Tom brought the candle. He lit another one—bergamot and cedar—and set them on the coffee table. “Do we have any candles that aren’t scented?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to order an emergency kit on Amazon. With candles and more flashlights.”
“Okay.” Cherry sat at one end of the couch and opened the pizza box. She’d ordered it for herself the night before. Fuck her blood sugar.
Tom sat at the other end of the couch. Stevie hauled herself up between them—Tom dove forward to keep her tail from swishing into the candles. Cherry handed him a piece of pizza wrapped in a paper towel.
Stevie tried to sniff it.
“No,” Tom said. “You don’t get people food.” He looked at Cherry. “Does she?”
“No, you said it would ruin her manners.”
Stevie settled with her chin on Tom’s leg, already giving up on the pizza.
Tom was looking at Cherry. He was frowning again. “I didn’t know that you wanted to keep Stevie.”
“I can’t talk about this right now,” Cherry said. “It’s too much.”
“But I—”
“Tom, please.” Cherry was tearing up. She was so tired of tearing up; she’d have her tear ducts sealed if she could.“Please.”
He didn’t argue or answer. Which she appreciated. Cherry was exhausted. She was getting cold again. She tried to chew her pizza.
Tom rubbed Stevie’s head while he ate.
Cherry sniffed back tears.
She chewed.
She sniffed again.
“Sometimes...” she said softly, “when we’d be sitting on the couch, or at a red light—just being quiet, not looking at each other... I’d feel like we were in a panel fromThursday.”
Tom looked over at her.
“Like...” Cherry went on, “one of thoseThursdaystrips that doesn’t seem to be about anything—until you really think about it, or until there’s some payoff a month later...” She sniffed. “Sometimes I could see us. Just as we’d be in the comic.”
Tom was watching her. Listening. He looked sad.
Cherry laughed—like she knew she was being pathetic. She shook her head.
“Sometimes,” Tom said, “when we were sitting on the couch, or in the car, or at the hospital when my dad was sick... I was drawing panels in my head.”
Cherry nodded. She reached for another piece of pizza. “Why didn’t The Guy and Baby ever get a dog?”
Tom looked down at Stevie and scratched her ears. One side of his mouth quirked up. “By that time I was famous. It didn’t seem fair to make her famous.”
They both stared at Stevie for a while. They used to do this when she was a puppy—just sit and watch her while they talked. Or didn’t talk.
“I didn’t think you were readingThursday...” Tom said.
“I wasn’t,” Cherry said. “Not regularly. Not for a long time.”
He nodded. He was still looking at Stevie. He looked weighed down. Heavy-hearted.
