“Sure.”
We sat on the couch together. He put his arm around me, the way he’d done for twenty-six years. I leaned against his chest, and I could hear his heart beating, steady and slow.
I didn’t watch a single minute of that show.
I kept thinking about Carol’s voice. Oh, honey.
He fell asleep at ten-fourteen.
I lay beside him until eleven, until his breathing was so deep and even that I knew nothing short of a fire alarm would wake him.
Then I slid out of bed.
His duffel bag was on the floor of the closet. The old green army surplus one he’d had since before we were married. He hadn’t unpacked it yet. That wasn’t like him either. Mark always unpacked the second he got home. He couldn’t stand a bag sitting around.
I carried it out into the hallway and sat on the carpet with it under the nightlight.
