Pain exploded across his face. He would have screamed if he could.
He had only one thought now:
Kettle.
Reach the kettle.
He’d given the kettle to Molly for Christmas two years ago. She loved tea and hot cocoa. He’d found it at a Kitchen Kapers downtown. It was her favorite store.
Molly turned off the hot water first, then the cold about two seconds later, relishing the blast of icy water at the end. Nothing felt better in August. She then turned the knob that would drain the water from the shower pipes into the tub. The excess splashed her feet.
She opened the curtain and reached around the wall for her towel. As her hand grasped the terry cloth, she thought she heard something.
Something … clanging?
Paul slammed the teakettle on top of the stove one more time … but that was it. He had been deprived of oxygen far too long. His muscles were starving. They required immediate and constant gratification—oxygen all the time. Greedy bastards.
After he fell, and rolled toward the sink, Paul tried pounding his fist into his upper chest, but it was a futile gesture. He didn’t have the strength left.
A potato.
A little wedge of potato had caused his world to crash down around him.
Oh, Molly, he thought. Forgive me. Your life, changed forever because I was stupid enough to spoon some potato salad into my mouth on a Saturday morning. Your sweet potato salad, a mayonnaise-soaked symbol of all the kind things you’ve done for me over the years.
My sweet, sweet Molly.
The kitchen faded away.
The kitchen they’d redone a year ago, ripping out the old metal cabinets and replacing them with fresh- smelling sandalwood maple.
She’d picked them out. She liked the color.
Molly?
Was that Molly in the doorway now, her beautiful red hair dripping wet, a white terry cloth towel wrapped around her body?
God, she was no hallucination. She was really standing there. Looking down at him, strapping jewelry to her wrists. Thick silver bracelets. Paul couldn’t remember buying them for her. Where did they come from?
Wait.
Why wasn’t she trying to save him?
Couldn’t she see him, choking, trembling, jolting, scratching, pleading,
But Molly simply stared, with the strangest look on her face. That look would be the last thing Paul Lewis would ever see, and if there were an afterlife, it would be an image that would haunt him, even if his memories of earthly life were to be erased. Molly’s face would still be there. Perplexing him. Who was this woman? Why did she make his soul ache?
So it was probably merciful that Paul didn’t hear what his wife said as she looked down upon his writhing, dying body, “Well, this is ahead of schedule.”
ARRIVALS
… and he had been up most of the night, tag-teaming with Andrea, marching back and forth into the tiny bedroom at the back of their apartment.
What hurt the most, after being awake so many hours, were his eyes. Jamie wore daily-wear contacts, but lately he hadn’t bothered to take them out at night. Without them he was practically blind, and he was too new a father to risk changing a diaper or preparing a bottle of Similac with impaired vision. Bad enough they had to work in the dark, so Chase could learn the difference between night and day.
Sunlight.
Darkness.
Sunlight this morning, which was turning out to be a blazingly hot Saturday in August. Their window air- conditioning unit was no match for it, and Jamie had to get dressed and head into the office. His eyes swam with tears.
Life with the baby was now:
Day
Day
Melting into each other.
Nobody told you that parenthood was like doing hallucinogenics. That you watched the life you knew melt away into a gray fuzz. Or if they did, you didn’t believe them.
Jamie knew he shouldn’t complain. Not after having a month off for paternity leave.
Still, it was strange to be going back on a Saturday morning, to a managers’ meeting led by his boss, David Murphy. Last time he’d seen his boss was late June, at Jamie’s awkward baby shower in the office. Nobody had brought gifts. Just money—ones and fives—stuffed into a card. David had provided an array of cold cuts and Pepperidge Farm cookies, which were the boss’s favorite. Stuart ran to the soda machines for Cokes and Diet Cokes. Jamie gave him a few singles from the card to pay for them.
Being away from that place had been nice.
Very nice.
And now this “managers’ meeting.” Jamie had no idea what it could be about. He’d been gone for a month.
Never mind that Jamie wasn’t a manager.
There was nothing to do about it now, though. What could he do? Change jobs and risk losing medical insurance for three months? Andrea had left her job in May, and with it went the other benefits package.
Besides, David wasn’t so bad to work for. It was everybody else who drove him up the wall.
The problem wasn’t hard to figure out. Jamie’s job was “media relations director,” which meant he had to explain to the rest of the world—or more specifically, certain trade publications—what Murphy, Knox & Associates did. Thing was, not even Jamie was entirely clear on what their company did. Not without it making his head hurt.
Everyone else, who did the real work of the company, formed a closed little society. They put up walls that were difficult, if not impossible, to breach. They were the driving force of the company. They were the Clique.
