left us. And then he’d grab me and sometimes pick me right up. He at least pursued me a little bit. He acted like I mattered to him. Once, after he’d called me “soldier boy” because I’d decided, on a whim, to cut my hair short, he came to me and said I was lovely no matter how my hair looked. He opened a bottle of wine and we danced in the living room. I remember the song: I Hear a Symphony by The Supremes. That’s a lovely song.

I walked past a man whose name I’d forgotten. He used to help coach soccer years ago when Jason played. The man had his collar turned up, he was walking quickly, and he said hello very shyly as we passed each other on the sidewalk. I didn’t like meeting up with people with whom my only connection was Jason. I had wanted to move away just after it all happened.

“Move where?” Raymond had asked.

“Somewhere else.”

“Okay, where?”

“I don’t know. It was just an idea.”

“And what would that do?”

“There are just a lot of memories here, that’s all.”

“The memories will go with you.”

“Well, reminders then. It’s just not very nice here sometimes.”

“Life isn’t nice. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“I can’t go around hating everything like you do, Raymond.”

“No, you just run away from it.”

“I run away, Raymond? Please, don’t be dishonest.”

“You’re the one who wants to change houses.”

“We can’t even talk.”

“That’s what we’re doing right now. My mouth is moving and words are coming out. And then yours moves and words come out. They don’t make much sense, but they come out anyway.”

“I thought it might be better if we were somewhere else, that’s all.”

“Oh would you give it a rest?”

Every time the wind picked up I made sure my hair wasn’t all messy and wild. I walked slowly and held onto my head. My heart was thumping away and my mouth was dry. I stopped and searched my handbag for some mints. I found a cough candy and placed it in my mouth. It was fine until it became all warm and gave off fumes. I spat it in the grass and then hoped that some poor dog didn’t find it and gobble it down. It might scare a dog, chewing something with all that menthol in it. I heard Raymond’s voice as I walked: “A dog might get scared by a cough candy? Would you just zip it?”

He was right, sometimes. He had a right to get testy with me. Sometimes my mind just went off racing and I couldn’t contain my thoughts, so I thought them aloud—foolish, I know. It’s been worse since our boy left us. Raymond claims I give him a headache just by talking.

“In under a minute you’ve gone from the smell of that new detergent to Max what’s-his-name’s new car, to donating money to save some damn forest, to that fat broad with the glass eye and her rubber shoes. Holy shit, Donna, give it a rest.”

“Her name is Mary Ann and she doesn’t have a glass eye, and they aren’t rubber, they’re regular shoes with inserts that help her back. She has a bad back.”

“Her back is the least of her problems. Has she looked in the fucking mirror lately?”

“Please Raymond, watch our mouth. You should hear yourself.”

“And you should hear yourself,” he said. “You’re a talking hen with a split personality.”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you did you’d show a little more understanding.”

“I course I do! Don’t tell me what I do and don’t!”

“Love and fondness doesn’t shout and spit poison, Raymond.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t fucking talk about some fat windbag’s rubber shoes and some guy—who I don’t even know—and his new car warranty and saving the fucking rain forest and detergent that smells like the autumn, all within the time it takes to drive down the street. Smells like autumn. Give me a break.”

The Clemsons always had a lot of funny garden gnomes and other little things placed around their front yard, little plastic ­animals and things. Those were gone and the front yard looked neat and orderly. He was home. I could see a light in the kitchen. I could see the refrigerator and some cupboards. The house was similar to Mary Ann’s except that everything was on the opposite side. I saw a shadow and someone moving around inside. I wondered if it was Cal, and if he was lonely. Listen to yourself, I thought, calling him Cal. You’ve talked to him once, and for a total of twenty seconds!

I didn’t even know this man. I wasn’t about to go and knock on his door. What on earth would I say? Hello, I’m the odd woman you met earlier this evening. I happened to be out for another walk, in a heavier coat this time. What a fool you are, Donna. And what if someone sees you? Betty Taber lives across the street, and Mary Ann insists she spends a lot of time watching the neighbourhood from her kitchen. Mary Ann was frequently reporting all that Betty had seen on a given day. And it could get back to Pastor Giles. Mary Ann doesn’t go to church. She doesn’t believe in God. Raymond says that’s fair enough because by the looks of her, God doesn’t believe in her either. But that’s Raymond for you. I’ve seen Betty Taber at church though. She always wears a dressy hat. I look too tall in a hat. A hat makes me nearly six feet. Anyway I can’t just knock on the door of a man, a man who lives alone and is trying to organize his new home. I thought all of these things; they rushed at me like the wind outside. I let them fly about in my mind even as I stepped onto Cal’s doorstep and rang the bell. I was so nervous I could have vomited. The dog barked. And then I heard Cal’s footsteps. They were heavy and the dog walked alongside of him. I could hear the dog’s little nails clicking on the floor. When Cal answered the door, I stared at his hair. It was a lovely salt and pepper colour and it looked soft. It sat close to his head, but without being a brush cut.

“Hello, Donna,” he said.

The dog barked a gruff greeting.

Cal lowered his voice, “Stop it, Gabe. It’s okay, she’s friendly.”

“Sorry to disturb you. It’s just that when we met earlier, I was miles away, my mind was on something else and I wasn’t dressed for this wind, and anyway I thought I might have come across as rude.”

“No worries,” he said. He said things as if they were true and final. Not in the same way that Raymond said them. When Cal spoke he seemed to be drawing from wisdom, not anger; from confidence, not bitterness.

“Well, it was nice to meet you and, well, welcome to the neighbourhood,” I said.

I looked across the street just then. I could not see anyone in Betty Taber’s windows.

“Are you busy? Do you have to rush off somewhere?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I was just walking, for a second time. You probably think I’m a nut.”

“Why don’t you come in? I can make coffee. I just bought it this morning.”

My stomach dropped and my heart jumped. I felt incredibly guilty and yet wonderfully exhilarated all at once.

I was a spectator in his house. There was plenty to watch. The house itself was painted wonderful earthy colours, and Cal’s furniture was all deep browns with cream-coloured area rugs dropped here and there. His kitchen table was high, like something you would see in a lounge. There were two wood and leather stools, and he held out his hand and gestured for me to sit down, or up, on one of the stools. His dog Gabe was like his little brother and I found that very sweet. He was a mixed breed. I could see some Doberman in him, and yet he was short and stocky, not a pit bull, but the other guard dog—I forget its name. Gabe would follow Cal and watch his every move, and Cal would eventually tap Gabe on the head and mumble something to him. Gabe then wandered off to the corner of the kitchen where he slumped to the floor and watched Cal with big, chocolate-coloured eyes. It was a comforting thing to observe the two of them. Cal moved with such ease and strength. There was no stress on his face. No tremors in his hands. It was different than watching Raymond. Cal took his time and he didn’t smash things around and scold inanimate objects. Watching Cal make coffee was so soothing I could have fallen asleep, had it not been for his chatter as he went about his task.

“Have you lived in the area for long?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been here a while,” I said.

“Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Both please.”

“I like it here so far. It seems like a quiet area, it’s just close enough to the city, and there are some nice parks and some nice big fields just north of here for Gabe to run in, and there’s pretty ladies knocking at my door.” He looked over at me slowly, checking to see how I would handle such an open compliment. He wasn’t being forward. At least I don’t think he was. And I didn’t care at that moment, really. It was the first time anyone had called me pretty, or anything even close, in a long time. I felt the back of my neck tingle and my chest began to sting so badly I thought I might cry. I had to say something to prevent that from happening.

“Where did you live before this, Cal? I can call you Cal?”

“Absolutely, I prefer Cal. I was out on the west coast. I retired last year and I couldn’t keep still. I got tired of sitting around, and you can only play so much golf, you know? I have a sister here. She has two kids and my brother-in-law is a good enough guy. I’m hoping this will be good for me—be an uncle to the kids and help my sister out when I can.”

He was a lovely man. I had a dozen questions for him, but I sat quietly and accepted the cup of coffee he placed in front of me.

“What did you do before you retired?”

Cal drank his coffee black. He sipped it and swallowed gently. There wasn’t a hint of moisture left on his lips afterwards and yet his lips were very soft. I touched my own mouth for fear that my lips were dry and chapped. I was back to being a schoolgirl and I missed his reply—foolish, I know. He saw that I had missed it and so he started again. There was a big, honest grin on his face.

“I was a firefighter.”

“That’s exciting.”

“It had its moments and I enjoyed it—most of it. What about you? What keeps Donna busy and out of trouble?”

I didn’t know what to say. What did keep me busy? It was really just my inner world that kept me busy. I didn’t do much except for three days a week at the office.

“I work at an office, but I’m down to three days a week.”

“Ah, and what do they do at this office? Or is that a secret?”

“No, no secret. It’s an insurance company.”

“That’s an honorable pursuit, unless you’re the one who raises my premium every year, of course.”

I laughed, “No, that’s not me.” Actually, I didn’t just laugh, I giggled like a little girl. Cal chuckled and Gabe came to his side. I decided that I should go. My mind was swirling and I was feeling strange and awkward; a small part of me wanted to touch his face right then and there. It was ridiculous. I was a married woman. I had lived in the same house, in the same neighbourhood for years. I was conservative by nature. My idea of fun was a double martini with three olives and my music turned up a bit too loud, so that Raymond would thump on the wall or ceiling for me to turn it down. And I was fine with all of it. There are people with worse lives than mine. I was split in half. A part of me could not believe the nonsense bouncing about in my brain and wanted it to stop. And another part of me chased it with a great big net and tried to capture it. I was having thoughts and feelings and urges that I hadn’t had in a while. It felt so wonderful to just have them, regardless of whether they would ever be fulfilled.

I thought of a time when Raymond arrived home with a bouquet of flowers for me and a toy bow and arrow set for Jason. He kissed me hello and I remembered how his coveralls smelled of machine oil and of the huge garage where he worked. I was grateful for him back then. And Jason still looked up to him.

“I don’t think I make the best coffee. I should have asked for your help,” said Cal.

He looked at his cup and made a sour face for just a moment.

“It’s fine. I’m enjoying it. But I should drink up and get home. It was rude of me to barge in on you,” I said.

I have to admit it was one of the most reasonable things I’d thought or said in twenty-four hours.

“I wasn’t doing anything tonight. Believe me I was glad for the company,” said Cal.

“I would imagine you do have plans on most nights,” I said.

Cal got up and went to the sink. He tipped his coffee out.

“Not really. My sister and nieces will be visiting—often, I hope. But other than that I fly below the radar.”

“Well, I thank you for the coffee.”

I slid off the fancy stool and put my handbag on my ­shoulder.

“Your family will probably be wondering where you are,” he said.

“It’s not that. I should just go. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Not possible,” he said.

Don’t do this to me, I thought. Don’t be so nice and charming. And please tell that dog to stop staring at me like he’s about to cry. My legs were unsteady. The idea of telling Cal everything, about Jason and about my husband and his separate quarters, and his cabin, rolled to the front of my mind and then to the back. My thoughts were like furniture or crates on an old ship, sliding back and forth, back and forth.

“Well, thank you again. I really should go.”

“Did you want a lift? It’s crazy cold out there for this time of year. Listen to that wind.”

I hadn’t seen a car. For some foolish reason I had thought he walked everywhere. A drive would only take two minutes. He might realize that I was alone. The house would be dark. It would be a couple more minutes with him. Any more time in his house was out of the question. I would wind up saying something foolish, or worse, reaching out and touching his arm or face. But a minute or two to drive home would be just fine.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not putting you out.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll just get my keys.”

Cal’s car was beautiful. I never notice cars, but I noticed his. The seats were so comfortable and you couldn’t hear the engine. It was as if the car floated on an air cushion. It had little orange lights everywhere, and it smelled like leather and citrusy aftershave. Cal chuckled and said, “Look at him. He’s pathetic.”

I looked at Cal’s house. Gabe was in the front window, watching us.

“Forgive me, but I’ll be right back,” said Cal.

I watched him walk up his driveway—those big strides—and open his front door. Gabe was out onto the front steps and down the drive like a shot. Cal opened the back door and the dog hopped in. That dog’s eyes were full of joy, believe me. Cal got in and shifted about in his seat, getting himself settled.

“He loves the car. I’ll get attitude all night if he doesn’t come along.”

“He seems like a wonderful companion,” I said.

We sat for a moment and then he said, “So, where do you live?”

We both laughed. It seemed we were both very awkward once we’d gotten in the car.

I told Cal my address and he looked pleased.

“I’ve been down that street. You really are just around the corner,” he said.

We didn’t talk during the short ride home, but it was a nice, content type of silence.

He pulled into my drive. The house sat in darkness and he looked at me with a touch of curiosity.

“I forgot to leave a light on. I usually do leave one on.”

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

I took too long unlocking the door. I fumbled around like a fool. Once I had opened the door, I stepped in and turned to Cal. He had questions. I could see it on his face. I didn’t owe him any explanation, of course, but I still felt obligated.

“My husband is up at his cabin,” I said.

Cal didn’t flinch, nod, frown or smile. He held the door open, but did not assume he could come in.

“Are you not a fan of the cabin?”

He was being earnest. I don’t believe he meant to be pushy.

“We’re not really fans of each other right now. He lives downstairs and I live upstairs.”

That brought about a change in his expression. He seemed puzzled, and perhaps there was some pity as well. His shoulders slackened and he let up on the door. He held it ajar. I had to fight not to invite him in. I was an instant away from taking his hand right then and there. Right on my doorstep with a man I’d known for a half an hour.

“Well, I didn’t mean to be too personal. Thank you for the visit,” he said.

He stepped back, but kept hold of the door, and gave me the nicest of smiles. When he smiled his eyes disappeared in the flesh around them. They became small and warm. And the confidence in them was something to see.

“My son left us. He died not too long ago. My husband and I have lived separately ever since,” I said. “In separate rooms,” I added.

Cal’s smile vanished. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t have asked. It was none of my business.”

“All you asked was if I was fond of the cabin. The truth is I’ve never seen it, apart from photographs.”

Cal nodded. He was uncomfortable, and who wouldn’t have been?

“You probably think I’m a crazy woman,” I said.

“No, not at all. Come by for coffee again. Come by any time,” he said.

We stood there, me in my dark house and he on the doorstep, in the wind.

“Well, goodnight. It was nice meeting you,” he said.

He didn’t give me the opportunity to embarrass myself any further. He turned and left. Gabe was in the driver’s seat with his paws up on the steering wheel.

“Crazy dog,” I heard Cal say.

I watched him drive away. I turned on some lights and boiled the kettle. I sat in the living room, but I couldn’t sit still. I poured some hot water into a cup and then left it there and went to my bedroom. I turned on my TV and undressed by its blue light. I stood in front of the mirror. I hadn’t looked at myself nude in a long time. Usually, when I bathed, the bathroom mirror was fogged up. I dried and dressed without wiping it and looking. I knew what was there. By the TV’s light I stood facing the mirror and then turned and studied my naked profile. Perhaps Raymond was right—I was scrawny. I hated my breasts. There wasn’t much to them. My tummy was flat though, and my backside was firm. I ran my hand along the inside of my thigh to check that it was not turning flabby. I looked at my bed. I was the only one who slept in it, but it was a queen-size. What on earth was I doing? Standing nude and rubbing my thigh like some pubescent girl? Looking at my bed and judging its available space? Taking an inventory of what was good about my middle-aged body. I turned off the TV and lay down on my bed. I hadn’t felt this way for so long. Desire is a threatening thing when it packs up and leaves, but returns unannounced.

I got up and walked to the kitchen, and I caught my reflection everywhere, a flash of my breasts in the glass of our hallway picture frames; a peek at my tummy in the thin strip of mirror that ran along the handle of the oven door; a glimpse of a small triangle of brown hair in the chrome surface of the toaster. I stood nude in my kitchen and hoped that Cal was still outside, on the driveway. He wasn’t, of course. I had watched him go until his tail lights had vanished.