Settlement

“So, now what?”

The lawyer looked up at him, his skin uncreased, his teeth straight and white as a surgeon’s lab coat. Where, thought Mycah, had Nana found an attorney so young?

After some deliberation, the young attorney closed his laptop and slipped it into a leather briefcase. His little black notebook followed quickly after. “I suppose that’s for you and your wife to decide.” He nodded to them both, and quietly exited the bedroom.

A quiet moment passed, each apart in their thoughts. Mycah broke first, and let his eyes wander to her. She swallowed, and he watched the slender muscles of her neck push it all downwards.

It didn’t really look like she had been crying.

“So, now what?”

This time, her turn to ask. The question sounded practiced. Rehearsed. As it should, given how often they had both asked it over the last two years.

“I can call the attorney back and see if he could give you that divorce you keep asking for.”

“Stop it.” But he noticed she smiled. Hopefully in amusement.

Mycah pushed himself back to sit more upright.He hadn’t realized he had been clenching the bed sheets. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard. He knew he had been right when he insisted they buy one with some cushioning.

“What does a dying man even do with $20,000?” he mused.

“You’re basically dead already.”

“I appreciate the reminder.”

“You’re still going through with it?”

“Of course.”

His eyes wandered to the cocktail of pills by his bedside, specially crafted to help him pass with “dignity.” Had he lived with that same dignity?

“You know,” she said, “you could just leave the money to me in your will.”

“We’re still married. It would go to you anyway.”

“I know.” She chuckled dryly as she looked away, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “But you could make it all official and lawyerly.”

Mycah felt the sudden need for some fresh air. “Can you help me to the balcony?”

Wordlessly, she slipped over to his bedside and supported him as he stood. How strange it was that she suddenly had all the strength, and he too tired to care much about it at all. They walked together, her shoulder beneath his arm, and stepped into the warm summer evening. Quietly, they each looked out at the rolling hills.

Her phone buzzed, and she walked back inside to retrieve it. “Mycah, I need to take this.” And with that, she stepped out of his (their, he reminded himself) bedroom.

He looked out across the horizon again, his eyes met with the fading warmth of the descending sun. Was it really sunset already? Orange light bathed the garden golden. The same garden where she had brought him toast and coffee, giggling as she spread some on his cheek. The same garden where she had blurted out “yes” before he even finished getting down on one knee. The garden where she had stood in the rain, her dress soaked through, after he had locked the door because he didn’t think she would be coming home from work that night. The garden where she had first asked him for a divorce. The garden where maybe she would walk with him again, their feet side by side on the red brick path that lead to the rest of the world.

Something on her phone call made her laugh, that rolling, neverending laugh that had so bewitched him on their first date. He looked back, but she was in the hallway now, her animated voice the only thing left of her.

So, now what?

He took a breath, and stepped inside to call the lawyer.