“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it,” Cherry said. “Idolike it. I thought I was giving you space.”
“I think I knew that.”
“Did youwantme to readThursday?”
Tom glanced up at her. He smiled a little. It was still sad. “Not really.”
Cherry nodded. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and then with the paper towel. “Maybe I gave you too much space.”
Tom set his half-eaten pizza on the table.
He rubbed Stevie’s head with both hands. She rolled onto her back. He rubbed her neck and her belly.
Cherry patted Stevie’s rump. “Are there scenes like that in the movie?”
“Like what?”
“Like the quiet panels that don’t seem to have a point.”
Tom made a noise like “huh” that was almost a laugh. “Yeah. I guess those are my signature.” He looked over at her again. “Are you going to watch it?”
“Do you want me to?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Cherry bit her lips together and shook her head, holding back another wave of tears. After it passed, she said, “Then I won’t.”
The lights came on then. All of them, all over the house.
Cherry jumped. And Stevie jumped. And Tom dove forward to keep Stevie’s tail from flicking into the candles. Cherry blew them both out. “That was fast,” she said.
Tom was standing. “Yeah...” He brushed himself off. “Well. That’s good. That’s my cue, I guess. I better...”
“What do you mean? The roads are still terrible.”
“I’ll drive slow.”
“Tom—”
Tom looked in her eyes. He looked anguished. He looked like Stevie—like he desperately wanted Cherry to read his mind.
She could.
He was miserable here. In this house. With her.
He’d rather die in a snowstorm. He’d rather get hit by a plow or go sliding into traffic than spend another moment in their dead house, with their dead memories.
“Will you text me when you get home safe?” she asked.
He nodded.
Cherry nodded, too.
Tom put on his coat and said good-bye to Stevie and was out the door so fast.
Cherry waited up for him to text and tried to be reassured by how long it was taking. He was driving slow, like he said he would.
Eventually her phone lit up.
