While She Was Gone

I finished digging out the snow around the car when she called to tell me not to pick her up tomorrow. The excavation had formed a cubicle. Puffy white flakes fell heavy, and the wind shot them onto the exposed areas of my face like it was a dartboard. The only living things on the street were me and the leafless trees, whose branches were clothed in fresh white snow.

Are you sure, I said, and she told me yes, yes. I shouldn’t have but I asked, what about Monday?

I’ll drive us to the appointment on Monday, she said. A silence ensued. I knew she wanted to say something else, but she couldn’t find the words, and I didn’t save her. I said I have to go. We both heard I love you as we hung up.

I walked back to the house. The snow under my boots crunched like potato chips, making my stomach grumble. At my door, I kicked the dirty snow off my boots and I walked inside.

I shed my coat and walked into the living room. Mouse Man purred, sleeping under a window.

I’m sorry, I said to him as I stroked the fur along his back for a bit.

I sat facing him, praying for her to forgive my impatience.

I breathed deep, pulled the revolver out of my pocket, and placed the cold steel under my chin. The bang startled Mouse Man up from his slumber.