“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Roz said simply. “You wanna go home, fine. But I’m not letting you go without me. Never again, G.”
White Ravens
Gage
Gage dropped the last of the dishes into Roz’s sink with a heavy clink, telling himself this was what normal sounded like now.
The slow, nerve-grating drip of a leaky faucet. A clock ticking too loudly on the wall. Sleet spattering the window. Roz cussing under his breath at the coffee grounds he’d spilled on the floor.
“Go to work,” Gage said, resting his hip against the counter.
“Damn, bro, you tellin’ me to get outta’ my own crib?”
“I need time to pray and meditate,” he said. “To get my head straight before I see them. You sitting here watching me breathe isn’t helping.”
Roz waited a beat, then sighed. “You sure?”
“I doubt anything’s changed in the last six months. It’s Thursday, so my mom’s volunteering at the hospital, and my dad’s in his office at church until four. They’ll both be sitting down for dinner at five. That’s when I’ll go.” He swallowed a lump of anxiety. “So go to work.”
Roz didn’t move.
“I’m not helpless. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“All right, all right,” Roz muttered.
He made a bunch of noise in his small bedroom, before he came back out and dropped a folded pile of clothes into Gage’s hands—a heavy cotton sweatshirt and threadbare denims.
“Thanks.”
“Thanks, hell. I want that hoodie back. It’s one of my favorites.”
Roz’s palm landed heavy on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “I’ll be back by five.”
The door opened, then closed, and silence crept in behind it.
Gage went to the window, opened the blinds, and dropped to his knees.
He turned his face toward the sky and let the sunlight warm his face.
“Father,” he whispered, head bowed. “It’s me again.”
He stayed there until time vanished.
It wasn’t until the lock turned in the front door that he realized how long he’d been on his knees.
He tried to stand and his legs screamed. His fingers had gone pins-and-needles, cramping from how tight he’d had them clasped together.
The door shut, and Roz’s boots clomped along the floor towards the kitchen. Gage smirked at the hiss of a beer can being opened and the refrigerator door slamming.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t moved for seven hours,” Roz called out.
He’d meditated far longer than that before.
Gage pushed himself upright, bracing his hands on his thighs.
“I blinked a few times.”
He walked the numbered steps back to the kitchen and sat gingerly at the table.
