“Aaron?” Lacy called from the kitchen. “I need you home by six.”
“Yup,” he barked from behind the bathroom door. He stood at the his-and-hers sinks and studied the shape he cut in the mirror, checking out different views. He threw his tie over his shoulder, pulled up his shirt, and pondered the slight yet unmistakable gut sheathing his forgotten abs. He sucked it in and let it go. He tilted his head to everyday angles, reassuring himself that only a hawk-eyed giant could find the bald spot in the blond still amply covering his crown. And for the first time since they’d met one afternoon two years ago, at a lonely diner by Lake Conroe, Aaron wondered what Crystal saw when she looked at him. Naked and in clothes.
“Not six like six thirty,” Lacy blathered. “Six like five forty-five. We’re carpooling crosstown with the Andersons, and we have hotel check-in, dinner, and bed by ten. Jules’s first relay is at eight in the morning—”
“I got it!” he shouted. He retucked his shirt, buttoned his blazer, and stared deep into his eyes. “Fuck Machine,” he growled. He unlocked the door and strutted from the bathroom.
“I mean it,” she resumed when he reached the kitchen. “I know it’s your job, but I need you on time.” His wife stood at the counter in her house uniform of saggy T-shirt and sweats, not a blob exactly but a familiar thing sort of fuzzy around the edges. Lacy kept talking while she spread jam on an English muffin, but Aaron’s focus had shifted to Julian wolfing down cereal and reading at the table. His amazing son had turned thirteen and in a handful of months shot up before their eyes to six feet of lanky muscle, as lean and hard as beef jerky.
“Jules!” he said. “Y’all gonna win your relays tomorrow?” Over the tops of his glasses Julian scrutinized Aaron and returned to his book. “If I was a betting man,” Aaron continued, “I’d say y’all take the medley and you set a record for the fifty breast.”
Lacy sighed and put her knife in the sink. “He’ll do his best,” she muttered.
“Course he will. Our big boy dives off that block and he’s way ahead of the other guys. Jules, see you tonight?” Aaron waited in vain for him to look up. “Carb-load at dinner, and then protein in the morning, right?”
“Bye,” Julian said irritably and flipped a page.
Aaron donated a peck on Lacy’s cheek and slipped past her out of the kitchen.
“Hey.” She followed him to the front door. “He’s nervous,” she said quietly. “Coach says he’s ready. It’s good you’ve been showing interest this summer, in him and his teammates, all the swimmers, but he doesn’t need more pressure on him or—” Lacy watched him a moment. “Six o’clock. Or we’re leaving without you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Aaron clicked the heels of his wing tips together and saluted her. But as with the rest of his jokes, she had stopped laughing a long time ago.
People always thought it was easy being Texaco’s angel of death out in the field—easy, they’d say when Aaron told folks what he did, because you’re never the one getting fired—but they hadn’t met his born-again boss or clocked all the miles he drove. The first time he had to do a round of layoffs was in Conroe, a few years back, when the natural gas dried up like the oil had before. It was a marathon trial by fire. One after another, field techs and mechanics trudged into the trailer-office in their Timberlands and soiled jeans. Aaron sat at a folding table, the single-breasted picture of a mature gentleman from the Macy’s sale circulars in the paper, his hair only slightly ruffled by the AC blasting in the window. He was manly and never beat around the bush. He made a listening face when the guys swore about wives and babies, or ranted about the money the company sucked out of the ground on their watch. He wrote down questions and made no promises. He ended every meeting with a speech about how many jobs he left because of a bad boss or whatever, but look at him now—he found another! And after six hours of ruining lives with no lunch break, Aaron was tired.
He left the trailer and hurried to his car through the hot-jelly air. He drove toward the lake. A few miles up the highway, in the middle of piney nowhere, he came across a chrome-wrapped diner shaped like a caboose. He pulled in and adjusted his tie knot in the rearview mirror. Door chimes announced him with a jingle when he pushed open the frosted-glass entrance, and instantly he spotted her sitting alone at the far end of the diner—a petite blond thing, as fresh as a cheerleader, in a tight khaki uniform and hair done up like Farrah Fawcett’s. She was eating a piece of cherry pie. Smoothly Aaron slipped off his wedding ring and approached her booth.
“I thought it was doughnuts that police like,” he rumbled. “Not pie. Did I get that wrong?”
“Good thing I’m not the police.” She scanned Aaron skeptically with huge blue eyes, flicking her mascaraed lashes like moth wings.
“Pardon the intrusion. Must have been that uniform that led me astray.”
“Prison guard. Food services, up in Huntsville. Polunsky Unit.” She sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim of her plastic mug. “Death row?”
“Is that right?” He chuckled. “You make their last meals?”
“I bring them. A man’s gotta eat.” She took a wet bite of pie. “Ever been up that way?”
“I have.” Something in her slow, lippy bite made the invitation. Aaron sat down and told her about the first trip he made to these parts, to check out Conroe Field when the layoffs were still a rumor, and how he missed his exit and ended up in the national forest, almost driving off the road when he got to that Paul Bunyan–size statue of Sam Houston right on the edge of I-45, like he was fixing to step onto the highway, and when Aaron came out the other side of the forest, there he was in Huntsville. Home of the electric chair. It turned out she lived a few minutes away on the lake, in a cabin she was staying in year-round with real nice views, and of course he wanted to see her views and yes he did come to a diner but no he didn’t need any food.
“I’m Crystal,” she said as she wriggled out of the booth. “And you are?”
“Blessed.” He gave her his hand. “Lucky. Aaron.”
He fucked her three legendary times that summer day, twice in her bed and once on the screened-in porch by the water. The first year of the affair was incredible. Two or three times a month, anytime he had to fire somebody north of the city, Aaron found his way to Crystal’s cabin. She always had a cold beer waiting, but it was the food he remembered. She made elaborate meals in his honor, from scratch, chicken-fried steak and pecan pie. They drank and fucked and he ate, and they fucked again, sometimes twice, once his food settled. Afterward Crystal curled up in a rocking chair on the porch and smoked her Misty menthols, still naked at his request, until he wrapped her in his arms, and dotted her jugs with gentle kisses, and whispered to be a good girl and put that out. During those afternoons into evenings, gone from his mind was Lacy’s nagging, bills and debt, the dog peeing on the rug, and there in front of him was a pretty woman with desire in her eyes. Aaron had carried on with other girls before, little snatches at motels or cocktail lounges, but never had a woman looked at him with such desire. By the time summer rolled around again, and Crystal smoked in her rocker and abruptly said, “I love you,” he found himself repeating the same three words in joyful surrender.
But somewhere along the line, things changed. Crystal started talking about her mom. Every time Aaron came by she wanted him to meet her mom, who lived in Tomball. “I showed her a picture of you,” she said one night, passing the corn bread with a glimmer in her eye. “She said you could be her traveling man any day.” Crystal giggled and sipped her Bud Light. “The Dolly Parton song? It’s a compliment. Mama’s a big fan of yours.”
They still had sex right off the bat when Aaron visited. Usually. But in the fall the baby talk started, and then every conversation led to babies. Aaron didn’t get it because he was fifty and had a kid, Crystal insisted, but she was thirty-three, driving off a cliff with no time to waste, and if he loved her like he said, then the rest was details. Aaron kissed her brow at these dead ends, and through the winter and spring he nodded at her like he did with the guys he fired. But she didn’t understand what he couldn’t put into words: he already had a family and wanted more—more fun, not more problems.
Things blew up between them on the day of OJ’s car chase. In the morning, Aaron had to call the police when a mechanic he fired started whacking a wellhead and screaming, “Piece of shit corporate bitch,” and he was worn out by the time he got to Crystal’s for dinner. She acted funny, barely talking and letting him get his own refills at the table. He beached himself on the couch to digest her brisket and grits, and when he flipped on the news and saw that white Bronco zooming down the highway with the LAPD in pursuit, he hollered for Crystal to come see. “I’m right here,” she said, leaning against the wall where she was watching from behind. She muted the TV. “If we did have a baby,” she said, moving in front of the set. She picked at her nails. “Hypothetically. Would you leave her—Lacy?”
Aaron smarted at the sound of his wife’s name, rarely uttered in the cabin. Silly girl, he thought. What if I grew a third arm? But he must have taken too long to respond, because before Aaron could say anything, Crystal opened her mouth and made it namesake clear to him and her neighbors that he should get out of her goddamn house.
So back to his home life he went, to Lacy’s bustling summer schedule of errands, his weight set in the garage, fish sticks for dinner, and Julian’s surprise thrashing of all swimmers with his first foray into sports. And in a new twist to their relationship, Aaron’s calls to Crystal went unreturned for over a month.
Lacy didn’t need to order Aaron home in time for Julian’s swim meet, which he wouldn’t have missed for the world. And he didn’t need her pressuring-our-baby hint that morning as he was headed out the door either. He didn’t pressure Julian. He asked questions and predicted his son’s races because he cared. For a minute last year he thought soccer was the sport for Julian, but things got messy and Aaron resigned himself to Lacy’s swim team idea. Then Jules shot up a foot and took like a fish to water, and the rest was the amazing history of that summer.
Every Saturday morning Aaron was at the pool, pushing sunscreen and reminding Julian to stretch. He roared his son’s name when Julian mounted the blue wooden starting block and towered over the teenage competition, his chestnut hair shining red in the sun. At the gun pop Aaron whooped, following up and back along the pool until his son slapped the wall in victory. Jules was the same kid he always was—same voice, a little girly, legs longer but still crossed when he sat. Yet to watch him swim breaststroke, rising and plunging as lethal as a shark, born to move that way, it reminded Aaron of playing football at UT. Before the war and all the shit that came next. The feeling of his muscles and the rush of freedom as he sprinted for the end zone, running toward something. The years got mixed up in Aaron’s head as he cheered at the swim meets—memories of Lacy finally getting past the first trimester, and seeing the ultrasound of their baby, a girl they thought, and telling Lacy to pick the name because he knew how much it meant to her. Julia. Then out he came a Julian, a king of kings! Aaron cried that day, and now he understood at last. His son, his marriage, sticking around, it all made sense. The dreams that passed Aaron by were Julian’s now. Because his boy would win his swim finals, go to Harvard, and conquer the world.
When the eve of the finals arrived, after weeks of buildup and sweltering Gulf heat, Aaron had much to do. In the morning he was finishing the last of the layoffs in Conroe, and then he had to get to Crystal’s place to smooth things over—and squeeze in some gymnastic makeup sex—and be back home by six to carpool to the swim meet. Aaron felt a tingle when he pulled into the oil field and parked by the red-starred Texaco trailer for the last time. Acres of drills, once bowing to the earth in perpetual homage, sat still and ghostly. He had managed a two-year bloodbath, mopping up the latest human spillage in a cycle of booms and busts, and his final duty was to hand out paychecks to the tiny staff left—and, in his mind at least, to make a kind Mother Teresa nod when the last scraps of money hit their hands. But even with a skeleton crew some folks couldn’t be found, and Aaron didn’t finish his exit interviews and padlock the trailer until half past two.
He jumped in his Taurus and floored it to Crystal’s place, stopping at the gas station for flowers and a couple of the Milky Ways she liked. When he pulled up the dirt road to the cabin, after weeks away, something felt different. The sun still peekabooed through the pine trunks, the same green paint flaked off the shingles, but the place seemed shabbier than he remembered. He took the cracked cement pavers one at a time across the yard, planning his opening line. Aaron tapped on the door. Absence must have done a number on his heart because Crystal appeared looking prettier than he’d ever seen. Her skin had a rosy glow in the porch shade. Her hair was thick and shiny. She wore it natural, not teased in the front like she had for years, and with her loose white dress she looked like one of the hot goddesses from Clash of the Titans.
“Come on in,” she said.
“These are for you.” Aaron handed her the flowers and candy. Crystal smiled and took the flowers. She turned into the living room and beckoned him to follow. As soon as he entered he saw mess everywhere: shoeboxes piled in corners, videocassettes dumped in the armchairs, wire hangers tangled on the carpet like bramble patches. And nearly hidden in mounds of winter clothes on the couch sat an old woman. Crystal’s mom. He’d seen a picture of her but didn’t need one. She was an older version of Crystal, maybe Aaron’s age but older-looking with her bake-tan and dry smoker’s skin. A janitor at a hospital, he remembered when he saw her pink teddy-bear scrubs. Aaron smiled tensely and looked to Crystal.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said, not seeing or ignoring his stare. She passed into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for a vase. “I’m cleaning out the guest bedroom.”
“The famous Aaron!” The old woman stood up. “We meet at last.”
“You must be Mrs. Connors,” he played along in a singsong voice.
She cackled. “I haven’t been Mrs. Connors in years,” she said, picking her way through the mess. “If I ever really was. Call me Tammy.”
“Tammy.” He shook her hand. She smelled like cigarettes and White Diamonds. Crystal arranged the flowers by the sink, unhurried, singing Johnny Nash to herself like a soft little bird while Aaron made nice with her mother. “Great to meet you, Tammy.” He tried to let go of her hand, but she wanted more shaking. He thrust out his other arm. “Sweet tooth?” he said, unclutching the Milky Ways.
“Quite the gentleman,” she called to Crystal. “Thank you, sir. I never mind a taste of sugar.” She took the bars and ran her eyes over him like she was memorizing. She reached a hand up and patted Aaron’s cheek, sending a chill through him. “Y’all got fat to chew,” she said. “I’m gonna head out.”
“Bye, Mama,” Crystal said, entering with a vase of flowers and a plastic bag. “Dinner’s in here,” she said and handed her mom the bag. “Chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes. Write yourself a note, OK?”
“Thanks, baby.” Tammy gave her daughter a long, loving look. She dropped the candy in her purse and dug out a pack of Camels. “Goddamn,” she mumbled, poking in it. “Chrissy, you got any smokes to tide me over till—oh Lord!” She laughed. “Of course you don’t!” She slapped her head, grinning ear to ear, and shuffled out the front door.
“Come here,” Aaron growled. He grabbed Crystal and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“Mama’s been getting so forgetful,” she said, pulling back. “The last few years? I swear she won’t eat if I don’t make it and hand it to her every night and say ‘write it down.’”
“That’s a lot of cooking,” Aaron said. “Did my good girl quit smoking?”
“I did.” She smiled. “It’s fine. I just make double everything.”
“You trying to go cold turkey on me too?” He tightened his arms around her waist and squeezed. “A whole month and no call?”
“Ooh.” She pushed Aaron away. “Little girls’ room, sorry, be right back. Coronas in the fridge!” she called, scooting down the hall to the bathroom. “Mi casa su casa.”
Aaron grabbed a beer. He swigged and tried to shake off the memory of Crystal’s mom. He thought of Lacy’s mom, the one time he and Julian met her at her mansion in McAllen. She was a mean woman but damn well put together, at least ten years younger-looking than she was, with smooth olive skin and hair dyed blond. Aaron remembered her fancy dress and antiques, and the steaks on gold-rimmed china. The toilet flushed. He downed his beer and felt a surge of anger at Crystal for springing her mom on him. He felt cheap and tricked.
“You hungry?” Crystal asked, entering the kitchen. “I thought we’d order Pizza Hut. Meat Lovers? Or whatever toppings you want.”
“Your mom was just in the neighborhood?” Aaron said, more than a little testy.
“What? Oh, she came over to help me clean.”
“The same day I was coming.”
“Yeah.” Crystal looked him dead in the eye. “She wanted to meet you.” She opened the fridge and took out a beer and a bottle of seltzer. “Catch,” she said, tossing the Corona at him.
“Jesus!” He caught it. “What the hell got into you today?” he asked, but she was already heading for the living room.
“Come sit.” She swept the piles of jackets to one end of the couch. Her eyes welled up when he sat down beside her. “Cheers!” She tapped her seltzer to his beer.
“Hey, don’t cry.” He rubbed her knee through her dress, continuing up her thigh. “No big deal about your mom. I should’ve called ahead when I was leaving—”
“I’m pregnant.”
He sighed. “I know. I know you want a baby, but we’ve been over this.”
“I don’t want one. I have one.” She pressed her hands to her stomach and smiled. “Due in January. We’re gonna have a baby, Aaron.”
“How?” He launched up from the couch. “You can’t—Whose is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, we weren’t exclusive, so how do you—”
“Not on your end,” she snapped.
“But you’re on the pill.”
“I was, and then—”
“Was?” he barked. “You stopped taking them? On purpose?”
“No.”
“You’ve been talking about it nonstop a whole year.”
“Stop yelling at me,” she pleaded.
“I’m not. I’m trying to figure out why you stopped taking them and didn’t say a word.”
“I ran out, and the doctor was out of town when you came by and—you could’ve worn a condom! Always have to have sex, never leave without it. If you’re so scared of your swimmers getting in me, how about a condom?”
“Because you’re on the pill!” He stepped in a pile of hangers, kicking them off his shoe, and paced in front of the couch. “Due in January? When did you know? Last time I was here?”
“I wanted to be sure.”
“So you kept it secret?”
“I’m in my second trimester.” She made a little gasp. The tears started. “Stupid me. Thinking we had something to toast.”
Aaron scratched his scalp like a maniac and sat down beside her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s gotta be hard, with the hormones and…” He patted her hand. “OK. We got time. There’s a nice Planned Parenthood in Spring.”
“Yeah?” Crystal pulled away, her face wrinkling in disgust. “You been there before?”
“No. When Lacy lost the—I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry.”
“It’s a boy. I felt him kick yesterday for the first time.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked on the couch like a little girl.
“Crystal.”
“I’m keeping him.”
“How would that even work, hon? Think about it.”
“I’m setting up the nursery right now,” she said, waving at the mess. “But the lease is up here in June, and by then I figured I’d be down in the city.”
“In—Move to Houston?”
She nodded. “I know a guy at Jester Three down in Sugar Land. It’s no death row, but he said if I put the transfer request in now it’d be ready in six months, tops.”
“What time is it?” Aaron checked his watch. “I gotta make a call.” He hurried to the front hallway. “Could you turn up the AC?” he hollered back at her. He picked up the phone and dialed home—which he rarely did from Crystal’s, where Lacy could *69 him—but nobody answered, so he left a rapid-fire message that he’d be home early and hung up.
Crystal’s dark outline awaited him in the entrance to the living room.
“What are you calling her for?” she asked.
“Crystal.” He sighed.
“Aaron Warner.” She smiled, approaching him slowly. “Do you believe in miracles?”
“Sure,” he said and took a step back.
“The grace of the Creator? We didn’t plan this. He did. The first time we saw each other in the diner? A couple that turns heads. You know we do! We would, if we ever went out. A little boy with blond hair and blue eyes? Coming up here, teaching him how to fish. Going to Disney for Christmas. There’s a chapel in the resort so you can go to services before the rides. I checked.” She took his hands. “Can you see it?”
“I got a two-hour carpool down I-10 to Katy tonight.”
“Don’t be scared.” She held him fast as he tried to pull away. “Look at me. I love you. And you love me, like you said on that couch, and in that bed—”
“Crystal.”
“So many times you said it’s over with her, and you haven’t loved her in years—”
“It’s not happening!” he snapped. “What part of that don’t you get? When was I not clear? I have a family. A wife and son.”
“A girlyboy!” she blurted. “You said so yourself.” Aaron grabbed his keys off the hall table. “Don’t walk away from me,” she ordered. “This is getting worked out today.”
“Goodbye,” Aaron mumbled and threw the door open.
“Did Lacy pick up?” she cried. “I bet she didn’t.”
He stopped.
“You know what waiting does to a person?” Crystal said quietly. “Every day I go to work I see guys waiting to die. Waiting to live. It takes you over.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I went back to church. You’re not here on Sundays. Last time we read from Jeremiah: ‘For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ And I thought, I been taking care of people my whole life. Murderers and rapists. Now my mother. When’s someone going to take care of me?”
“What did you do, Crystal?”
“I told her the truth. I wrote a letter. I put it in the mail yesterday. If you meant what you said, then it’s time to stop lying. And if you didn’t mean it, if you were lying, then you’re not the man I thought and why should it be one long freebie with me? I can’t wait. I’ll raise this child fine on my own, like my mama did, but—isn’t it nicer together?” She watched him. The desire was still in her eyes, he could see, and fear, and many things Aaron didn’t know. “I think you did mean it,” she said. “I got life in me, Aaron.”
“Don’t contact my wife,” he barked. “Or me. Or you’ll regret it.” He took off.
“This boy needs to know you, Aaron,” she called after him. “Aaron?!”
But he already had the Taurus in reverse.
Lacy Adams, who became Lacy Warner, was the smartest woman Aaron had ever met. He could tell from the very first letter she wrote him. Smarter than the girls he grew up with in Midland, or the coeds at UT, or the secretaries at Enron or Texaco. She had such energy, too, starting and joining things—PTA or the Royalwood High Science Club—and talking about it at dinner, because the only thing more intense than her joining was her talking. Or the way she was plain capable? Like the afternoon she decided the orange flower curtains looked too seventies, so she taught herself to use her friend Bonnie’s sewing machine and took Julian to the fabric store, and by the time Aaron got home the windows had navy-and-cream-striped curtains that made their house look like a fancy resort. Because she had it in her, the power to change their world and make their son—hands down her best work—feel like a part of something.
Aaron reflected on Lacy’s good qualities as he raced home from the cabin. Traffic was light. He thought of the many times he made this trip and the rounds of counseling he and Lacy did over the years, dating back before the Crystal days. Every time Lacy found a credit card bill, or some oopsie thing in his pockets, she cried again like that alarm clock going off in Groundhog Day, and back they went to the office of Gloria Harding, MFT, in a strip mall in Atascocita, empty except for a TCBY yogurt. Gloria waited for them, under her Footprints in the Sand poster, round and unfuckable, a no-judgments half smile on her face. Lacy would rant and rage and go quiet—Aaron’s cue to say he heard her pain, and he was going to keep her in mind next time he thought about stepping out, because that’s what a real partnership required.
But this time he meant it. Hope swelled in Aaron as he exited 59 and crossed into the bucolic green of Royalwood. It wasn’t a sure thing that Crystal’s letter had arrived yet. He mailed her a cutout from Playboy once, with drawings and a note on it, and it took three whole days to get to her cabin. Aaron resolved that if he got to the letter first, if he and Lacy made it over this one last hump, he’d treat her with respect and honesty for good. Because there was Julian to think about. And not just their son. There was Lacy, too. It hit him, as he sped into their subdivision, that he hadn’t stuck around all these years for Julian alone. He loved Lacy. The only woman he ever really loved, longer than a fling or a few years. But inside he felt it, as dense as the knots churning his stomach; he knew that love was more than needing. More than his needs, or hers, not to be alone. He used to care for Lacy. He remembered taking care of her. And he couldn’t recall when he stopped doing that and just took care of himself.
He pulled into the driveway at four forty-five p.m. The minivan wasn’t there. He hustled to the front door, but when he tried to go in his key stuck and wouldn’t turn. He pounded and rang. He ran to the living room window and peered in the unlit house. The mini-blinds smashed against the window as the dog attacked the glass in a flurry. “It’s me, Muffin!” Aaron said. “Daddy.” Muffin brayed in recognition and trotted off to the kitchen. Aaron stepped back, and only then did he notice it beside the porch bench: his suitcase, with a paper bag on top. It was tucked slightly behind the boxwoods Lacy pruned every summer into double balls. He opened the bag and found a Tupperware inside, along with a note in his wife’s careful teacher handwriting:
Aaron—
I got a letter from your friend Crystal. But this was a long time coming. I changed the locks on the house, and our phone number. Please don’t bother the neighbors.
I filed for divorce today. My lawyer’s card is in here. Go through her to reach me. We’ll schedule a time for you to get the rest of your things, when Julian is away. He doesn’t know anything yet. I packed you work clothes to last a couple of weeks. I made a tuna casserole for you to eat. It’s what was in the kitchen. There isn’t much money to divide up but I’ll be fair to you, even though you weren’t fair to me.
Lacy
Aaron felt his heart pounding and dropped to the bench. Out of nowhere and a long time coming. When did she get a lawyer, to move so fast? The heat pressed down like wet cotton. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the house. His mind rambled back to his church in Midland, high school days, when he started going to services alone. He remembered a sermon one Sunday on Milton, so powerful that he went to the library and found Paradise Lost and the image the pastor described—Earth, surrounded by darkness and chaos, suspended from Heaven by a thin gold chain. He wondered if that was what Lacy was, tying him to Julian and the world. From far away Aaron could see himself, unworthy as he’d always been, slipping into a place without light or sound. Disappeared.
The buzz of a mosquito brought him back to the porch. He blinked at the evening glow and took in tidy Sycamore Springs Lane one more time. The years of sprinklers arcing languidly over emerald lawns that led up to this moment. He had to find somewhere to lay his head that night. It settled over Aaron that he would sleep alone. And for the first time since the war, he covered his face and cried.