In the silence left over after, the father went around the house and made a list:
—Unknown long scratch mark under recliner
—New bubbles in glass of guest room bedside lamp
—Did fan always spin counterclockwise?
—Son’s dolls in storage: more than a few are missing both eyes
—Garage bees
—Marks of insertion near top of wall in hallway. Larger than a pushpin? Who hangs things up that high?
—Handprints in the dust on top of the bookshelf by the mirror
—Initials and phone # in address book: RPT 515-3033. Who is this?
—Burn or other smudge marks on hallway baseboard, some kind of chewing
—Living room ceiling dripping what?
When not writing, the father clenched the list inside his mouth to keep his hands free so he could rummage. He bit down so hard, not realizing, his teeth went through the paper, through his lip. The blood fed him gulping, warm as from a mother’s nipple, brown.